Unclean Hands, page 26
"You going to introduce me to your lawyer?" the muscle man said, rolling towards Emily and then grabbing another beer.
"Sure, baby," Emily tapped his arm and lowered the sunglasses perched on her head.
"Rick, this is Trey. Trey, this is my lawyer Rick."
Rick leaned over to shake hands, overtaken by the sheer force Trey could muster. "Nice to meet you. Thanks for taking care of my little woman."
Your little woman? Who the hell are you? Rick's thoughts jumbled in his head, thrown off by the presence of Trey. "You also," Rick said under his breath and directed his attention back to Emily. He tried to say something, but couldn't convey anything coherent.
Emily detected his hesitation and pointed to the kitchen door. "Let me put the check inside. Why don't you come in? I'll get you something to drink."
Rick dutifully followed her into the house.
Inside, she motioned to a chair and gave him a glass of water once he sat. She put the check up to the light. "This is awesome. This is a shit-load of money."
"It is," Rick mumbled, but his mind still focused on the oily mass of muscle out back. "Who the hell is Trey?"
Emily smiled and ran her fingers through her hair. "Trey and I have been seeing each other."
"I gathered. How come I never heard of him?"
"I didn't think you needed to know."
"I didn't need to know?" Rick stammered. "I had to know every detail of your life, so I could present it to the jury."
Emily shook her head. "No, I didn't think it was relevant."
Rick stood and started pacing the kitchen. "How long have you been seeing him?"
"For a while."
"How long?" Rick said, nearly shouting.
Emily paused. "You don't want to know."
"Tell me."
Emily put a hand on Rick's arm. "Rick, I'm happy to tell you, but I just want to confirm that you are still my attorney."
"Of course I am. It's why I'm here."
"Like you told me at our first meeting, our conversations are only between us, 'privileged' was the term you used. You can't tell anyone what we talk about, can you?"
"That's the nature of our relationship." His head spun, so he sat back in the chair.
"Honey, I'm about to tell you some things because you probably deserve to know them. You won't like them. I don't think I did anything wrong, but you should hear them."
Emily took the check from the table and put it in a drawer near the window.
She turned back to Rick. "To answer your question, Trey and I’ve been seeing each for a long time–since before Jerry died."
"Shit," he said, looking down at the table.
"Jerry wasn't a bad guy, but we just weren't happy together. He was relatively simple and it didn't appear like he was going places. We argued a lot. Not like most couples, but intense, nasty fights. I usually started them because the dude never did anything. He didn't work. He didn't want to work. He was a lazy ass to the core."
Rick shook his head. "So when did Trey come into the picture?"
"Probably about a year before Jerry died. Sex with Jerry was rather routine. Trey taught me there's more than one way to skin an onion." She took a swig of beer. "Once you drink the fine wine, you don't go back to tap water."
"So I heard," he said, without intending for Emily to hear.
"Anyway, Trey was a distraction before Jerry died. Since then, well, we're much closer."
Emily waved out the window at Trey. "This has nothing to do with Trey. Jerry and I had little going on, and he wouldn't listen to what I wanted him to do."
"What do you mean?"
"I wanted him to get a job. Build a career. That's what he promised me when we first met. But he never would. He just wanted to hang around the house. So we changed our plans."
"How so?"
"Jerry found out he possessed one exceptional skill. He had a talent for stealing. He liked doing it and looked forward to it. Finally, we found some way to get him out of the house, which helped Trey and me find a little more time together. Anyway, he'd be gone for a couple of hours and when he came back he usually had a bunch of food to stock the refrigerator or some stuff for our closets. If you look around the house, much of what you see are things he got for us."
"Without paying for them?"
"Yes, Rick, without paying for them."
"And you knew about him doing it?"
"I did. I was kind of proud of him. It made him happy to finally contribute to the household."
Emily's revelations proved difficult for Rick to handle. Her small kitchen felt like it was about to collapse on him. He placed his hand on his head. "This is nothing like what you told the jury."
"I felt like I was in the ballpark of the truth. He promised he would always take care of me. What I said to the jury was my way of helping him keep his word."
"He was never going to have any career, was he? This whole picture of marital bliss, was it just an act?"
Emily walked over to Rick, who turned his back on her. "We talked about telling the truth so many times. You told me that truth is graded on a curve. You helped me hone my story so it was perfect for the jury. They ate it up and I thank you for helping me create the story of our lives together. It's so much better than the way it was."
During those many hours alone in the conference room practicing, Rick wanted to believe her and knew the better her story sounded, the more likely it would resonate with the jury and the more likely she would get a bigger award. Nothing had proven more accurate. She manipulated him the whole time, so he would help her and believe in her.
He thought for a moment before asking, "Did you have anything to do with him dying?"
"No, of course not. I could never do that." She contemplated what to say. "I was quite sad after he died. I never like watching some person or animal die, but then I realized how unfair it all was. Jerry didn't deserve to die and I certainly didn't deserve to lose any possibility of a future. So after a couple of days, I did some research and I found you. You were perfect. Young, good-looking, trying to build up your practice. I knew you would give my case the attention it deserved."
"Wow, Emily. You're a fine actress." Rick started a slow, rhythmic clap.
Emily's face reddened. "Don't be an ass. You made out quite well yourself. Got a huge check. Probably gonna get lots of new clients after marketing your victory over the bad corporation. C'mon, Rick, you knew I was too good to be true."
He examined her up and down like it was the first time he had ever seen her. The nagging feeling she knew and understood him better than he did gnawed at him. Inside, he felt like he was bleeding. "Congratulations, Emily. I hope you and Trey enjoy a great life together."
The screen door slammed behind him, and he sucked in a huge gulp of air. He wiped his hands on his pants, and jumped in his car. He was glad he planned to make one last stop.
Chapter Seventy-Four
Rick's head still spun as he again got out of his car. He touched the final envelope in his pocket, which offered him a mild amount of reassurance as he walked up the pathway.
Emily's revelations stung. He wanted to go home and pull the covers over his head. Did it matter if she'd concocted her version of her life out of thin air? To him, absolutely. He understood that truth was relative, but complete deception shouldn't ever be rewarded–and he had been a participant in her lies. Perhaps unknowingly, but at this point even he couldn't be sure how unwilling he'd been.
He would likely not deal with Emily Hawkins again, and she was now free to spend her new-found wealth in any manner she chose. The issues for him would be whether he could rationalize his role in the deceit and how he would reconstruct his practice going forward. One concept already crystalized in his head–in the future he would better vet his clients and not let the potential of a significant payoff dazzle him.
He rapped on the door and moments later his ex opened it displaying a blank expression.
"Hey, Rick, you know this isn't your weekend with Sam."
He nodded. "I know. I wanted to talk."
Her eyebrows scrunched together. "I thought something might be wrong. You look like you just got hit by a train."
A sardonic smile etched across Rick's face. "In some ways that's accurate, but it's not why I'm here. I need to set the record straight."
"What record is that?" Molly's face eased into an expression of compassion and concern. "You don't need to say anything. I assume it's water under the bridge."
"No. I got a lot to say and there's no better time than now." Rick pointed at the porch swing. Molly acquiesced. They sat on it with the springs offering a slight squeak. Two birds flew onto a branch in a nearby tree rustling some leaves and then offered the neighborhood a song. Rick and Molly sat silently, both staring straight ahead.
A minute passed without either saying anything, until Molly offered, "What's on your mind, Rick?
Rick sighed. "I want to apologize and make due on my promises." When he didn't get any pushback, he said, "I don't need to rehash our breakup, but I want to make sure you realize I accept responsibility for the mistakes I made. I doubt if I accepted blame sooner we would still be married, but I want you to understand it kills me knowing how poorly I performed while we were together.
Rick put a hand on Molly's arm. "I hope I expressed this before, but why I'm here has more to do with the future than our past. We share a daughter who will bind us together forever. I thought because we broke up, I broke up with Sam as well. I didn't understand that whatever happened to us is separate from my relationship with her. I understand better now."
He stopped to take a breath and Molly waited without injecting any of her thoughts. "I realize," he continued, "I messed up with Sam. She needed me. You needed me to be there for her and I haven't been there. I'm consumed with guilt."
"You shouldn't beat yourself up," Molly interrupted.
Rick scoffed. "Yes, I should. I've said it before. I need to be around her more and I will. Here's the thing I think I'm most embarrassed about–I owe you money for her care. I mean, I'm in violation of a court order. I shouldn't need a judge to tell me to take care of my daughter and I shouldn't have to rely upon your positive nature to avoid getting in trouble for failing to keep up with my obligations."
Molly nodded.
"So, I want to make it right." Rick reached for his last envelope and handed it over.
Molly ripped it open and gasped when she read the check.
"You got to be kidding," she exclaimed. This is a lot more than you owe. Six hundred and thirty-two thousand dollars. C'mon, Rick, even with a lot of interest, this would cover what you owe past the time Sammie's grandchildren got married. You're joking, right?
"No, Moll. It's yours. I want you and Sam to use it. I want her to get everything she ever wanted and I want you never to worry about her health or welfare."
"This is too much. Way too much. Isn't this everything you got from your case?"
"It's the exact right amount. I don't want it for me. It's not quite my entire fee. I saved two hundred dollars for me. I'm going to eat an enormous steak dinner tonight thanks to Emily Hawkins."
Molly examined the check. "This is really going to help."
"I hope so. I know you never told Sam I wasn't keeping up my end of the deal. Please don't tell her about this either."
"I won't."
The birds continued to warble. "I want to spend more time with her. I hope that'll be okay."
"Absolutely, it would be a positive for all of us."
"Wonderful. I'll call you. Hopefully, I can take her out this week. Right now, I'm going to stuff myself with a juicy fillet."
Rick stood and walked to his car. Molly called out, "Thanks Rick. You're not such a bad guy."
He acted like he didn't hear the compliment and jumped into his car. He sped away, revving the engine as he headed down the road.
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About the Author
James Rosenberg is a 3rd generation trial attorney with plenty of stories to tell. Inspired not only by the courtroom stories his father and grandfather used to tell him when he was a child, but also by the wild adventures he's encountered through his own experience as a lawyer. James is fascinated by the intricate, interpersonal dynamics of every trial he's endured. Whether it's the raw emotion on display in court, the tension in the air that builds until someone wins, or the impact that a case's decision has on the parties involved, James is always paying attention and keeping tabs on what's happening.
A native of Pittsburgh and a graduate of Taylor Allderdice High School and the University of Pittsburgh School of Law, James has been a trial attorney in Pittsburgh for almost 30 years. He started writing legal thrillers as a stress reducer and finds this creative outlet to be a fun and meaningful diversion from his day job.
When he's not trying cases, he's either dreaming up his next book idea, spending time with his wife and three kids, or both.
Check out his website: www.JamesRosenbergAuthor.com or follow him on social media:
Also by James Rosenberg
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James Rosenberg, Unclean Hands
