Sailing to The Bottom

My lawyer brain kicked in, and I realized I would need to not only get out of there but to ensure that no one knew that I had been there. I needed to get back to Chicago before I was missed. A snowstorm and the late hour made this difficult, but the planes were still flying to Indianapolis and the train still running to Chicago.

Friday morning found me at breakfast when the rest of the CGC team arrived having risen late due to the suspended work schedule. I spent the day making phone calls to the various litigation parties until I secured an agreement to work through the weekend to cover the delay. I spent that evening hatching and discarding plans for vengeance. I told myself that I sought only self-preservation, but in truth, I sought revenge. The hate burned in my soul with a white-hot heat. It was a beast who needed sating.

However, there seemed no way to appease my wrath. What could a lowly associate due to a named partner? Our letterhead had three places for attorney names. There were partners whose names appeared on the right side below a line and those whose name appeared above the line, but the name Crane was at the top of the page, part of the firm name. His place was set in stone, and it would take the proverbial irresistible force to shift him from his exalted position.

As regards my wife, I was indifferent. I loved her, but now that love was leavened with hate. I couldn't stop my heart from aching with the pain I felt because I still loved her, and I hated her all the more because of that love. I would say she was a woman without feeling if I didn't deep inside suspect that all women are without feeling. Such was my dark state of mind as that snowy day became a cold, dreary night.

Saturday as agree the depositions began once again in a ballroom of the Marriot Hotel where the majority of the legal staffs were staying. The hotel gave us one of their smaller ballrooms. The rooms are all on a lower level set on two sides of a wide corridor. The combined staff of three plaintiff firms and three defense firms moved all the disclosure materials into place at one end of a room. The support staff began sorting and copying documents on the individual firm photocopy machines, rented for the purpose. While at the other end of the room, the attorneys deposed witnesses around a large conference table.

Needless to say, my mind was not fully on the job at hand, nor did I see any reason for it to be. Roger Crane was playing me. My work here was of no matter. He had what he wanted, and that was my wife. Still, my lawyer mind could not shut the whole business out. In fact, my sub-conscience mind was often far more intelligent and intuitive than my conscience.

It was afternoon almost one-thirty when we had agreed to take a brief lunch stop. The attorney for the architects was grilling a minor engineer on an obscure point concerning steel. He seemed to be laying the groundwork for an argument that somehow the steel superstructure was at fault for the foundation slipping sideways which caused a fourteen-story façade to collapse, a theory that required a kind of domino effect to succeed.

The engineer quickly explained why the theory could not work ending with the statement, "You would need steel far below the strength your own client specified, and the inspectors certified, and that still won't cause this kind of disaster."

It was the one word, "inspectors." At the moment, he spoke it my mind saw the inspection reports for the steel imported from China. They came to my mind unbidden. There was only the one inspector on all sixteen reports, not inspectors an INSPECTOR on sixteen separate deliveries with the steel tested and certified sound and true to specifications. "Only the one inspector, but Why?"

In that instant, a door opened in my mind. It was marked possibility, and it would need to be stepped through very carefully. I looked about checking for what must exist in the room we were in, a set of back doors that led to the hotel kitchens from the banquet room. At the lunch break, I waited and checked the doors. They were locked from the inside. A piece of tape over the latch when everyone else was at lunch, and I would have access on Sunday when my opponents were resting for the work to begin again on Monday.

Sunday morning at five a.m., I was searching for the inspection certificates. There were literally hundreds of banker's boxes filled with discovery material, two hundred and twelve, and this was only the first phase of discovery. I began by locating the boxes my client had shipped from its Westchester facility. I had just found the box containing the steel invoices and delivery reports when one of the front doors began to open.

I was caught. It wasn't ethical to be in there alone without my opposing counsel. There would be questions and complaints. However, as the door opened a cart was pushed through. In came a small Hispanic woman. She had her cleaning cart and was going to tidy up the supposedly empty room. She gave me a smile and then in halting English asked my permission to clean the room.

"Of course, go right on with your work. Sorry, if we left a mess, but please close the door."

She worked very efficiently and was gone in forty minutes. By eight a.m., I had what I was looking for. A quick trip to the hired photocopier and duplicates replaced the originals. I removed the tape from the door as I slipped out the back to have breakfast making sure to be seen in the hotel dining room. The rest of the plan would have to wait until I returned to New York.

*****

"Is something wrong?" Leslie asked.

We were at dinner in a little Italian restaurant called Sam's on Court Street about six blocks from our home. It was a Friday night, the end of a hard week. I had been burning hours of time on the Marquee case. I was essentially working both sides of the case. I had been prepping the defense position, but devising an opposing plaintiff case that undermined it. In hand, I had the report of a document authentication expert who said that twelve of the sixteen inspection reports were forgeries.

"Just tired," I said.

"I hope this case ends soon so I can get my husband back. Do you realize that we haven't made love since you got back from Chicago? It's been nearly a month. Not since the night before you left, and we made such passionate love," Leslie said with a suggestive smile.

Yes, I remembered that special night when it seemed the world was truly mine because I had this loving woman in bed with me. It was near impossible to believe that same woman was the false whore I had seen with Roger Crane.

"Sorry, but it will all be over soon," I promised.

And it would, just as soon as I could sneak into Roger Crane office and find the truth about what caused the accident. The client would have confessed in confidence to his attorney, but Roger would have been careful to bury the facts in the piles of irrelevant data. The other defendants would have confessed their sins to their attorneys who would have done the same. Each firm striving to obscure the facts and delay the proceedings. You need to think like a lawyer. We are blundering along in Chicago. We call endless witnesses, review documents, and most important create time records for billable hours.

When the attorney's fees had mounted sufficiently, the various insurance companies would cut a deal. A pot of money would be established, and a new law firm appointed to administer the fund for the many victims (at a considerable fee.) The pattern is always the same. The plaintiffs get paid out as little as possible and the law firms bill as much as possible. Everyone understands the system going in. The winner is the firm that can bill the most hours at the highest rate. Only a legal catastrophe can change things. I was planning a catastrophe.

The least likely time to be interrupted in a law firm is early in the morning. Midnight will find the place filled with junior associates, but morning just before six a.m., and you can have the place to yourself. My first problem was gaining access to Crane's office. I could have broken in, but that would leave a trail. I needed to go in, find Crane's personal case notes, and combine them with the steel inspection reports.

I needed to get on Crane's machine and email it all to the other parties. Crane would be accused of an unpardonable legal sin, telling the truth. It was something no lawyer could recover from. He would deny this terrible deed, but none would believe him.

They would, of course, want to speak to me, but all they would find was a letter of resignation stating why the action of releasing the information had forced me to resign. I worked it all out including my disappearance. I had my exit plan. I would buy a boat and sail down the coast. They would check the planes, trains, and automobiles, but who checks for an escape by pleasure boat.

I had to get into his office, and he kept it locked. He had good reason. He kept the password to his computer taped to the inside of his lower desk drawer. Each time he left his office, he faithfully locked his desk and the office door.

For two weeks, I watched and waited for that careless moment when he forgot to lock that door. It never came. I was due to go back to Chicago for round two. More hours whose only purpose was the entries on the billing sheets. Had I truly gone to school for this? I watched Crane the Monday I was to leave for Chicago. He locked the door and placed the keys in his suit pocket.

"SUIT POCKET!" he leaves the suit on the rocking chair.

When would he meet Leslie again? I didn't have an answer to that question, but I needed to find out, so I could get those keys from his suit pocket. All the way home I pondered it. When I reached our townhouse, Leslie was waiting for me with my packed suitcase.

"What's wrong with you Mike. You've a plane to catch. The car service is due to be here any minute."

She was right; I was supposed to leave work early but had forgotten. I just had time to make my plane. She shook her head, gave me a smile, and a shove out the door where the CGC car service was pulling up to the curb. From the steps, she called, "I love you, and we need to talk when you get back from Chicago. I have some wonderful news I've been waiting to tell you until I was sure."

I took the car service to the airport, but there I changed my flight to the morning. The depositions were to start at ten with the traffic from the airport in Chicago; I would never make it on time, but I no longer cared.

Back in Brooklyn, I sneaked into my own backyard. About ten, I saw the bedroom light come on. When it dimmed, I entered through the back door. They were going at it when I reached the second floor. They hadn't closed the bedroom door, and I could hear her telling him how wonderful his cock felt, but that he should let her do the work "after all that's my job, pleasing my handsome powerful lover," she said sounding more and more like a whore. She had him convinced because he was raving about how good and hot she was, "the hottest piece of ass I know," he praised.

His suit jacket had made the back of the of the rocking chair, but his pants were balled on the floor further into the room. They had obviously been discarded in a rush. I crept in and searched his jacket pockets while she was riding his cock from on top with her increasing vocal encouragement and false rapture.

No keys! For a moment, I was stymied. They had to be in his pants. I got down on all fours and crawled to where he had dropped his pants. The moment I lifted them; I heard the keys jingle. I froze almost sure they must have heard, but they were oblivious. Grabbing the keys, I crawled back. I had little time. I rushed from the house ran up Court street until I spied a taxi and then headed to the office.

In the offices of CGC, it might as well have been noon. There were no secretaries or partners, but I doubt there was an associate missing. I came in and made a point of saying hi to everyone I knew. I walked purposely to Crane's office and opened it. I moved quickly in and unlocked his desk. Then I left waving goodbye and saying I was on my way to Chicago. No one questioned me. I was there barely a moment. Then I raced back to my house walked in the front door, up the hall steps, and dropped the keys into Roger Crane's suit jacket pocket. As near as I could tell, they had fallen asleep. At least, the noise and the fucking had stopped.

At five thirty the next morning, having spent the time in between in an all-night diner near Chamber's street, I entered CGC signing Roger Crane's name into the log book before a half-asleep guard and proceeded to his office. The file I needed was in his desk drawer, all his notes on his private conversation with the client. Sure enough, they had discussed the substandard steel and how they had fudged the inspection reports. I added the stolen steel inspection reports and then scanned the bundle into his computer.

I emailed the lot to the entire list of attorneys in the Marquee Hotel case. I caught the 7:15 a.m. to Chicago arriving at 9:30 a.m., but it took till almost 10:40 a.m. to reach the hotel where the parties were to meet. The ballroom we were working in was devoid of attorneys. Apparently, chaos had ensued when they opened their email that morning. The attorneys were all off conferencing with their home offices. After all, a great deal in legal fees were at stake. The paralegals and investigators were milling around like lost souls.

My paralegal gave me a copy of Crane's email, and I fell into a chair apparently in shock. After a few moments, I took out my tablet and composed a simple letter of resignation. I ended with the words, "In light of Roger Crane's most unethical conduct, I feel I can be no longer associate with this firm." This was, in fact, true, but the unethical conduct was having sex with my wife which I failed to mention.

It took me two days to reach Baltimore. I wasn't in a hurry. I cashed out the small stock account that Leslie and I had and used the proceeds to buy Annabelle. By then Roger Crane was all over the Law Journal and had an article in the New York Times. The more he denied the disclosure; the more people believed he was guilty.

CGC wasted no time in expelling him from the partnership, but it did them no good. The damage was done and a year later they dissolved the partnership. I got little mention in all this. I was described as the "Young lawyer who left because he was so humiliated by his senior's actions," in a way, this was true. I didn't leave Leslie a note. As far as I was concerned, the marriage ended when she took Crane to our bed. I sailed the boat down the east coast. No one asked for identification.

In the Caribbean, they would check my passport and ask where I was born. When I told them Scranton, P.A., they would nod and move to the next boat. As far as I knew, no one came looking for me until Leslie showed up just thirty feet of blue water away.

"Mike Dougherty, I've found you. Please come over and talk to me," She said standing on the dock and looking so sweet in her sundress.

I couldn't continue to hide in the cabin, so I came up on deck, "Go away. We have nothing to say to each other."

"You know that's not true. You owe me an explanation. I'm your wife, goddamm it! You can't just leave without a word. I've been searching for you for over five years. Come over here and talk to me!"

Her voice had taken on that commanding tone that I had heard her use so effectively in business, but this wasn't business, and I was not about to be pushed around.

I cupped my mouth with my hands and shouted, "GO AWAY!"

Her hands came to her hips, and I could see the flush that came to her face when she lost her temper. This brought a smile to my limps. What she did next, I did not expect. She seized the hem of her sundress in both hands and pulled it over her head. Beneath it, she wore only a pair of French cut white panties. She was braless, and her tits swung free as she dove into the water.

As I said, thirty feet is no great distance. Leslie is a good swimmer and crossed the narrow divide of water between us in just moments. My final defense was to pull up the rope ladder to prevent her boarding the Annabelle, but she foxed me by swimming to one of the two anchor ropes and hauling herself aboard.

She was a bit out of breath with her sprint of a swim and rope climbing, but she managed one of her smugly satisfied smiles. I had seen that smile before every time she managed to one-up me at anything. She was one of those women who cannot help competing with her man in some predominantly male activity. She took inordinate pleasure in pelting me with a snowball or besting me in a foot race, even if she needed to cheat to do it. In fact, as I could remember she liked it better when she did cheat.

I found myself smiling back at her. There was just too much between us. We had been friends as well as lovers, and I had been missing her these last five years, but then the memory of her and Crane came flooding back, and I scowled back at her, "Get off my boat!"

"No, not until you tell me why you deserted me. I have a right to know."

She had crossed her arms over her chest to hide her bare breasts. She was still a wonderfully beautiful woman, but thinner in the body and face than I remembered.

"You can't be that stupid," I said, "Do you believe that I would put up with your affair."

"What?" she said looking genuinely puzzled.

"Oh, please," I said, "a slut like you may have forgotten fucking Roger Crane, but I haven't."

The slap caught me unawares but was nothing compared to the punch, she followed it with. I did manage to block the third blow and wrap my arms around her to prevent any more, but she sunk her teeth into my shoulders. The worst part was I was now holding that beautiful body, and despite the pain from the shoulder bite, I was becoming aroused.

Then, of course, she began to cry. It was a pattern so familiar. First she loses her temper and becomes physically violent with me, then she cries and feels sorry for herself because I'm so cruel. Why a woman should feel entitled to hit her mate. I have no idea. I suppose considering my size and her being unable to do any serious physical damage to me, there is an emotional release to be gain at no actual bodily harm.

"But the biting really has to stop," I said and not for the first time.

She began to laugh and then turned hostile, "How could you accuse me of having an affair," she virtually spit out.

"I saw you in our bed," I said.

"So, I fucked him, but I did it for you. It was no affair."

Now I lost my temper. Releasing her, I pushed her away causing her to fall on her butt.

"What is wrong with you?" she said.

"Me! How is your fucking my boss something for me?"

"You wanted to make partner. I knew you were a good attorney possibly a great one, but you were no ass kisser. You didn't come from some prominent family. I wasn't going to stand by and see you passed over. I did what I needed to do to get you your opportunity," she said defiantly staring at me.

There she was sitting on my deck, bare-breasted and wearing only a pair of panties now too wet to conceal what was beneath them. She's telling me that she slept with my boss to get me my chance to make partner. If it was any other woman, I would have been skeptical, but it was precisely the way Leslie thought.

The worst part was she saw no fault in her actions. She had no affair. She was simply engaged in a financial transaction. If there was anything to reincarnation, she had been a royal courtesan in a former life. Now she was on her way to managing a bank. Yet, another occupation requiring no scruples whatsoever.

"Last time, Leslie, get off my boat," I demanded.