Look Closely. Laura Caldwell
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father, Maddy knew me too well. Normally I loved her for it. “I’m just going to ask a few questions,” I told her, trying to keep the irritation out of my voice.
“Not smart, girl. Someone who writes a letter like that is not someone you want to mess with.”
“Right. Well.” It had occurred to me that maybe the author meant to be helpful in some way, but I wasn’t about to try to convince Maddy.
“Did you tell your dad?” she asked.
“Of course not.” My dad was my other best friend. We even worked together at Gardner, State & Lord, but he worried about me too much as it was.
Maddy sighed. “You can be such a pain in the ass. Just leave it alone, okay?”
“I’ll try.”
“At least promise me you’ll be careful.”
“I will, I will.”
“I’ll tell you what. I’ll buy those sandals for you, and I’ll hold them hostage. You only get them if you’re a good girl, and come home safely.”
I laughed. “Deal.”
I stripped off the rest of my clothes and took a quick shower. After I was dressed again, I loaded my laptop and the McKnight file into my large leather trial bag, the one that made me feel like a traveling salesman. Next, I packed a week’s worth of suits, some running clothes and a couple pairs of jeans into a suitcase. I had everything I needed for the arbitration, everything I needed for a week away from home, but there was one thing left to pack.
I moved around my bed to the corner of the room where I’d set up a desk and computer. I opened the top drawer and took out the envelope. I lifted the flap to make sure the letter was still there, then I read it once more. There is no statute of limitations on murder. Look closely.
2
The opulent Chicago headquarters of McKnight Corporation were housed on the top floors of their State Street department store. Marble-decked with gold fixtures, I assumed that it was supposed to bring to mind old world elegance. Personally, I found the place overdone. It reminded me of some of the homes in my dad’s neighborhood in Manhasset—all show and no warmth.
The receptionist escorted me to the top floor and into a conference room where paintings of the flagship store hung in gold-leafed frames. I was there to meet with Beth Halverson, McKnight Corporation’s in-house counsel, and Sean McKnight whom I hadn’t yet met. Then I would review my notes and get ready for opening arguments that afternoon.
I had the buzz, that taut, high-strung feeling I always got when I was on trial or in an arbitration. But now I was even more on edge since I’d been sideswiped with the new information about possible shady dealings in McKnight’s takeover of Fieldings Company.
“Hi, Hailey, welcome to Chicago.”
I stood to greet Beth Halverson, an impeccably dressed woman in her late thirties with stylish, short blond hair. I’d always found Beth competent and agreeable, and I was thrilled that she’d decided to give us McKnight’s business, but I had a bone to pick with her this time.
She seemed to read my mind. “I want you to know that I found out about the Fieldings allegations the same way you did. By reading the paper yesterday.”
“I mean no disrespect, but I find that hard to believe.” On a side table, coffee, juices and pastries had been set out. I poured myself a cup of coffee and added a few drops of skim milk, exactly the way my mom used to.
“Look,” Beth said. “I only came on as general counsel a year and a half ago.”
I turned around to see her shutting the conference-room door.
“What I found,” Beth said in a lowered voice, glancing at the closed door, “was that this place is run exactly the way Sean wants it.”
I took my seat again. “And what does that mean?”
Beth walked around the table, coming closer to me, and leaned on it with both arms. “It means that Sean doesn’t want anyone to talk about the Fieldings takeover, so no one does. I wasn’t apprised of the rumors. I never heard of any of the allegations until that article. Honestly, I wouldn’t keep that from you.”
I had only worked with Beth for a year or so, but she seemed like a straight shooter, and I believed her. “It’s just that I don’t know anything about that takeover,” I said. “I don’t know how to refute the allegations. I feel like I’ve been completely ambushed.”
Beth slumped into a chair. “God, I feel the same way. I even thought about quitting, but this is a great job when I don’t have to deal with the boss. I don’t know what to tell you except what I’ve learned about the Fieldings deal since yesterday.”
“I think I’d better hear it from McKnight himself. Where is he, by the way?”
Beth gave a shake of her blond head. “He should be here any minute. You’ve heard what he’s like?”
“I’ve heard he’s an asshole,” I said, deciding that now wasn’t the time to mince words.
I saw Beth’s face go slack, then heard a rough laugh behind me. I swung around to see a man standing in the now open conference doorway. He must have been in his late fifties, but the trim body and the immaculate blue suit made him look younger. His salt-and-pepper hair was brushed away from his sharply angled face.
“I assume you’re Ms. Sutter,” the man said. He walked into the room and extended his hand. “I’m the asshole.”
I stood, feeling heat rush to my face, but I was still angry about being kept in the dark, so I decided not to go overboard in my apology. I shook McKnight’s hand, feeling his strong, dry grip. His green eyes ran quickly over me, before they settled on my own eyes with a look of complete concentration.
“I’m sorry you heard that,” I said. “I’m sure it’s not true.”
“Oh, I’m sure it is.” He didn’t let go of my hand. Instead, he stood there holding it, intently studying my face, until I pulled away.
I made a show of looking at my watch. “We need to get to work. Why don’t you start by telling me about the Fieldings deal.”
McKnight took a seat at the head of the conference table. “You’re all business, aren’t you?”
“Isn’t that why you hired me?”
He gave me a tight smile. “Of course. What do you want to know?”
I flipped through my legal pad to the list of questions I’d prepared last night in my hotel room. The questions were those that the plaintiff’s attorney might ask McKnight on cross-examination.
Once I got him talking, I found myself relaxing somewhat. Technically, the man would make an excellent witness with his obvious intelligence, his even more obvious good looks, and the way he never hemmed or hawed, never seemed edgy or defensive. He had brought with him a stack of documents, meticulously organized and tabbed, which he referred to every so often. He’d prepared well for the arbitration, and that impressed me. So many clients thought that I could—and should—do all the work for them.
His explanation of the Fieldings allegations sounded plausible, too, yet something still gnawed at me. The way he told the story, the Fieldings family members had been undecided over whether to sell to McKnight Corporation. Sean had had a talk with Walter Fieldings, the founder and eldest family member, and convinced him that it would be in the family’s best financial interests to sell. Walter Fieldings had, in turn, convinced the rest of the family, and the deal went through. Yes, McKnight said, there were some grumblings that he had pulled some kind of trick. The authorities had even questioned him, but everyone realized the blackmail allegations weren’t true, and nothing came of it. He’d never been charged with anything, and he made the Fieldings family very rich.
“And that’s