Chương 10
She backed away from the curb before he reached the car.
He raised one hand.
She kept going.
At the first stop sign, guilt arrived with embarrassing punctuality.
She checked the mirror.
Richard stood beneath the porch light with his hands at his sides.
She drove home anyway.
Her apartment smelled faintly of the basil plant she had forgotten to water and the takeout container she had forgotten to throw away.
She carried the lockbox into her bedroom, then reconsidered and put it beneath the kitchen table.
That seemed stupid.
She moved it into the hall closet.
That seemed more stupid.
Finally she set it on the coffee table and stared at it.
“You’re a metal box,” she told it.
The box offered no legal strategy.
Maya photographed every page.
Not quickly.
Front and back, even when the back was blank.
She included envelopes, folds, handwritten notes, the checkbook pages, Harlan’s card, and the deposit slip.
She uploaded copies to two places and emailed a third set to herself.
At 11:41, Evan texted.
Dad says you almost ran him over.
Maya replied, Dad thinks reversing is attempted murder.
Three dots appeared.
Then vanished.
Then appeared again.
Did Harlan contact you?
Maya sat straighter.
How do you know?
Dad is losing his mind.
That did not answer the question.
Evan called.
“He called Harlan after we came upstairs.”
“I know.”
“You talked to Harlan?”
“Yes.”
“What did he say?”
Maya looked at Caroline’s scanned signature on her laptop.
“Did Dad tell you Caleb knew Mom?”
Silence.
“Evan.”
“No.”
“Harlan says Caleb represented her.”
“What?”
“He told me to ask Caleb.”
“That could be bullshit.”
“Yes.”
“Are you going to ask?”
“Yes.”
“Tonight?”
Maya looked at the clock.
“It’s almost midnight.”
“So?”
“So normal people don’t interrogate attorneys at midnight.”
“You called one from a basement at ten.”
“That was Friday Maya.”
“Right, sorry.”
Evan was quiet.
Then he said, “Dad says you took his checkbook.”
“I took the lockbox.”
“He says the checkbook is his.”
“It’s evidence.”
“You’ve been watching too much television.”
“I watch baking shows.”
“Exactly.”
She heard a door close on his end.
His voice lowered.
“He wants it back.”
“He can want.”
“Maya.”
“What?”
“He’s scared.”
“So am I.”
“I know.”
“No, you’re there with him, so you’re getting his version at full volume.”
“He isn’t yelling.”
“That’s worse.”
Evan did not argue.
Maya leaned back against the couch.
“Did he tell you why Harlan had the account number?”
“No.”
“Did you ask?”
“He said he doesn’t remember giving it to him.”
“Very useful.”
“He also said Harlan handled some payments when the store was going under.”
Maya closed her eyes.
“When?”
“Years ago.”
“Before Mom sold the lake property?”
“I think.”
“Then Harlan having the account number isn’t proof of anything.”
“No.”
The disappointment in Evan’s voice bothered her.
He wanted proof now.
Not truth.
Proof that would tell him where to put his anger.
Maya understood because she wanted the same thing.
“Don’t let Dad delete anything,” she said.
“How am I supposed to stop him?”
“Tell him not to.”
“Brilliant.”
“I’m exhausted.”
“So am I.”
He hesitated.
“Are you mad at me?”
“Yes.”
“Okay.”
“I’m also not hanging up on you.”
“Also okay.”
Neither spoke for a moment.
Through the wall, Maya’s neighbor laughed loudly at something on television.
Evan said, “For what it’s worth, I wasn’t trying to hide it from you.”
“You literally hid it from me.”
“I was trying not to make it your problem.”
“That is the family motto.”
“I know.”
This time Maya did hang up, but gently.
She slept badly and woke at six twelve with one sock on.
She had no memory of putting it on.
Her phone contained four missed calls from Richard, two messages from Evan, and an email from Caleb sent at 5:53 a.m.
The subject line was simply: Monday.
Maya opened it.
Caleb had attached a list of documents he wanted her to bring.
At the bottom he had added one sentence.
Please preserve originals in their present condition and do not write on, staple, alter, or reorganize them.
She read it twice.
Then she called him.
He answered sounding awake.
“Good morning.”
“Did you represent my mother?”
Nothing.
Not static.
Not hesitation.
Nothing.
Maya sat on the edge of her bed.
“Caleb?”
“Yes.”
Her stomach tightened.
“You did?”
“Yes.”
“When?”
“Approximately six years ago.”
“For what?”
“I can’t discuss the substance of privileged communications.”
“She’s dead.”
“The privilege doesn’t necessarily die with the client.”
“You called me.”
“I contacted you regarding Northline.”
“While neglecting to mention you used to be my mother’s lawyer.”
“I was not at liberty to disclose a prior representation simply because I recognized your family name.”
Maya stood.
“You knew who I was before I answered that phone.”
“I knew who Caroline Bennett was.”
“Did you draft the trust?”
“No.”
“Did you know about it?”
“I’m not going to answer questions about your mother’s legal affairs without determining what I’m permitted to disclose.”
“Harlan knew you represented her.”
A quieter pause followed.
“What exactly did Harlan say?”
“He told me to ask you.”
“I see.”
“No, apparently I’m the one who doesn’t.”
Caleb’s voice changed.
The legal smoothness thinned.
“Maya, do not meet Harlan alone.”
She walked to the living room.
“Why?”
“Because there are unresolved issues concerning his role in the transaction.”
“That isn’t an answer.”
“It’s the answer I can responsibly give you.”
“Harlan gave me the same kind of answer.”
“I’m sure he did.”
“What happened between you two?”
“This isn’t about me and Harlan.”
“Everyone keeps saying what this isn’t about.”
“Maya.”
“Did you know about the amendment before Northline hired you?”
Caleb did not answer.
That was enough to make her stop walking.
“Caleb?”
“When Northline retained me, I recognized Harlan’s name.”
“That wasn’t my question.”
“I need to review my obligations before I answer your question.”
May you like
“You already reviewed them enough to call me from a parking lot.”
“That involved a current transaction.”
