Impasse (14 page)

 

CHAPTER 16

The plane didn't come. Stu lay on the rock again, fighting to stay alert. He pinched his skin, talked to himself, and checked the clock on his phone every few minutes.
Screw the battery.
And still, nothing came over the ridge but a lone hawk, and even if he squinted, he couldn't pretend it was a plane. It took all evening to drag himself up the mountain again. He stopped to rest and to drain his bowels every hundred yards, too proud to soil his pants, and when he reached the hard wooden cot, he collapsed like a marathoner who'd overrun his training. In the night he was either uncomfortable or unconscious.

He couldn't hike back down to the lake the next morning. His tortured body was too weak, so he simply hauled himself outside and leaned against the cabin, which leaned against the pine. He imagined that he looked like a small domino leaning against a large one. And he listened for the plane. He planned to fire the rifle as a signal if he heard an engine, and to use the flare from the Great Beyond emergency kit. But the sky remained quiet. It was cloudy and cold, and his hands were numb, but he didn't have the energy to drag himself back inside for gloves, so he mostly kept them shoved into his pockets. This time the day didn't warm up. Soon he couldn't feel the toes on his tennis-shoed foot either. And everything that he
could
feel hurt. He wasn't vomiting so much anymore, but stomach cramps doubled him over at intervals. Nor was he thirsty, but he was aware he needed to drink, and he forced himself to do so, sipping a small mouthful every minute or two. He was out of water by ten o'clock in the morning. By noon he was out of cell phone battery. The one thing he had plenty of, he noted, was bullets.

And then it began to snow again, big wet flakes. Stu wondered if the indigenous people had a name for this particular type. He sure did, and it wasn't a nice one. They fell on him for maybe an hour—he could no longer keep track of the time—before he crawled back inside. He would still hear a plane from the cot, he reasoned. But it was token logic. He didn't expect to hear anything now. He just wanted to be comfortable, or as comfortable as possible.

But as Stu stretched himself on the cot that might be his final resting place, he couldn't get comfortable. It was a grim realization: he would die slowly and in pain, watching white snow trickle through the torn ceiling, past the red stain of rat blood he'd painted it with.

How did I get here?
A simple question with an easy answer. It had all started with Butz. He'd had a sinking feeling the first time he'd read the Court of Appeals decision that had walked his murderer, and his life had been the second half of a bell curve graph ever since. This was merely the inevitable ending for which he'd volunteered seven years ago. “No body, no case,” Stu's fellow attorneys at the Bristol County DA's Office had warned him. He hadn't listened. But as he lay dying in the ramshackle cabin in the middle of the Alaska interior, he wished he had.

 

CHAPTER 17

(ONE WEEK EARLIER)

Katherine hadn't spent much time at the firm's office, but Clay's e-mail summoning her had been insistent. She arrived to find the formerly half-empty Bluestone Building abuzz with activity. The back door was locked, but the front was open for a change, and several men and women in suits were arriving. She entered through the main entrance to find the previously locked and dusty lobby scrubbed and furnished with a three-foot-high vase full of fresh flowers. A large new plaque on the wall pronounced Buchanan, Stark & Associates the proud occupants of the fourth
and
fifth floors, instead of just the second. A stunning young receptionist behind an antique table hailed her while she stared about. The girl was smartly dressed in a dark pencil skirt and a conservatively ruffled white blouse—the uniform of real law firms. No fuchsia in sight.

“May I help you?”

Katherine was befuddled. “Yes, I'm here to see Mr. Buchanan. Usually, I'm forced to hike up the back stairs, but it seems they're locked.”

“I'll phone up for him. Name?”

“Katherine. He should be expecting me. What is all of this?”

“Please forgive the chaos. We just settled a big case and we're remodeling our local offices.”

Katherine cocked an eyebrow. “A big case? Really? Sounds exciting. I'll have to ask your boss about it.”

Pencil skirt girl buzzed the phone. “He'll be right down, Katherine. Can I get you some bottled water or tea while you wait?”

“No, thank you. I'll just loiter in the entryway until he decides to let me in.” She smiled curtly and wandered back into the foyer, studying the newly polished marble and admiring the fresh bouquet. The space smelled like baking soda and potpourri.

Katherine was surprised when the elevator clanged its arrival. The clunky old thing hadn't worked since they'd started the firm. Its doors shuddered opened, and Clay strode out wearing a new perfectly tailored suit.

“Kate! Thanks for coming.”

“Fixing the old place up?”

“Big meeting today.”

“Big win, too, I hear from the receptionist I've never seen before. What's going on?”

“Stuart didn't tell you?”

Katherine gave him a blank look.

“Molson,” Clay said. “We settled it on his birthday.”

“No. He didn't tell me.”

“Hmmm.” Clay cocked his head, thinking, then he took Katherine by the hand and marched her to the elevator. He ushered her inside, then joined her and closed the door. The elevator car was small, and they had to stand shoulder to shoulder. The familiar scent of lavender on him made her nostrils flare. Standing so close, she noticed that he was at least three inches taller than Stu. He didn't look at her, and instead stared politely at the floor numbers. He hit number five and the button lit up.

“Not the second floor?”

“We're on the fifth today. I would have thought an observant girl like you would have noticed the new sign in the lobby.” He gave her a self-satisfied grin.

“Touch
é
. So tell me about Molson.”

“Isn't that for your spouse to do? He must have a reason for keeping it from you.”

“He probably wants to make sure it's a done deal before he tells me. He likes to be certain all the
i'
s are dotted and
t
's crossed. He's like that. But I'm not. I'm the curious type.”

“I see. He's protecting you. Doesn't want to get you all worked up if nothing's going to happen.” Clay's eyes darted to her and then back up at the floor numbers again.

“But something
is
going to happen, isn't it?”

“Yes.”

“Then don't tease.”

“Okay.” Clay gave her a quick summary of the facts and procedural posture of the case. She already knew them by heart; Stu debated them with himself in the shower, and so she'd heard the arguments over and over. Now that the case was done, the only thing she didn't know was
the number
. Stu had said the number might be big if they went to trial and won. But they hadn't gone to trial. They'd settled. Settlements could fetch nothing more than “go away” money, or they could make dreams come true. And from the looks of the remodeled office …

Katherine's pulse quickened.

“Three million,” Clay said.

Katherine's heart leaped into her throat. As soon as she was sure she'd heard right, she started doing the math. “That means our third is one million dollars?”

“No,” Clay said.

“No?”

“Three million
is
our third. One-point-five each.”

“Oh my God! It was nine million?”

“Precisely. I phoned Sylvia today, and she is delighted with her six.”

The old elevator creaked to a stop on the fifth floor, and they exited. Katherine felt like she was floating.

The new office space was spare but sharp, a minimalist style with slim computer terminals instead of paperwork scattered across desks. There were four people in suits that Katherine didn't recognize tapping away at keyboards with their office doors closed.

“Who are all these people?”

“These are the previously mythical associates of Buchanan, Stark & Associates.”

“You hired more attorneys?”

“Temporarily. For today. And not necessarily attorneys, but they sure look the part, don't they? Step into our conference room, please, Ms. Stark.”

She entered. He followed, right at her shoulder. A large conference table dominated the room, and twelve chairs surrounded it. The previous conference room was an empty break room with a sink; it had seated five, uncomfortably. Clay took the head of the table. Katherine sat on the side and left an empty seat between them. Given the good news, she had a mad urge to leap across the table and hug his trim, lavender-smelling body, but it was best to keep some distance, she thought.

“You look like you have questions,” he said, and Katherine realized she was staring at him without saying anything.

“There's so much going on here, I don't know where to start.”

“That's exactly how I feel,” Clay replied, smiling. “In fact, it's a bit overwhelming, but winners plan for success.”

“Stu hasn't mentioned any of this.”

“He's been resistant. He doesn't adjust well to change, you know.”

Katherine giggled. “You've got that right.”

“Then you see the genius of my scheme, the reason I sent him to Alaska. He truly does need it. And it's better if all this is in place before he gets back from his trip. Besides, much of it is just for show. We've got a big meeting today.”

“Dugan?”

“Yep. And we need to impress. Bigger is better with men like him. He'll want to see a show.”

“If you land his business on the heels of the Molson settlement…” Katherine didn't finish her sentence. Her head was spinning as though she'd had one too many glasses of Aged to Perfection.

“It's all part of the plan. Success begets success. Imagine you have one-point-five million dollars, but you have to pay your bills with it. Nice. Comfortable. But you're not rich. Now imagine you have one-point-five million dollars, and your bills are being paid by a second source—monthly fees from Dugan's corporation, for instance. Now your million-five is spending money. Get it?”

She
did
get it. This was Stu's first million. And at forty it wasn't too late. If Stu had been there she'd have kissed him right in the middle of the office. He wasn't. But his handsome partner made for a very interesting proxy, she thought. She let her imagination play as Clay sat smiling at her in his fitted suit, allowing her to enjoy the moment.

“I still can't believe it,” she said at length. “Three million? Stu said it was possible, but I had no idea it could happen this fast.” In fact, Stu had warned her that it would take years of work with no guarantees. It was just like Stu to understate the upside of something, she thought. He made only safe predictions. He also reveled in toil and had a perverse need to earn every penny he made; it came from his parents, who were children of Depression-era farmers. He was uncomfortable with money that didn't have the stink of sweat on it. For her, however, it was a relief to laugh after all the years of struggle, and she did so freely for the first time in as long as she could remember.

“Clay, I take back all of the bad things I've always said about you.”

Clay's eyes found hers. He leaned toward her, pushing the chair that sat between them out of the way. She sucked in a breath when he put a hand on her knee, but she didn't protest. He spoke softly but was perfectly audible in the empty room. His tone might have been playful or menacing; it was hard to tell.

“Oh really? Have you been saying bad things, Kate?”

She couldn't hold his gaze, and blinked. “Just that you're such a cowboy.”

“That I am. But a lot of people consider cowboys heroes.” He sat back. “And let's not forget your husband. He's been a most excellent sidekick.”

Stu as a sidekick was an amusing image. Katherine pictured Clay sitting tall in the saddle, wearing a ten-gallon hat, with the big outlaw Dugan being led behind him with his hands tied to a rope, and Stuart walking alongside in a bowler, like some fussy banker. Stu wasn't dynamic, fair enough, but he did do all the work. And so, although the comment was funny, it was a touch insulting, too.

“He's the brains of the operation,” Clay added quickly, not letting the slight stand for more than a moment.

“So you're comfortable having your brains in Alaska for the big meeting.”

“I don't need brains for this. I just need you.”

“How so?”

“You represent a ‘partner presence.'”

“I can't replace Stu.”

“You won't. You'll just meet and greet our prospective client. I'll call him Mr. Dugan, but you call him Reggie. He'll ask for coffee, black. You'll get it for him.”

She considered objecting—she wasn't a serving wench—but then she remembered Clay's hand in her hair. At the party her own pride had almost kept her from scoring the meeting with Dugan. She'd been hesitant, like Stu, and careful. But Clay wasn't. He'd been bold. He'd grabbed her and set her on a different path, the path to success.
And he'd been right.

Clay was watching her. “I understand your hesitation,” he said. “But Reggie's old-fashioned, and you have to play people the way they lie. Our goal isn't to change our clients; it's to understand them and make them want us. We're working here. You can be a feminist on your own time.”

Katherine was amazed. It was as though Clay were reading her thoughts, only he wouldn't let her hold herself back. She wondered if she had been holding back for years. She'd been unyielding in building an image of herself as a progressive, independent woman, and Stu had blindly supported her one-dimensional approach. Now, suddenly, Clay was encouraging her to employ other facets of her womanhood, not as a concession, but as a stratagem. Clay knew how to adapt. Did she? She'd never considered that she could be a modern woman with Stu but put on a retro face for another man and, thereby, play them both.