Foreclosure: A Novel Read online

  A moment later, he flipped the light switch in Alton Holloway’s corner office and took it all in: the three diplomas from an array of Ivy League schools. Photographs of Alton posing with Florida Supreme Court justices and teeing off at Augusta where, Alton was wont to brag, he golfed an 86 (while drunk). David ran his hand over the antique desk and wondered what sinister things Alton had plotted from this piece of furniture. Then he turned to the walnut cabinet behind his desk, the notorious cabinet known to house the firm’s deepest and darkest secrets—secrets that Alton refused to have electronically stored in this new digital age of e-discovery, and to which only Alton possessed the key. David tugged on each of the four cabinet drawers. They didn’t budge.

  Remembering his waning buzz, he turned to the redwood globe in the far corner of Alton’s office. He opened the upper crust of the earth and found an enticing assortment of delicious rare scotches and bourbons. And how nice of the partners to leave a clean snifter for him. He grabbed the nearest bottle, a 1997 Macallan Highland, and poured himself a few ounces. Perfect, he thought. The year I started law school.

  He raised the snifter for a toast to a picture of Holloway and his trophy wife. “To assholes.” He slammed the drink, poured himself a refill, and raised it for another toast. “And to of counsel.” He belched, sending a queasy sensation rippling through his gut like a monsoon. “I’m going to beat you, Alton Holloway. As soon as Frank O’Reilly returns, I’m going to beat you at your own game.”

  He poured another drink and made a note to nurse this one. In fact, he couldn’t fit anything else in the old bladder until he made some room. He was about to leave for the john when inspiration struck.

  He turned to the ficus in the far corner of Alton’s office. “You look thirsty, buddy.”

  He unzipped his fly and let it flow. The most relief he’d felt in a while. And it never stopped. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d pissed this long. Hell, he couldn’t remember the last time he’d pissed. He checked the soil and made sure he had a few inches before there would be any overflow.

  Then he heard a door slam in the distance. He had no idea where, other than it was somewhere in the office. Regardless, there was no way he could stop this piss in midstream. He would have to wait another second. Or two. Or three. He pinched it shut, but that just sent a light spray like sea mist all over Alton’s wall.

  He quickly zipped up, tiptoed to the doorway, and peered into the long dark hallway. Nothing. Finally, he heard a voice, somewhere far off. Maybe two voices.

  He eased down the hallway. As he neared the corner to the adjoining hallway, the voices became clearer. Two distinct voices.

  “Hurry up if you want it,” one of them said.

  He followed the trail of voices to Mackenzie Alderman’s office. Just as he turned the corner, the door to her office slammed shut. He took a peek through the blinds on the small window running parallel to her door. There she was, lying on her desk with her legs wrapped around someone’s head.

  Another look confirmed it was none other than Alton’s head.

  This was certainly too good to be true. He stood aside and considered how to take advantage of this golden opportunity. After shoring up his plan, he pulled out his BlackBerry and peeked around the corner again. If only he could get a shot of Alton’s face, but now Alton was nowhere to be seen. Just then, David spotted him on the floor, clumsily undressing. Alton sprang back to his feet and started giving it to Mackenzie on the desktop from behind. Her moans sounded exaggerated and slurred.

  Alton tilted his head just enough to show his face breaking a sweat. His biceps bulged as he gripped her thighs, pounding her with an impressive rhythm.

  David raised the BlackBerry lens and snapped a shot. He stood aside and reviewed his handy work. It was golden all right, so much so that he could not resist the urge to take one more, just for good measure. He leaned back around the corner and held the BlackBerry steady.

  As he was about to click the button, the BlackBerry began ringing—the loudest damn ringtone he’d ever heard. He raced away from the window and fumbled with the button to turn the ringer off.

  He stopped at a safe distance and listened.

  “What was that?” Mackenzie moaned.

  “My phone,” Alton moaned back.

  “That wasn’t your ringer. And it’s outside.”

  Silence. Then the shuffling of feet and clothing. David turned the corner and sprinted down the hallway. Just as he turned the next corner, the light from the previous hallway chased him through the next corridor. There was no safe pathway to the office exit, the only door he could use at night. He raced through the next hallway, knowing they could catch him at any corner.

  He reached Terry’s office and remembered Terry’s big-ass mahogany desk—big enough to hide a Mini Cooper. As soon as he was safely under it, he checked the BlackBerry to see who’d called. Maybe he’d made a mistake in blowing off Katherine. But it wasn’t Katherine who had called—it was only Blake Hubert, probably with a question about the report. Whatever he wanted, it would have to wait a few days.

  David turned the BlackBerry off and waited. Footsteps were approaching. Sounded like they’d stopped in front of Terry’s office.

  “Well?” Mackenzie whispered down the hallway.

  “I don’t think it was anything,” Alton said. “It must have been an office phone.”

  “I hope you’re happy. What’s wrong with a hotel, anyway?”

  “Let’s get that room.”

  Hearing Alton’s seductive voice turned David’s stomach. He waited what seemed at least five minutes and figured they had to be gone. But even if he made it outside, he could not risk being seen by Alton and Mackenzie—or anyone else, for that matter. Plus, he was growing tired, too tired to get his car and drive.

  Outside, the crackling rumble of fireworks heralded the arrival of 2008. David wished himself a happy New Year, closed his eyes, and fought a ferocious case of the spins.

  CHAPTER THREE

  Twelve hours into the new year, he lay in limbo on the couch. A bowl game played on the TV, but he couldn’t tell you which one. He held his ’67 Stratocaster, the Olympic White antique he’d purchased last month for fifteen grand. “The nail in the coffin,” Lana had called it. Of course, she wouldn’t understand just how lucky he’d been to find this particular guitar, even if he’d had to spend the money he had put aside for her engagement ring. The neck felt a hair thinner than the later-model Strat his dad bought him when he was twelve—the guitar he cut his teeth on, and which now sat in his study collecting dust. David bent the B string with his left hand, but he couldn’t bring himself to strum it with his right.

  “Who the hell pays that kind of money for a guitar and doesn’t even play it?” Lana had asked the day she moved out. He conceded it was a good question.

  He returned the guitar to the stand on the fireplace mantle, its new home ever since she’d left. Then, he reached for his BlackBerry on the end table to make sure what had happened last night was no dream. He skimmed the pics of Alton and Mackenzie and emailed them to his personal account. He hoped he’d be able to put them to good use, very soon.

  The instant he hit send, the BlackBerry rang—the same ring that had given him a panic attack last night when he’d been playing voyeur outside Mackenzie’s office. He recognized the prefix as a Hollis & Alderman number, but who the hell would be calling on New Year’s? He hit the answer button but didn’t speak.

  “I need to see you.” It was Alton.

  “Now?”

  “Yes.”

  David could sense Alton’s nervousness. “What on earth for?”

  “It would be better if we spoke in person about this. It won’t take long.” Alton hung up.

  Standing up was a painful reminder of the red-wine hangover he’d woken up with today. He promised himself he would not try to figure out what Alton might want because the possibilities were endless, though he was pretty sure what this was all about. So, he grabbed
the Advil bottle and looked for his pants.

  “Happy New Year,” David said as he scooted his way into Alton’s office. His legs froze in place when he saw Mackenzie seated facing Alton’s desk, her legs glistening from a fresh wax.

  Alton turned around from his computer. “Have a seat.”

  David sat next to Mackenzie, who was still typing an email on her BlackBerry and hadn’t made eye contact.

  Alton began his spiel in a manner painfully reminiscent of David’s review yesterday. “Mackenzie and I were talking about a few opportunities we thought we should get you involved with. As we said yesterday, we’re not going to leave you to this alone.”

  “What kind of opportunities?” David asked.

  Alton waved his finger, a polite gesture requesting patience, and then glanced in Mackenzie’s direction before looking back to David. “We apparently had some sort of security breach last night. After receiving the call, I came by to check it out. I found nothing, but I noticed your light was still on.” Alton looked David dead in the eyes. “Were you here after hours last night?”

  David nodded slowly. “I had to finish a report for Blake Hubert.” David waited, returning Alton’s attentive glare. “I was out of here before eleven,” he lied. “I didn’t see anything suspicious.”

  “He didn’t see anything suspicious,” Alton repeated to Mackenzie. She rolled her eyes and resumed typing on her BlackBerry.

  Alton cleared his throat. “Well, if you remember anything, be sure to let me know.”

  David nodded. “Sure thing, Alton.”

  Alton leaned back a few degrees with an almost postcoital relief. “With that said, I want to make sure we’re all on the same page. Despite our decision yesterday, David, we want to make sure you’re happy.”

  “I haven’t been happy in a while, Alton. In fact, I guess you could say I got the blues.”

  Alton shared a flurry of glances between David and Mackenzie. “We’d like to change that.”

  David gripped his BlackBerry. With a few clicks, he could steer this conversation in an entirely different direction, but he decided he’d hear them out first. “I’m all ears.”

  Alton smiled and said, “I’ll let Mackenzie explain.”

  She took her time finishing the email, smirking as though she enjoyed making them wait. After a few climactic punches of keys, she pulled a brochure off Alton’s desk and handed it to David. David skimmed through it, a promotional brochure with a few glossy pages featuring biographies of attorneys in the firm. David’s photo and a blurb about his experience appeared on the second page.

  “We’re making a pitch,” Mackenzie said.

  “To whom?” David asked.

  “Meridian Bank.”

  “Meridian Bank of Miami?”

  “That’s the only one I know of,” she said. “With Justin Baxter going in-house there, we thought this would be a prime time to approach them.”

  “We’re confident he will funnel some work our way,” Alton added. “You seem like the ideal person to lead the litigation pitch, given your friendship with Justin.”

  David remembered the last time he’d seen his old buddy Justin Baxter: keeled over on a sidewalk outside a tapas bar in Miami. With a bloodied face. And more blood on David’s hands and oxford. Right after David had found Justin on a date with Lana. They’d been feeding each other ceviche and sipping red sangria. David had put two and two together, and realized Lana had moved out because Justin was going in-house. At Meridian Bank of Miami. How perfect.

  “I don’t know if that’s a good idea.”

  “Why not?” Mackenzie asked.

  David wanted to tell her he was checking the Miami-Dade County records online every day to make sure there was no warrant for his arrest. Instead, he said, “I don’t know that he was happy with the firm when he left.”

  “I can assure you Justin was very happy when he left us,” Alton said. “No question about it.”

  So they canned him after all, David thought. “He didn’t mention that to me.”

  “He was contractually bound not to,” Mackenzie explained.

  “We’re planning a meet n’ greet next week. We want you there.” Alton squinted at David to make sure he was on board.

  David sighed. “Any other opportunities?”

  Alton looked at him blankly for a moment. “Yes. Of course. I want you to join me for a round of golf with the heads of an investment firm passing through town in a few weeks. There’s potential for a lot of litigation work.”

  Great, David thought. A golf outing with two investment bankers. Really fucking great.

  David took the scenic drive home along Beach Boulevard with all its high-rises and beachfront bars, some of which he hoped might be open today. A pale ale would hit the spot—not only cure his red-wine headache, but maybe also provide a little wisdom and motivation for the career-development planning that lay ahead. The notion that his future may be riding on pitching work to Justin Baxter and a couple of investment bankers on a golf course did not sit well. David wished he knew when the hell O’Reilly would return and put him out of his misery.

  He slowed the Saab as he approached Gaspar Towers. A toned couple jogged along the sidewalk past the retail space adjoining the twin towers. David slowed nearly to a halt and caught a glimpse of an enormous specimen who could pass for a retired linebacker blocking the entrance to the sales office. At first, David wondered whether the beast was some kind of construction worker, but then he caught a glimpse of Katherine holding the door open for the man.

  Rather than wonder about what he’d just seen, David zipped into the first parking spot he came to, which turned out to be the same spot he’d parked in yesterday evening. As he exited the car, he looked over both shoulders just in case Ed Savage was out and about today. When he was sure the coast was clear, he trotted across Beach Boulevard toward the sales office.

  A moment later, he stared through the tinted glass door to the office. The linebacker stood in front of Katherine’s desk, flailing his arms back and forth. Whatever he was saying, it was either damned important or he was the most dramatic linebacker David had ever seen. David couldn’t tell whether Katherine was seated at her desk, so he opened the door to get a better look. The doorbell chimed.

  “I’m sorry, we’re closed today.” David still couldn’t see her, but he knew the voice was Katherine’s. Dick Butkus slowly turned at the sound of David’s voice. He stepped aside just enough to allow David to get his first look at Katherine. She lobbed an indifferent glance in David’s direction. The linebacker shook his head at her and whispered something. Then she covered her face with her hands and muttered something, all the while shaking her head.

  The linebacker turned to leave. He wore a tight polo and designer jeans with canvas loafers. He had the lats and deltoids of someone who spent an hour a day in the gym—and did so not to look good for the beach, but because he liked to crack skulls. David stepped aside to give him a clear exit. As he passed, David noticed that the man’s left eye was a cloudy amalgam of gray and blue. He nodded at David and opened the door.

  David didn’t nod back. He walked to Katherine’s desk and waited for her to say something. When she stayed quiet, he asked, “So you miss your flight or something?”

  “I decided not to go.”

  “Why?”

  “Why do you care?”

  Nothing about her seemed remotely like the woman David had dined with the night before. She now seemed on edge and indifferent, and her eyes were red and glassy, as though she’d been crying all morning.

  “What’s wrong, Katherine?”

  Something gave and she let out a deep breath. “I got some bad news this morning.”

  “So you came to work on New Year’s?”

  “I didn’t have much of a choice.”

  “That guy say so?”

  She shook her head. “He’s just another headache.”

  “Who is he?”

  Katherine was still shaking her head. She
studied David for a moment, apparently searching for composure. “You said you’re a lawyer?”

  He nodded.

  “Know anything about criminal law?”

  “What’s wrong, Katherine?”

  “I don’t know. I can’t talk about it. But I need—”

  “Who was he?” he whispered.

  She raised her finger to hush him. The phone rang. She grabbed the receiver. “Yes,” she muttered emphatically. Then she leaned forward and cupped her hand to shield her conversation from David. “I don’t care. Tell him I missed my flight and I’m sick.” She nodded. “That’s my story, and I’m sticking to it.” She started to hang up, but listened a moment longer. “I know. I’ll deal with it.”

  She hung up and sighed.

  David leaned over her desk. “Why do you need a criminal lawyer, Katherine?”

  She closed her eyes and tilted her head toward the ceiling. “What are you doing here, anyway?”

  “I was driving by, thought I saw you, and got worried. Is that okay?”

  She ignored him.

  “Where’s O’Reilly?”

  “You know, I don’t mix business and pleasure.”

  He shrugged. “Neither do I.”

  “So you choose, him or me.”

  “You’re not really going to make me choose, are you?”

  She crossed her arms and nodded.

  “I’m sorry, Katherine. But I need this.”

  For an instant, he thought about trying to explain it to her, but he quickly dismissed that as wishful thinking. He could not explain it to himself if he tried, as least in a way that would withstand any modicum of scrutiny.

  She studied him for a long moment, up and down. Then she nodded again, so be it, and slowly smiled. If there was any empathy in her gaze, it was waning with the setting sun. “As you wish. He’ll be at a reception Thursday at the Hilton. Come by and I’ll introduce you.”