Old School Ch. 05: Danville

I winced. It hurt me again knowing the anguish that must have put my Kass through each time she hit redial and it went straight to voicemail. It must have cut at her heart like a knife. I know that's how I would have felt were the situation reversed.

Gustin saw my expression and nodded.

"Yeah. I get it," he said. "I'm sure you're aware that you are alive today because of two very brave women: one of whom you've never met, and another whom you love and who clearly loves you, Mr. Walker."

I swallowed hard as that fact sunk in and my lip quivered. "I assumed that. But it's powerful hearing it from the FBI."

"Well, this is a debrief, but I suspect that when it comes to what happened Friday, you may be our least useful witness even though you were at the center of it," Gustin said. "I guess I'll start by asking what you remember."

"Not much. I had gotten maybe 15 to 20 yards from the elevator into the parking deck when I heard people coming up fast behind me right as I was getting to my car. I started to turn to see what was happening when some guys grabbed me and slammed me hard against the back of my Tahoe," I said. "Really didn't even get much of a look at them though I think one had a beard ..."

"Anyway, one of them asks if I'm 'Lawyer Walker.' I remember thinking that's an odd, sort of backwoods way to address an attorney, and I said something smart-ass back like 'Who's asking' or 'None of your damn business.' That part's sort of foggy. And that's the last thing I remember before this sharp pain to the right side of my head. Next thing I really recall is waking up in the hospital the next morning."

"That's what we figured," Gustin said. "The first Cincinnati police officers arrived moments after you got hit. Those two buffoons were arguing over how to get you to their car parked one level down and had started dragging you away from your vehicle when a half-dozen officers with weapons drawn confronted them and they had no choice but give up."

"If they'd had another couple of minutes ..." he said, then paused. "Well, it wouldn't have been pretty."

I pressed him for more details.

"These guys considered themselves lone wolves for Elmer Brewer and his cult. They had a record of arrests for assaults, and a lot of them were on people who were — or who they thought were — gay," he said.

"The two who attacked you were supposed to stuff you in their car trunk and take you to a shed in the woods a few miles outside of Milan, Indiana. That's where a third guy named Tony Morefield, sort of the ringleader of this sleeper cell, planned to tie you up, beat and torture you, probably sodomize you with some object, and then probably kill you. That's what we got from one of your attackers. He didn't say that Moorefield was going to kill you, but do you really think he'd let you walk free to identify him after doing all that?"

"So where's Moorefield now?" I asked.

"After we arrested and separated the guys who jumped you, one of them started singing, so Sandy used his cell phone to text Moorefield and convince him that they'd had to kill you, that they were ditching the car in the Great Miami River because it had been caught on video cameras and for Moorefield to pick them up at a fishing boat ramp on the river in Ohio just across the Indiana line. We had people waiting for him there. Once we captured him, we found the two grandchildren of the Apostle locked in his trailer just up the dirt road from the shed where you would have been taken."

"Jesus," I said. My hands trembled to learn how close I had gotten to a gothic torture and death. "What's going to happen to these thugs?"

"The guy who cooperated will probably plead out, serve as the primary government witness, get probation and probably witness protection. He wasn't the one who hit you. The one who did will probably do a stretch in prison in Ohio, maybe some federal time. Moorefield and two brothers in Kentucky who kidnapped the Apostle's grandkids face federal charges that will keep them in prison until they're very old men, and that doesn't count state charges they face in Indiana, Ohio and Kentucky."

"How many more are there out there like them?"

"We don't know for sure. For the very reason these guys were off the radar — nothing on paper connecting them to Ebenezer or Brewer or that organization — there may be other violent homophobes who also think it's their job to go out and do whatever bloody idea they have that they consider God's or Elder Brewer's will." Gustin said.

"We'll do all the Justice Department can to make examples of those we've caught, hoping we deter it, but ...," he shrugged, "how do you arrest, convict and jail hate?"

▼ ▼ ▼

Warm weather was finally back in Kentucky. Warm enough for trees to bloom, grass to start growing and the tournament to determine the national champion of collegiate basketball to finally be nearing an end. And warm enough for the sidewalk seating at Lou & Emma's to be back in use on a beautiful spring afternoon.

Kass and I were seated at the table where we had kissed for only the second time in our lives, about twenty-one years after the first one at her front door after high school prom in Versailles. And, like our romantic autumnal sunset dinner six months earlier, we were sipping more Charter Vineyards Malbec, now a permanent addition to the premier reds on the restaurant's wine list.

In contrast to the unseasonably balmy early April day, however, the conversation was weighty. Not downcast, as it had been for those awful months when it appeared that our relationship was hopelessly fractured. But one befitting the gravity of the love we clearly shared and how we might build a future around it.

Neither of us were slaves to money—and we both made plenty. But neither of us wanted to abandon our livelihoods, and we agreed that a Cincinnati-to-Danville commuter relationship could not survive for long. It's a conundrum of whether we can have our cake and eat it, too.

Unplugging from one of the world's elite, most lucrative law firms was not done impulsively or casually, not when one had put in many years of 16-hour days to become a partner with an ownership stake in the firm. Barely fifteen years after law school, my singular devotion to the practice of trusts-and-estates law had put me into what politicians and demographers like to call the "one-percenters," people whose annual earnings were north of seven figures. Kass and I had never explicitly discussed our net worth and income, and I am not sure she was aware that I was an actual millionaire, and I didn't know precisely what her businesses grossed annually, either, though it wouldn't surprise me if that topped the million-dollar threshold.

We knew we could live comfortably, but where? And could we be happy?

We also knew that we wanted children, and that time and biology were factors we could not ignore.

I had become quite jittery about my efforts to explore alternatives to Gladney & Watson. Working there had become increasingly unpleasant over the past half-year or so, but the revenue I and my team accounted for was among the most impressive in the firm, and nobody in leadership was willing to part with it and see the firm slide in the AmLaw 100 rankings. For my part, I knew that the only way to sustain my current level of income was to transfer laterally to another mega-firm where, most probably, the culture would be much the same and I might have to move to another city. Even though it is home to the Sixth U.S. Circuit Court of Appeals, Cincinnati is not a hub for many major firms, particularly in my field of practice. That meant joining a smaller, regional firm or going out on my own.

Things seemed to be shaping up nicely in late February and early March. I had an all-star lineup of partners plus several promising associates, now tired of working nights and weekends, fed up with the abusive behavior of practice chair Wilson Rush and ready to join me in forming a new specialty firm catering to high-net-worth individuals based in the Lexington, one of the nation's best-rated college towns where schools were better and costs of living were considerably lower than Cincinnati's trendy enclaves and its top suburbs.

I was Gladney's highest-grossing trusts and estates lawyer, and I had commitments from the second- and third-top-grossing T&E attorneys committed to join my new firm. I had two of Gladney's top five tax law partners in Cincinnati and its most sought-after white collar and government investigations attorney on board. And for a while, I had the partner who was rated as the top appellate lawyer in the entire firm signed on before he was elevated to a lofty firmwide post and put in charge of a task force devising the firm's new strategic plan for the next five years — a designation that came with an increase in compensation that he couldn't walk away from.

The vision for our new firm with a focus on high net worth individuals and families was solid. There are few places in America outside of exclusive and obscenely expensive cities like Palm Springs, Beverly Hills and Aspen where a boutique private wealth services firm could access a pool of wealthy clients as well as Lexington and Kentucky Horse Country. Think of the number of billionaires from most every continent who own, stable and train world-class thoroughbreds on farms within a 20-mile radius of Lexington. On Kentucky Derby week, the place is thick with the ultra-rich and famous. Some of them are already in my book of business and would follow me without being asked.

They want a one-stop shop for all their actual and potential needs — tax avoidance strategies, top-notch help in family estate feuds, a firm capable of handling tort and contract litigation, people who can keep regulators and prosecutors at bay and a top hired gun should cases go to appeals courts or even the Supreme Court. It was that last piece that fell through and left the new firm I envisioned vulnerable to persuading existing clients to move with me and new clients from coming aboard.

I was explaining that to Kass on this first Friday evening of April.

"So this sinks the plan?" Kass said.

"Well, it means I have work to do. Neither of us wants this, but if I have to just be a sole practitioner country lawyer, I'd do it to have a life with you."

She laced her fingers into mine and squeezed gently.

The decision to build a future together was an unspoken fact. But we were resolved to have the details worked out and a clear path charted before we made it official. And snags like losing my appellate partner created a problematic delay.

"Kass, I don't have stranded, illiquid assets that I have to pick up and move or sell. I have a house and that's it. You've got a store — several, actually, along with other businesses and now commercial real estate — and this restaurant. You see how I couldn't ever ask you to turn your back on that and move to Cincinnati. Truth is, I'm tired of Cincinnati."

We just sat in contemplative silence for a moment, now advanced enough in our love and trust not to feel the need to fill the quiet. Eventually, I spoke again.

"There is a card I am going to play. High risk, high reward. But I have to play it fast or the partners who have all committed to join me will start backing out."

"What is it?" she said.

"I'd rather wait until I know it's solid. I'll tell you if you want, but ...," I said, trying to buy time more than anything. "I don't want to jinx it."

She gave me an amicable side-eye.

"If it helps, I might know something soon," I added. "Real soon. Maybe this weekend soon."

She nodded. "I suppose."

"Thank you."

▼ ▼ ▼

The bright Saturday sunrise woke me before it woke Kass, even though Kass was working in the store that morning. In the afternoon, we had scheduled a foray into the countryside similar to the one we took in the fall when she made a deal with Charter Vineyards to supply Lou & Emma's with a red wine. Since then, she had expanded her standing order to include a Chardonnay and a Zinfandel.

I was dressed and had walked Ryder before I greeted Kass with a wakeup kiss and a freshly brewed cup of coffee right as her alarm clock sounded at 8 a.m.

"Now a girl could get used to this," she said.

"Good. I could get used to doing it," I said. "Can I make you some breakfast?"

"Nah. Saturdays when I work, I go a block down to Nora's Deli and get a bagel with cream cheese. It's kind of my routine," she said before she pulled off her sleep t-shirt, tossed it in the hamper and walked gloriously naked to her en suite and turned the water on for a shower. In just those few seconds, I was already growing a bulge in my jeans from the tantalizing sight of her. And she noticed.

"You smuggling sausages or just happy to see me," she said.

"You beautiful little tease," I replied, pulling her to me and kissing her. "Wish I had time to join you in that shower, but I have a few errands to run while you're taking care of business this morning."

"What kind of errands?"

"Well, if I'm thinking of living in this town, maybe I better do a little exploring. And I do believe you have a birthday in a couple of weeks, so I think a little shopping is in order. Also thought I might pick up some groceries. What do you need?"

"I'm good on groceries. What time will you be back? We're supposed to head out around noon, remember?"

"Ry and I will be back by 11:45. I'll gas up so we can take the Tahoe so we can load up anything you might want to buy."

She nodded and looked back down at the protrusion still expanding in my jeans.

"Hey, you might want to do something about that," she said, playfully patting my zipper area, "before you go into somebody's shop. Folks will talk."

I stopped by Yesteryear, a bygones wearables and antiques store near the Centre campus, and browsed the selection. A woman in her fifties or sixties with unnaturally black hair piled high on her head a name pin that said "ESTELLE" asked what I was searching for, and I told her it was for the woman in my life.

"Describe her," Estelle said.

So I did. Also at Estelle's prodding, I told her that she's a local businesswoman, has reddish-blonde curly hair and stands about yea high, demonstrating it with my hand held in front of me about five feet, eight inches off the floor.

"Why that sounds like Kass," she said, her sharp Appalachian twang somehow bifurcating the monosyllabic name so it came out "Kay-us." I nodded my confirmation.

"I've heard she was seeing somebody and we're so happy for her. We was afraid she's gonna be a spinster, and that'd be a cryin' shame. Just the sweetest little thing, love her to death. Goes to our church, First Presbyterian."

Estelle started walking toward the rear of the store. "Let me give you a little insider tradin' here, Mister ... uhh," she paused and looked at me.

"I'm Les. Les Walker."

" ... Mr. Walker. Now come on over here and let me show you this pendant she was looking at last time she's in here. Said her grandmama used to have one like it," Estelle said, her hands hovering over a jewelry bin before deftly plucking what she sought from it. "This is it."

It was a black onyx oval suspended from a fine, thin silver chain necklace with an elaborate, cursive letter F inlaid in what appeared to be ivory in its center.

"We picked this up at an estate sale and I almost didn't buy it because, well, ... when you have a monogram letter on it, there's only about a one-out-of-twenty-six chance that somebody's liable to want it," Estell said as I held it in my hand and examined it more closely.

"What's the price?" I asked.

Estelle sauntered over to the cash register and consulted an ancient, dog-earned ledger of some sort that was filled with handwritten notations about the store inventory. She flipped through several pages and ran her finger down a column until she stopped.

"We're asking two hunnert twenty-five for it, but if this is for Kass, I can let it go for two hunnert," Estelle said.

I nodded. "That include a box and giftwrapping?"

"Sure. We'll throw that in," Estelle said. When I produced my credit card, Estelle said Yesteryear had never gotten credit card readers, but that she'd accept a personal check or cash. I hadn't written a check in years, I told her. Fortunately, she noted, there was a Regions Bank branch with an ATM just round the corner. In the time it took for her to wrap the pendant, I had secured the necessary cash and returned. I stuffed the glittery box with its tidy ribbon and bow into the breast pocket of my blazer and returned to Ryder, who waited patiently in the locked Tahoe.

"That's one thing off my list, Ry. Now for the big meeting of the morning," I told my attentive dog.

I followed a state highway two miles east of Danville, then another mile south on a winding county road until I saw the vast, gently rolling expanse of pastureland with horses grazing in the distance, all of it framed within what seemed to be miles of neat, bright white wooden fencing. When I finally found the turnoff to Chestnut Mare Farms, I pulled onto the paved drive that cut through the expanse of bluegrass for nearly a quarter of a mile. I parked adjacent to a red-painted stable, as I had been instructed.

Jerilyn Bates sat at a table on the patio in the midst of her garden. On the table was a Bankers Box stuffed with files, a carafe of coffee and two cups.

▼ ▼ ▼

I was cutting it close. I'd promised Kass I'd be back no later than 11:45 so we could head out on our scouting expedition looking for items to add to her store inventory or to the menu at Lou & Emma's. But the meeting with Jerilyn Bates had run a little longer than I had expected. When I parallel parked across the street from Felson's, the dashboard clock on my Tahoe read 11:54 a.m.

"Sorry I'm late, Kass. Time got away from me," I said as I burst through the front door.

"Kass had to run upstairs, Les," Millie called out to me from behind the counter. "Something she said she forgot."

"That's fine. I can wait," I said.

"Glad you and Kass found your way back together. I don't know about you, but this winter was really hard on my Kass. Changed her. One minute I'd catch her back in the office crying, next minute she'd be out here yelling at me or the girls. One of them quit on her. I was thinking about it."

I nodded. "I never felt lower in my life than those months. And it was all my fault. Not only was I afraid Kass could never forgive me, I couldn't see a way for me to ever forgive myself. But it taught me the most important lesson of my life, Millie, so I guess that's the silver lining."

Just then, a door from the rear and a staircase that connects to the second-floor apartment opened and there was Kass, having shed her work clothes for a sundress, a pink visor and a pair of pink Keds slip-ons. Setting it off were a pair of Ray-Ban Wayfarer-style shades with pink frames.

"There you are," she said. "What kept you?"

"Oh, did a little shopping and met with a prospective client," I said.

"A client? In Danville?"

"I'll fill you in on the way."

"Well that'll give us something to talk about," she said, turning and heading to the front door as I followed. "Millie, we'll probably be back after closing time. Got my phone if you need anything. Don't wait up."

Kass had just cleared the front door and reached the sidewalk when she froze in her tracks. Her jaw dropped.

"What's the matter, baby?" I said, pausing to look back at her.

"Les. That's her," Kass said, looking at someone on the sidewalk across Main Street.

"That's who," I asked.

Kass nodded toward a thin, dark-haired woman in sunglasses now crossing the street toward us. On either side of her, a small child — a boy and a girl — held each of her hands.