At His Fingertips. Dawn Atkins
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only relief, it dawned on him what had kept him so disengaged. Julie. The way he felt about her.
He liked to hit problems straight on, so he’d asked her out to dinner, aching to lay it on the line. The rub was that they worked together. Also, she was younger than him. But if she felt like he felt, they’d figure out a solution.
She’d wanted to talk to him, too, it turned out, which gave him hope. As soon as they took their first sip of the wine he’d selected in the restaurant he’d chosen for its romantic ambiance, reserving a private table, she’d told him how much his friendship meant and how grateful she was that he’d taken her on right out of law school, and she wanted him to be the first to know that she was engaged to be married.
To some bureaucrat in land management. Dull as the dirt he parceled.
Mitch should have spoken up sooner. Why had he waited? Too late then and his confession had died in his chest. He’d wished her well. Of course. He wanted her to be happy.
He’d just hoped it would be with him.
“Dinner’s in your office,” Maggie said now. “A basket of homemade tamales from the wife of the landscape guy to thank you for all the extras. I could buy a new house with the billables you give away, Mitchell. Keep it up and your pro bonos will make us pro-broke-os.”
“I see their tax statements, Maggie. It does not serve us well to break their piggy banks paying us.” His clients often needed piddly advice he could rattle off without any research. “It’s practice-building,” he said. “Gets me referrals.”
Maggie rolled her eyes. He was swamped and she knew it.
The way he saw it was you gave extra and extra came back to you. Esmeralda would call it karma. He called it good business.
Right out of school, he’d gotten tons of experience with a business-law firm. Pro-bono work with the Small Business Administration helping startups had fired his blood, so he’d opened his own firm with that specialty six years ago, hired Maggie, then grew enough to bring on Julie last year.
He was up to his eyeballs in work, but he’d begun to feel restless, as though he needed a new challenge. Craig was after him to work for the A.G.’s office. A big income dive, but it was important work. A good next step, he figured.
“Let me see if any of this is urgent.” Maggie flipped through the pink message slips. “It can all wait. Go home.”
“When I’m ready. What are you doing here so late?”
“Keeping your head above water. Ed can heat up leftovers and Rachel’s working. Soon enough I’ll have more time than I’ll know what to do with.” She sighed and he realized she was talking about the fact that her daughter started college soon.
“You need time off to drive her up there?” She’d be attending Northern Arizona University in Flagstaff, just three hours away.
“Nope. Saturday’s move-in day, so we’ll drive up then.”
“So hang with her a couple of days maybe.”
“And be accused of clinging? She’d be mortified. No. We’ll be fine. I’m just…antsy, I guess.”
“You know what I’m going to say….”
“I don’t need more school.”
“A paralegal would really help. I’d pay your tuition.”
“You don’t need to do that,” she said.
“It’s a write-off. Good for my taxes.”
“You are such a softie.”
“Eh-eh-eh. I’m a ruthless shark and don’t you forget it.” He gave her a stern look. “If my clients hear otherwise, they’ll quit me cold.”
She smiled. “I’ll take off then. Just don’t stay too late.” She shut down her computer, then adjusted the small photo of her daughter as a young girl, running a thumb across the surface in a sad and tender gesture.
Damn. He hated to see her blue. She had to stay busy. That was the secret. He’d cook up an extra assignment for her. Hell.
“What’s that?” Maggie nodded at the brochure in his hand.
He looked down at it. “A foundation that offers grants. Something I’m looking into for Dale.”
She leveled her gaze. “You can’t live his life for him.”
“Just a jumpstart, that’s all. Craig call?”
“Nope. Sorry.”
“I’ll try him again.”
“Don’t stay—”
“Late, got it. Good night, Mom.”
“I don’t know why I bother. You never listen to me.” She was shaking her head as she walked out the door and he headed into his office. Maybe if he kept her busy nagging him, she wouldn’t have time to miss her daughter.
Craig picked up on the first ring. “Craig Baker.”
“I have you live?” They often traded voice mail for days just booking a racquetball game.
“Trying to catch up.” Craig sighed. His friend was hopelessly overworked, which would be Mitch’s fate if he came on board. Sounded good to him. He needed…something.
“I hate to bug you, but did you get a chance to look into that foundation?” Mitch dropped into his chair and rolled close to the desk, laying the purple brochure beside his keyboard.
“Not yet.” Craig sighed. “I’m up to my ears. On top of everything else, there’s media interest in the roofing company fraud case out in Sun City West. I’m prepping the press secretary.”
An assistant A.G., Craig was part of a cross-agency task force to stem the tide of scam artists preying on Arizona’s retirees. “I’ll squeeze it in when I can.”
“If it helps, I went there and met the director. I got a brochure if you want the names of board members and staff.”
“Good idea. Give ’em to me.” There was a rustle as he prepared to take notes.
Mitch read off the list. Craig stopped him halfway through. “Sylvestri? That name’s familiar.”
“Yep. There are two Sylvestris on the board. Enzo and Louis.”
“Interesting. I’ll get a secretary to run a Lexis Nexis search and get back to you.” That would provide any news mentions or lawsuits, at least. A place to start. “How did it seem when you were there?”
“Hard to tell. Quirky.” Talk about understatement. “They have the grantees match funds and get investors.”
“Ah…possible prepayment scam. That’s how that MedQuest real estate investment group operated.”
“Made me wonder, too.” The phony music deal had been that kind of rip-off. A common music industry con, he’d learned afterward and was grateful they’d only lost a grand in “advance costs.” He’d been young, of course, and con artists were clever. One of his clients, a savvy guy, recently lost his shirt to a group that funded invention prototypes. They left the country with his and a hundred other dreamers’ “patent-filing fee.”
“Also, the director is new. She replaced a woman who left supposedly because of a family illness.”
“Major changes in top staff—especially early on—is a sign of trouble,” Craig said, confirming his suspicion.
“Yeah.” What would Craig say if he knew that Esmeralda got the job because she read palms? Lord.
“Got the name of the previous director?”
“I’ll ask when I see the new one tomorrow night.”
“You’re seeing her