Once We Were Brothers (14 page)

“And what if Rosenzweig isn’t Piatek, after all? Have you considered that possibility? What if Piatek ended up dead in the war? Or exists somewhere as a retired plumber? You’ve got to have proof of the connection. That’s what she’s looking for.”

“Rosenzweig
is
Piatek. And I will have the proof. I just need Catherine to believe in me and be strong.”

“Don’t sell her short, Ben. She’s a good person and a great lawyer. You can believe in her, even if she doesn’t believe in herself. Sometimes she’s her own worst enemy.”

Ben turned to Liam. “I’ve come to notice that. How well do you know her?

“About as well as two friends can know each other.”

“Who is she, Liam? Tell me about her. After all, I’m entrusting quite a lot to her.”

Liam pondered the request. “I guess you’re entitled,” he finally said. “Cat was two years behind me in high school. Prettiest thing you ever saw. A buddy of mine was dating her and that’s how we met. She was part of our social group. After a while we came to be very close friends. I became her confidant. She’d call me at night and talk to me like a girlfriend.”

Liam stared at the condensation on his beer mug. “I always had a crush on her, but you know how it is, they never date their best friends. So even after she broke up with my buddy, I stood on the sidelines as she passed through her high school ups and down – the boyfriends, the trueloves, the break-ups.

“After graduation, she attended UCLA and I went downstate to Illinois on a football scholarship.”

“Football?”

Liam nodded. “I played tight end. Started every game until I blew out my knee in the last game of my senior year. I had aspirations of playing professionally, but a Wisconsin strong-side linebacker ended those dreams. Anyway, even though we were thousands of miles apart, Catherine and I stayed connected. We’d get together on the breaks and the vacations. Just best friends hanging out.

“After she got her undergraduate degree, she enrolled at Northwestern Law School and moved back to Chicago. Every so often we’d link up for dinner or a movie. We’d still have our ‘girl talk.’ ‘Who are you seeing,’ she’d ask me. ‘Is it serious?’ It never was. I’d tell her I was still waiting for the right one to come along.”

Ben smiled. “So how come you didn’t tell Catherine she was the right one?”

“Hey, wait a minute. We’re talking about
Catherine’s
life story, not mine. Don’t twist this around, you sneaky old coot.”

“Well, I’m just thinking, maybe they’re connected.”

“Yeah, well, quit thinking.”

Liam finished his beer and ordered another. “Cat was a great law student and finished near the top of her class. She had offers from all the top firms. She ended up taking a job at Drexel Youngquist and was soon on her way up the ladder. She was a rising star.

“It was in her seventh year, she had just made partner at Drexel, when she met Peter Goodrich. He was a trader at the Mercantile Exchange in the high flying Nineties. Good looking and glamorous. Fancy car, fancy clothes. Mister Rush Street.”

Liam shook his head. “I never liked the guy. I knew he was wrong for her. I told her, too. ‘You’re just like my mother,’ she said one day, giving me a kiss on the cheek. ‘Always trying to protect me. But I’m a big girl, so don’t worry.’

“She fell head over heels for this glamour-boy and within six months they’d moved into a condo off Michigan Avenue. A year later they were husband and wife. He was big time at the Merc, pulling down seven figures, spending money like a rock star. It was a train wreck in the making, but she couldn’t see it. God bless her heart, she gave herself completely to the bastard. She believed all his bullshit.

“The sky fell three years ago. The Feds showed up one night with a warrant and a forfeiture notice. The government froze all their property, including their joint bank accounts and their condominium. Goodrich was arrested two days later in the home of a girlfriend, one of several, it turned out.”

“What’d he do?” Ben said.

“Fraud. Theft. Ponzi scheme. He ran a fund and used the trust assets to fund his commodities trading. He was way over the edge in corn futures, and when the market dipped he couldn’t make the margin call. It was a big swing, millions of dollars. He borrowed what he could from everyone they knew, and what he couldn’t borrow, he swindled with more phony securities. He’d even talked Cat’s mother into loaning him her retirement fund. Cat never knew any of this was going on.

“When the shit hit the fan, she was devastated and went into a tailspin. She couldn’t concentrate or handle her case load. She quit her position at Drexel so she could cash in her profit sharing and give it to her mother. The disillusionment knocked her for a loop. She couldn’t deal with the betrayal or the shame. Even though they didn‘t blame her, she couldn’t face her friends. Deep depression set in. A total breakdown.”

Liam paused for a moment, sifting through his memories. “When I think of all the people affected by her breakdown, it was Mickey Shanahan who took the biggest hit. She has never forgiven herself for what she did to Mickey. He was her mentor at the firm. A legend. Probably the best trial lawyer in Chicago. And she worshipped him. When she fell apart, Mickey tried to cover for her. He handled her overdue assignments, he appeared in court on her cases, and he supported her in the stormy partner meetings. But in the end, Mickey was left picking up the pieces. There were angry clients and the firm lost a lot of business. Not to mention the malpractice claims. Mickey ended up taking the blame and caught a six month suspension from the disciplinary commission.

“To make matters worse, Mickey was going through a bad time himself. He had tragically lost his wife a few months before, a loss from which Mickey has never recovered. Cat felt terrible that she was wasn’t there for Mickey, but then, Cat wasn’t even there for herself.

“She had a sister in Iowa City who finally came in, bundled her up and brought her out to Iowa to rehabilitate. Weeks later, she recovered enough to take a job waitressing in the evenings and baby-sitting her nieces during the day. Seems like a big come-down, but it was all she could handle. It was almost a year and a half before she could regain her balance enough to come back to the city.

“I was doing work at the time for Jenkins and Fairchild and I asked Walter Jenkins if he’d interview her. Of course, when he did, he liked her and hired her on the spot. She’s been in their litigation section for a little over a year and a half. And that’s her story. She’s still back on her heels a little bit, but she’ll come around.”

Liam took the last swallows of his beer and set the empty mug on the bar. “I’ve loved her forever and I’d kill anyone who’d hurt her, including Goodrich, if he ever gets out of the federal pen.”

“Is she happy working at Jenkins and Fairchild, because I don’t get the feeling she is.”

“No, she’s not. She and Mickey were doing some terrific public interest work. Stuff to be proud of. Jenkins is an institutional firm representing large corporate interests. Very unsatisfying for Cat.”

“So, why does she stay there?”

“You know how it is – you get up every day, put your shoes on and go to work. She’s well paid, enjoys the esteem of her colleagues, and has enough work to keep her conscience from reminding her how empty her soul is. But that’s a story for another day.”

“Okay,” said Ben. “It clears up a lot of questions.”

“Do me a favor, Ben. Let’s just have an evening of pleasant conversation, no talk about Poland or Otto or Rosenzweig. Okay?”

“Deal.”

“Hey there, can I get some good looking guy to buy me a drink,” said Catherine, breezing up to the bar.

“You must be talking about
me
,” Liam said. “White wine?”

“That’ll be fine. Hello, Ben.”

Ben offered his stool. “Hi, Catherine.”

They lingered at the bar for a bit. Catherine related a story from the evening’s meeting about a judge who threw a stack of motion papers at a young, first-year associate earlier that afternoon. She took a sip of wine and laughed. “It’s a right of initiation. We all went through it.”

Soon they were escorted to a small table covered with a red and white checkered tablecloth. In the center was a wax-covered Chianti jug with a glowing red candle. Catherine folded her coat, set it on the empty chair, reached down into her briefcase and pulled out a note pad. “Can we do a little business? Would you mind? This afternoon you told me about Ilse and Stanislaw’s visit. Did they come back the next night?”

“I’m under orders,” Ben said. “Only small talk. Pleasant conversation.”

“Don’t baby me, Liam,” Catherine snipped. “If I didn’t want to bring up the subject, I wouldn’t have asked. If you don’t mind the questions, Ben, I’d like to use the time because I have a busy office schedule this week.”

Ben looked at Liam who shrugged back at him. He took a sip of his water and resumed his narrative.

“After Ilse and Stanislaw left the house, everyone caucused in the living room –my father, my mother, Uncle Joseph, Aunt Hilda, Otto and me. Beka was there too, she had just turned seventeen.” He paused and lowered his head. It was clear to Liam and Catherine that some powerful memory had suddenly entered his mind and bowled him over. His words came out in short phrases. “Just had her birthday. My mother baked a big cake. Whipped-cream filled. It was her favorite. With a big seventeen on the top. In pink. Beka was so beautiful, so full of life, so good and honest.” Ben’s throat clutched. “So innocent.” His eyes reddened and he suddenly stood up. “It was my fault,” he said to Catherine. “Damn. It was all my fault. I’m so sorry Beka.” He turned and rushed toward the door.

Watching him dash outside, Liam shot an astonished look at Catherine. “Jesus. I wonder what that was all about. Maybe we should give him a break.”

“Both of us need a break,” she answered. “I took major shit tonight in the litigation meeting. ‘Why are you wasting billable hours?’ they said to me. ‘You’re falling behind,’ they said. I know it’s not all Ben’s fault, I’ve become wrapped up in this saga myself, but it’s monopolizing all my time and I can’t get untangled. I can’t even get to the stage where I can make an informed decision.” She shook her head. “Sometimes I could punch you for getting me involved in this mess.”

“I’m sorry, Cat, I didn’t know he’d go on so long. He says you have to know the details. He wants you to have an emotional investment. I’m not sure what I can do.”

She shook her head. “I’m just getting frustrated.” Then she leaned over and said quietly, “Can I tell you something. You’ll think I’m nuts.”

Liam smiled and leaned forward. “I already think you’re nuts.”

“Sometimes when Ben’s telling his story, he spaces out. His eyes gloss over and he goes into a zone. It’s like he’s gone into another dimension or something.”

“Cat. He just has powerful memories.”

“No. It’s more. Really. There is something surreal about it. He’ll be describing a scene and it’s like he’s actually looking at it, not just remembering it. He speaks in the present tense.” She paused and tightened her lips. “Don’t give me that skeptical look, Liam. I’m a little creeped by this. You know how he always talks to Hannah? Well, I think he sees her. I think he’s really talking to her.”

“You’re right.”

“What?”

“I think you’re nuts.” He smiled.

Catherine smiled. “Maybe you’re right.”

“Is he eventually going to tell you that his best friend becomes a Nazi, betrays his family and community and ends up with the family’s fortune? Is that what you expect?”

“Without question. I know that’s where he’s going, but it’s more than that. It’s deeper. Piatek did something. Something terrible. I don’t know what it is.”

Ben returned to the table. “I’m sorry. Please forgive me. I’ll be all right now.”

“Let’s just have our dinner, Ben, and we’ll talk tomorrow.”

He nodded. Dinner plates were set around and the conversation remained light.

During coffee, Ben said suddenly, “If you wouldn’t mind, would you please take out your notepad, Catherine. There are a few things I wanted to tell you while I’m still thinking of them.”

She looked at Liam and back to Ben. “Are you sure?”

“I want to file my lawsuit. I want to get on with this just as much as you do.”

Catherine pulled out her note pad.

“After Ilse left, we gathered in the living room, all of us, and Otto kept shaking his head. ‘I’m not going to become a Nazi,’ he said. ‘I’m not my mother’s good little German soldier and I won’t select people to be slaves for the Nazis. I’m standing with you; I’ll wear the arm band. Whatever they have in store for you, it goes for me too.’

“Aunt Hilda praised him. She said, ‘You’re a good boy, Otto. Don’t get into bed with those animals.’

“My father, however, surprised us all when he urged Otto to reconsider.

“‘Let’s not dismiss this so quickly. You’re not a Jew, you don’t have so-called Jewish Blood, and you haven’t been branded. You don’t have to wear an arm band and you’re not subject to restrictions on where you can go and what you can do. There may come a time when we need someone who can move about freely.’

“The room was quiet. We all deferred to Father’s wisdom. ‘You can’t live in a Jewish household anymore,’ he said. ‘They’ve made that clear. And I fear things will get worse before they get better. I think you should accept your mother’s proposal, take the appointment and move out. You can help us all by being on the inside.’