Foreclosure: A Novel Read online

  CONTENTS

  Dedication

  Epigraph

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Copyright

  To my parents, for believing in things I was slow to see,

  and to my wife, for shining the light along the way.

  From deep in the realm of the dead I called for help,

  and you listened to my cry.

  You hurled me into the depths,

  into the very heart of the seas,

  and the currents swirled about me;

  all your waves and breakers

  swept over me.

  Jonah 2:2-3

  CHAPTER ONE

  “How the hell could you let me walk into that?” David shouted over the lunch-hour din. He sensed a few heads turn in their direction, but kept his eyes locked on Terry.

  “I think you’re overreacting, kid.” Terry claimed the last open two-seater and nodded at the chair across from him.

  David stood still. “I bust my ass seven years for you, and that’s the thanks I get?”

  Terry waved at someone he knew a few tables over. “Sit down,” he hissed without breaking his rainmaker smile.

  David reluctantly obeyed. As the room began spinning, he gripped the table and fought the urge to squeeze Terry by the jugular.

  Terry skimmed the one-page laminated menu. “You’re getting a bonus bigger than most people in this county make in a year. Hell, you’ll make more money this year than most partners make anywhere outside of Miami.”

  “It’s not about the money.”

  Terry’s eyes met David’s for the first time since they’d gotten here. “It’s always about the money.”

  “It’s about respect.”

  “And what higher respect is there?”

  David didn’t have time to answer before a dog-tired waitress interrupted them. “What are we having?” she asked while tapping a chewed-up ballpoint against her notepad.

  “The usual,” Terry answered with a polite smile. “Cold.”

  “Coffee, black,” David said. He waited for her to wobble a few steps away before he continued his tirade. “I remember it like it was yesterday. I was sitting in an office on campus with you and Alton, my second year of law school. And he said—and I remember the words as clear as day—he said, ‘Come work for us. Bill your hours and do great work, and in seven years you will make partner. You will make partner.’ Were those not his words?”

  “And at that time, we had no idea the housing market would suffer cardiac arrest when you were up for partner. Hell, half my remaining clients are considering chapter 11 as we speak. It’s a different game now, kid.”

  “Funny you should say that. Ed Savage tried to use the same excuse at trial last week. You know what the jury told him? Tough shit. A deal’s a deal.”

  Terry grinned and nodded as though he were just biding his time while David vented. Terry, the lawyer who’d mentored David since law school—the only corporate lawyer in Gaspar County who could get away with a gray beard that matched the shaggy hair covering his ears.

  “Seven years slaving for your clients,” David reminded him.

  “That’s right,” Terry said. “And you’ve done great work for our clients. Now the firm wants to see what you can do with your clients.”

  “They can’t change the rules in the fourth quarter. It’s not right.”

  Terry shook his head. “First off, it’s not the fourth quarter. Hell, you’re not even in the game yet. That starts when you make partner. Second, it’s got nothing to do with right or wrong. It’s business. And the sooner you learn that the better.”

  David stared at the tabletop. He could feel Terry’s glare.

  “And one more thing. That stunt you pulled in there—are you out of your freaking mind? What good do you think screaming at Alton Holloway’s going to do? You’re lucky he didn’t fire you then and there.”

  “I wish he had.”

  The waitress returned and set a messy pile of cold pastrami and rye in front of Terry. “Are you done sulking yet?” Terry asked while lathering on a spoonful of spicy mustard.

  “I don’t know what I’m going to do, if that’s what you’re asking.”

  “I’ll tell you what you’re gonna do,” he said as he took the first bite. “You’re gonna roll your sleeves up and get your hands dirty and make partner next year.”

  “Like Mackenzie gets her hands dirty?”

  Terry answered with a mouthful. “She doesn’t have to get her hands dirty. Her last name’s Alderman, for crying out loud, and she’s got a million-dollar book of business, which in this county these days is freaking incredible. Guys like us, we’re not so lucky, David—we got to earn it.”

  David knew everything Terry was saying was true. He just didn’t expect to hear it today of all days, the day he’d been working toward for seven years, three months, and eighteen days. He leaned forward and looked Terry right in the eyes. “Tell me this: did you support their decision?”

  “What are you saying? You didn’t make partner because I didn’t go to bat for you?”

  “You sure as hell didn’t today. Just tell me—did you support their decision?”

  “You want to know what their decision was?” Terry’s eyes contracted. “It was to can your ass. Today, as soon as the Savage trial was over. Why do you think your review was scheduled so late?”

  David bounced off the chair. “Bastards! Now I know what to do. I quit. I’m done.”

  Terry grabbed him by the shoulder. “Sit down and listen.” But David wouldn’t budge. “What are you going to do, start all over at a new firm? Who the hell you think’s going to hire someone at your level with no book of business?”

  “So why didn’t they fire me?”

  Terry pointed to himself. “Because I had to guarantee I could give you two thousand hours of work in ’08, and if I don’t, it’s coming out of my cut next year. So don’t tell me I didn’t go to bat for you.” He looked frustrated that David was still standing. “David, listen to me. You’re like a son to me. As close to a son as I’ll ever have.”

  “It’s not about you anymore, Terry—”

  “Just hear me out. I know you’re angry, David. Hell, I see you’re teeming with anger, and I’d be ready to kill too if I were you.” Terry glanced around to make sure no one was within earshot. “But what if I told you I’m not happy here either?”

  “I’d say I’m listening.”

  Terry eased David back into his chair and took his seat. He leaned forward with a grin. “Let’s just say I don’t necessarily need this firm anymore.”

  “And what the hell does this have to do with me?”

  “If I leave, I’d want you to come with me, man. I’d want you to be my partner. Not just my right-hand man, but my partner—my equal. And you’re the only piece of shit here I can say th
at about.”

  David smacked the tabletop. “Then let’s get out of here, Terry. We could make a killing. You bring them in, I’ll keep them happy—just like we’ve always done.”

  “But it’s not that simple, kid. Times have changed, and I’m going to be honest here. I need you to show me some of the same things they’re looking for. Just think about it. If we go market ourselves, do you want to be known as a former associate at Hollis & Alderman, or a former partner? Because I know what I want to call you.”

  “But making rain’s not what I do—especially during a drought.”

  “It can be learned, just like anything else. And I can help you.” Terry grinned as if he’d been waiting all along to present David with a Christmas morning surprise. “So what if I told you I already have a promising lead for you?”

  “I’d say I’m still listening.”

  “A little birdie told me about a local player who’s getting ready to fire his attorneys. Someone big, and someone very litigious.”

  “How big?”

  “Name Frank O’Reilly ring a bell?”

  David sifted through the Rolodex of names in his memory. “Pinnacle Homes?”

  Terry nodded. “Pinnacle Homes and Investments. A developer and a lender.”

  David had read more about Frank O’Reilly in the local papers than he had the mayor. He was litigious all right—a litigator’s wet dream. David sighed to hide his interest; sighed out seven years’ worth of frustration. “I don’t even want to go back in there right now.”

  “So don’t. Let me tee this up for you. You take the rest of the year off and go somewhere nice with Lana. How is she, by the way?”

  David’s BlackBerry rang just in time to avoid the Lana question. He glanced at the number. “It’s Mirabel.” He answered.

  “Mr. Hubert is here,” she said over the phone. “What should I tell him?”

  “I thought our meeting was at three.”

  “He said he’s leaving town for New Year’s and wants to get this out of the way.”

  “Tell him I’ll be there in ten.” He ended the call and looked at Terry. “I’ve got to go. Time to take care of your client.”

  Of all the conference rooms where the firm’s receptionist could have left Blake Hubert waiting, David found him yapping away on his cellphone at the same table where only an hour before Alton Holloway had ripped David’s heart out and tossed it in a blender.

  Blake nodded to David and rolled his eyes at the phone. “We’ve already written twenty million off that portfolio.”

  David stared at the conference table. Maybe it was just a dream. Maybe his review was actually tomorrow, and he was going to stroll in here and be told, yes, the equity partners of Hollis & Alderman, LLP had in fact elected David Lawrence Friedman to partnership. He pinched his palm to make sure he wasn’t dreaming before Blake hung up and raised his hand for a high five. David obliged, but could not match Blake’s frat-boy gusto.

  Blake grinned slyly. David didn’t know what to say. Blake, like most business school graduates, made David nauseous.

  “Good work, Friedman. You had her crying on the stand. That was classic.”

  The trial seemed so long ago now. David couldn’t believe the closing arguments had been just last Friday. “I guess it did the trick.”

  “I got to tell you, man, I had my doubts when Terry put you on this case. I told him you were too quiet to take a case like this to trial. Especially against Ed Savage. But those doubts are gone.”

  “You’re happy, I’m happy, Blake.”

  Blake grinned as though he wanted David to say something more, but David had nothing else to add. So Blake continued: “That judge, though, man that judge really had it out for you. What was that all about?”

  Blake was referring to the Honorable Henry Cox, Gaspar County’s most senior and respected jurist, who had presided over the Savage trial and berated David for “inflammatory” comments he’d made in front of the jury. In the end, Judge Cox had ordered David to take a few hours of CLE courses on professionalism, but that would not disturb the jury’s verdict. “Good thing it wasn’t a bench trial,” was all David had to say about that.

  He moved to the opposite end of the table, as far away as possible from where he’d sat during his review that morning. Blake followed, carrying a black nylon business backpack. Probably something he’d read in GQ was all the rage in the big cities these days.

  “Bottom line,” Blake said. “When will we own this property?”

  “At least six weeks. And that’s assuming they don’t appeal.”

  “Appeal?”

  “It’s always possible, especially given who we’re dealing with.”

  “I’m trying to figure out whether to sell the judgment and when.”

  “I’m sure we’ll get a real offer now. The Savages’ attorney already called this morning.”

  “I’d rather give it away than cut a deal with that asshole. And that reminds me.” Blake unzipped his bag and pulled out a folder. “Do we need to worry about this?”

  David opened the folder and found the email—the email that had cost him countless hours of sleep over the past year. The email from the bank’s loan officer to Ed Savage, promising Ed could refinance his adjustable-rate mortgage before the interest rate increased. Fast-forward a few years: the interest rate increased, Ed couldn’t refinance or pay, and the bank foreclosed. Ed forgot to save the email, and the bank refused to produce it before trial. Justice served.

  “You made sure your IT guys deleted the backup?” David asked.

  Blake nodded. “I need to keep a copy, though. I’d like to have some ammo down the road against the ass-wad who sent this email. Just in case.” He beat his eyelashes to feign a hint of shame. “Can you hang on to this for me?”

  “Sure,” David said, remembering Terry’s admonishment about getting his hands dirty. “I can put it in my safe.”

  Blake remembered something else. He pulled out another folder. “I need to get these reports finalized for all our foreclosures over the past fifteen months. By the year’s end. Could you finish these?”

  David skimmed over the pile of pages and imagined the hours it would take to supply this information. “When do you need this?”

  “Like I said, before the end of the year.”

  “Tonight it is.” David wanted to tell Blake to go fuck himself, but instead he wished him a happy New Year.

  Not long after Blake Hubert left, David gave up on responding to any of the two hundred emails that had piled up last week while he was in trial. As he clicked back to the Google search-results page, a CD of Stevie Ray Vaughan and Double Trouble live in Montreux played too loudly for this time of day in the office. Stevie Ray belted the solo to “Pride and Joy.” David felt neither right now, but the song still sounded good and somehow appropriate for the occasion.

  David spent an hour working on Blake’s litigation reports, but he couldn’t concentrate enough to get far with that, either. He finally realized he couldn’t concentrate on anything but Frank O’Reilly. So, at two o’clock that afternoon he turned to researching O’Reilly’s companies and dealings. Most of the online media he found discussed O’Reilly’s latest venture, Gaspar Towers, a luxury condo development on Gaspar Beach, where O’Reilly had sunk millions he’d made developing residential communities in Southwest Florida at the height of the bubble. Investors had lined up to buy units in the Towers before construction started in 2006, but now it seemed O’Reilly couldn’t give the units away. That was fueling a lot of litigation with disgruntled investors who wanted to get out of their contracts and procure the return of the hefty escrow deposits they’d paid back when everyone and their brother was a real estate investor.

  As David was about to click on the link to another article, he sensed someone standing in his doorway. He glanced up. His assistant, Mirabel, smiled back reluctantly.

  “I heard the news,” she bellowed over the blaring blues. She wore a starchy denim skirt and a sweate
r vest with a puffy reindeer head ironed to it. Her wiry brown hair glistened with a fresh holiday perm. “You want to talk?” she asked with too much pity.

  “Not really.”

  She glanced at the CD player. “They made a mistake, David. Everyone’s saying that.”

  “Like I said, not really.”

  “I understand.” She fidgeted her hands behind her back. “Well, it is three o’clock.” He looked at the clock, unsure of her point. “They said we could go early today for New Year’s.”

  He vaguely recalled a firm policy that permitted staff to leave early on New Year’s Eve, the memory of which spawned another one from his review meeting this morning. “We need to talk,” he said, and waved her in. She closed the door to his office. Then, he pulled out his checkbook from the top drawer of his desk.

  As he scribbled on the check, he said, “I don’t want you to ask any questions about this. When they were explaining why I wasn’t making partner this morning, they told me they cut staff bonuses this year.” He signed the check and handed it to her. Her eyes bulged. “I know I can be a jerk. Actually, I know I am a jerk. But I’m getting a bonus this year. It’s not fair you’re not.”

  She fanned the air in front of her with the check. “This is more than they gave me last year. I can’t take this from you.”

  “You can. Or I’ll nail you on your next review.”

  She smiled and covered her face in embarrassment. “Thank you.” She put the check in her pocket and leaned over to give him a hug. “Thank you so much.” She beamed for a moment. Then she tilted her head and her smile faded. “So you and Lana have big plans tonight?”

  “Not much.”

  She took a breath. Here it comes, he thought. “David, I know about Lana. She told me.”

  “Told you what?”

  “She told me enough. You shouldn’t keep this stuff all to yourself.” As she waited for a response that didn’t come, a knock on the door startled her. The door slowly opened, and a long shadow rose behind her, eclipsing most light from the hallway. She stared at David nervously, as though waiting for him to confirm her fears.