Once We Were Brothers (45 page)

Elliot frowned. “I’m not optimistic. Set up the meeting.”

Chapter Fifty-one

“Can you check the NARA records for Elisabeth Cohen in 1947?” Catherine said to Liam. She stood behind the folding table in her makeshift war room. Ben and Liam sat on metal chairs. “She might even be listed on the same manifest as Elliot Rosenzweig.”

“I’ll go this afternoon.”

Catherine turned on her computer. “There’s an email here from Vitak Zeleinski.”

“What does it say?” Ben said.

Catherine smiled. “I have no idea. It’s in Polish.”

Ben looked over Catherine’s shoulder and read the note. “Hello, Ben. It is good to talk to you again, my friend. Life has so many odd turns. As Mr. Taggart requested, I retrieved my father’s trunk from storage. There were many pictures, but none of them showed Otto Piatek. I have no pictures of anyone in a German uniform. I did find a picture of your grandfather and I am attaching it to this email. I am the little one standing behind him. Nothing else was in the box. Just some of my mother’s things – her wedding dress and a couple of blouses. I guess they were special to my father. He died in 1970. I am sorry I cannot help you. Long life to you, my friend. Vitak.”

Catherine frowned. “That’s disappointing. I had hoped we’d find a smoking gun.”

The doorbell rang and Catherine excused herself to answer it.

“Don’t worry,” Ben said. “We’ll have plenty of guns at trial. I’m certain of it.”

Catherine returned to the room with a thick envelope. She sliced it open and pulled out a bound document running fifty-three pages entitled, “Defendant Rosenzweig’s Motion For Summary Judgment.” Liam and Ben sat quietly while Catherine skimmed through the motion.

“Well, they didn’t waste any time,” she said. “They’ve moved for judgment alleging that we have no material evidence. They attach affidavits, birth certificates, and immigration records all showing that Elliot Rosenzweig was born in Frankfurt and immigrated to Chicago in 1947.”

“I’ll bet the birth certificate doesn’t list Jacob and Mary as his parents,” Liam said.

“I expect he’ll just say he was under emotional distress at the deposition,” Catherine answered.

Ben and Liam looked at each other and then back at Catherine, with schoolboys’ expressions that waited for an answer to the unasked question.

“Don’t worry,” she said, “this motion will be denied. I’m positive. It would be a total abuse of discretion for Judge Ryan to dismiss your case. All the law requires of us at this stage is to have
some
evidence. The judge is not permitted to weigh or evaluate the evidence. That’s for the jury. The photos, Ben’s testimony, the immigration records, even Jacob and Mary – they’re all evidence. They’re all we need to get us by the motion at this time.”

“When will Judge Ryan rule on the motion?”

“I have 28 days to answer. Then Jeffers has a right to file a reply, if he so chooses. Sometime after that, maybe in six weeks, Judge Ryan will rule. Or he may defer his decision until the trial.”

Ben stared at the motion. “We have to get to trial. The world has to know.”

The telephone rang and Catherine excused herself. She returned a moment later.

“It’s Jeffers. He’s proposing a meeting between Ben and Rosenzweig to take place at his office next Monday.”

“What’s this all about?” Ben said.

“All he said was that Rosenzweig wanted to meet with Ben. No lawyers. Just the two of them.”

Ben smiled. “The weasel’s on the run.”

“We don’t have to meet. There are no requirements. I don’t see how anything positive can come out of such a meeting. But if you want to attend, I think I should go with you,” Catherine said.

“No. He said no lawyers. I’ll meet with him. I want to hear what he has to say.”

“On one condition, Ben. Liam and I will drive you there and sit in the outer office until the meeting is over.”

Ben nodded.

Chapter Fifty-two

Liam, Catherine and Ben arrived promptly at 10:00 a.m. and announced themselves to the Storch and Bennett receptionist. Moments later Jeffers walked briskly into the room, but stopped short, casting an irritated look in Catherine’s direction.

“I thought we agreed there’d be no lawyers,” he said.

“Then what are you doing here?” Liam said.

“It’s my office, Mr. Taggart.”

“We’re here to wait for Ben and make sure there’s no funny business.”

Jeffers curled his lip. “I’m offended by that remark. I’m an attorney and, unlike you, bound by strict rules of ethics and honor.”

Liam brushed him off with a wave of his hand. “Spare me. If your client’s here, let’s get the meeting going.”

Jeffers laid a printed document on the reception room table. “A few ground rules, if you please. Before you is an agreement that today’s meeting is absolutely confidential. With the exception of your lawyer, Mr. Solomon, and,” he sneered, “perhaps Mr. Taggart here, nothing you say or Mr. Rosenzweig says in this meeting may be disclosed to anyone, nor may anything be repeated or used in any way by either party in any proceeding. As you can see, Mr. Rosenzweig has already signed it.”

Ben looked to Catherine, who nodded her approval. He signed the bottom of the page and handed the paper to Jeffers. “We’d like a copy,” Catherine said.

“Of course.”

Jeffers left and returned a moment later with a burly man. His blue blazer fit snugly over his large chest and shoulders. He carried a security wand.

“Mr. Kruk is here to verify that Mr. Solomon is not wearing any eavesdropping devices.”

“Bring out Rosenzweig,” Liam snapped. “We want the same verification.”

Jeffers nodded, rolling his eyes with a theatrical show of ennui. “As you wish.” He left to fetch Elliot. “Petulance,” he muttered under his breath.

Elliot followed Jeffers slowly into the reception room. Elliot’s blue eyes, like those of an aged jungle cat, settled first on Ben and then on each of Catherine and Liam. He stood with his arms out while Kruk waved the metal detector. When the muscular security guard finished, he turned to Ben. After wanding him with no beeps, Kruk shook his head. “No guns this time, Mr. Rosenzweig,” he said.

“Let’s get this started,” Liam said.

The two were led into a small conference room and the door was closed behind them. In the center was a round glass table surrounded by four black, webbed chairs. Elliot sat directly across from Ben. For a long moment, they sat in silence, their eyes locked upon each other’s face.

Finally, Elliot took a breath, leaned forward and folded his hands on the tabletop. “Mr. Solomon, you have sued the wrong person. I want you to dismiss the lawsuit. And in exchange I am prepared to pay you whatever you think was stolen from your family during the war. I’ll write you a check today. All you need do is concede you have made a mistake.”

“Is that all?”

“Correct. Giving you the benefit of every doubt, and valuing your property at its highest and best amount, I am willing to pay you twenty million dollars. Today.”

“Twenty million? That’s five times more than I’ve claimed.”

“Call it generosity. Call it the price of peace. It’s worth it to me, Mr. Solomon, to preserve my reputation and be done with you.”

“Just concede my mistake?”

“That’s all. You don’t even have to apologize. Just admit you’ve made an error and withdraw your lawsuit.”

Ben raised his eyebrows. “I’d be a fool not to agree.”

“Excellent. In anticipation of your response, I have taken the liberty of having my attorney draft a settlement agreement and I’ll ask him to bring it in.” Elliot stood.

Ben leaned back in his chair. “Fuck you, Otto.”

“What?”

“You and your bullshit façade. You can’t buy me off.”

Elliot remained unflustered and retook his seat. “Twenty million dollars, Mr. Solomon. That’s an extraordinary amount of money. You can live comfortably for the rest of your life. You can give it away to charity. Think of the good that you can do. Give it to your Jewish causes.”

“Will twenty million dollars wash your hands, Otto? Will it cleanse you from the thousands you condemned?”

“I have condemned no one, sir. My name is Elliot Rosenzweig.”

A sardonic smiled twisted Ben’s lips. “You are truly without conscience. A soulless envoy of the devil. But I will never relent, so you can forget the offer.”

“This mad pursuit of yours, will it bring back your family? Will it change the past?”

“Nothing can change the past, Otto, but your conviction and public condemnation will serve to keep mankind mindful of the evil that snakes like you are capable of.”

Elliot lifted his hands to his forehead. He spoke softly.

“Give it up, Ben.”

“Never. Not as long as I have breath.”

Elliot swallowed hard and spoke plaintively. “I had no choice. Don’t you understand? It was you and your father that forced me to join the National Socialists. I didn’t want to. I stood in your living room and begged not to become involved. It was your father that insisted I take a posting. What did you expect me to do? If I didn’t follow orders, if I wasn’t an obedient soldier, I would have been killed. They were ruthless people. Don’t you see, I had no choice?”

“Are you looking for mercy? Do you dare petition me for absolution? For a man who murdered with enthusiasm? What kind of a man executes the only family he ever had without a second thought?”

“They were already dead, Ben. The Gestapo would have killed them in the church if I hadn’t. You saw them all looking at me for my pronouncement. Do you think I could have freed them? I did your father a favor, a quick death rather than torture in a camp.”

Ben sat tall in his chair. “I will not recant. You will get what you deserve. This case will be your judgment day.”

Elliot’s jaw quivered in anger. He scoffed, “Don’t be a fool. You can’t win this case. Do you think we’ll ever let you get to trial? Are you so simple that you think our judicial system is about evidence and justice? Ha! It’s about money and power and politics. This case will never come to trial. You’ll never get a public platform. In the end you’ll be humiliated and disgraced. Take the money, Ben. It’s your last chance.”

“I’ll die first.”

Elliot shrugged and walked from the room. “Just another dead Solomon.”

* * *

“Twenty million dollars?” Catherine pursed her lips and made a soft whistle.

“I had the feeling he’d pay much more than that,” answered Ben. “You know, as we sat there, I kept wanting to ask him questions, to make some sense of the unfathomable, maybe to satisfy a macabre curiosity. Like those who interview serial killers – what made you do it? How can you live with yourself? I wanted to know how he could sleep at night with the wails of thousands of innocents screaming in his head. But I already knew his answer.”

* * *

“You offered twenty mill and he turned it down? Christ, Elliot, what the hell does he want? Did he give you a counter?”

“It’s not about money, Gerry. He’s a fanatic on a mission. He’s carrying the banner for six million Jews and he’s chosen to make me his Pascal lamb.”

Jeffers looked down at his suit jacket, smoothed his lapel and bloused his azure pocket square. “Everyone has his price. If it’s not currency, then it’s something else. What would it take to purchase Solomon? What does he really want?”

Elliot shook his head and wrinkled his forehead. “Why can’t you get it through your thick skull? He
is
getting what he wants. An audience. A platform. World attention.”

Jeffers crossed his legs and, with the back of his fingers, brushed a speck of dust from his highly polished shoes. “Well, that certainly complicates matters.”

“Gerry, we cannot give him a podium. As much as I hate to place myself in the hands of others, especially lawyers, I am relying on you to do everything in your power to prevent a public hearing. This case must not go to trial. We cannot give the public free access to his maniacal rantings. Use every resource available. Money is no object. Do I make myself clear?”

“Crystal, Elliot, crystal.”

Chapter Fifty-three

Chicago, Illinois February 2005

It was the Bar Association’s custom on committee meeting nights to schedule an intermission for coffee and cookies at the half way point, and so at 8:30 there was a pause in the proceedings of the Court Rules Committee to enjoy the refreshments. Jeffers found an opportune moment and approached Judge Ryan as he was filling his cup at the coffee urn.

“Hello, Chuck, how have you been?”

“Just fine, Gerry. Although your fifty-three page motion sure makes for a long work week.”

Jeffers laughed. “I apologize for the length. We just had a lot to say.”

“Understood. When is Lockhart’s brief in opposition due?” Judge Ryan said quietly.

“Fifteen more days by court rules. How soon can we expect your decision?”