Breach of Trust

18

The following week, I reported for duty at the state building. An efficient older woman showed me into a small office that I’d be able to use. She showered me with forms to fill out and various bureaucratic idiosyncrasies (I had to take an ethics test; I had to promise to disclose any securities I might sell) and left me for a couple of hours. I had about twenty questions about what I was filling out, but I just did the best I could, or left something blank, figuring they knew where to find me if there was a problem.

The last document I came upon was a confidentiality agreement. I had to swear that I would keep all official business confidential, and that I would not remove any items from the state office. It put a little acid into my stomach to sign it, but it made sense that an office that oversaw hundreds of millions of dollars in state contracts might want to keep the wall up at all times.

The day before, I’d put in a call to Jon Soliday, a lawyer I knew in state government. He was the lawyer for Senate Majority Leader Grant Tully, his lifelong friend. Jon was one of these friends of a friend, but he’d always seemed like a pretty straight-up guy. More recently, I’d come into contact with Jon by virtue of Hector Almundo’s prosecution. Nothing hot and heavy, just some general background information from Jon about things the senate did, and some questions he’d had for me, always deliberately vague. I’d sensed that Jon hadn’t wanted to get too close to the hot iron. I’d also sensed that, as professional as Jon tried to keep it, Hector Almundo hadn’t been his favorite senator.

We met for lunch at the Maritime Club, an old boys’ club just a few blocks south of the state building. His hey-how-are-you was overly punctuated, given the circumstances, and I thanked him for the note he’d sent after Talia’s car accident.

I liked Jon, because he kept most of his thoughts to himself, and when he spoke, he had a good reason. I’d first met him several years ago, and compared to then, he’d showed some signs of age-more wrinkles carved in his forehead, more snow at the temples-but otherwise hadn’t changed a bit.

“So what’s this opportunity?” he asked me, as he worked some Caesar dressing through his salad with his fork. I can’t do that, the salad thing. It’s not just a philosophical opposition, although that’s part of it; roughage just doesn’t fill me up.

“The Procurement and Construction Board,” I said. “I have a contract for legal services.”

He paused for only a moment, long enough for me to see that I’d struck a chord. With a poker face, eyes diverted, he asked, “Is that something you’ve already accepted?”

I almost laughed. He’d already given me the answer I’d sought. He didn’t want to shit all over my “opportunity” if I had already signed up. If I hadn’t, he was going to warn me off. “Give it to me straight,” I said.

“I’m not sure I’m the right person to do that.” He smiled. “Our current governor and the legislature aren’t exactly the closest of friends.”

Thinking back, I guess I’d read something along those lines. I didn’t follow local politics all that closely, though representing a state senator had attuned me slightly more. The media, always more interested in the conflict than the policy, had covered the fight this past year between the governor and both the house and senate-but especially the senate, and especially Jon’s boss, the senate majority leader, Grant Tully.

“The straight scoop, Jon. Please. I’m no partisan. I’m just a lawyer.”

“Carlton Snow is an idiot.” Jon opened his hands. “That straight enough?”

“Go on.”

“He was the city clerk here-meaning you got your marriage license from him-who somehow managed to finagle his way into the nomination for lieutenant governor and then, by some God-forsaken twist of fate, actually won. And then he fell ass-backward into the governor’s mansion when Lang Trotter went federal on us. I mean, Snow has absolutely no idea what he’s doing, but he thinks he’s going to be president some day.”

Hector had said the same thing, the presidential ambition. “So-”

“He waltzed in on day one like he’s Winston Churchill, having absolutely no idea about the legislative process or how to do anything other than issue a press release. He punched everyone in the capital in the face, refused to compromise on anything, and then wonders why nobody likes or respects him. He surrounds himself with yes-men who tell him he walks on water. See, you got me started.” He took a drink of water.

“Don’t sugarcoat it, Jon.”

Jon’s smile quickly evaporated. “The Procurement and Construction Board,” he said. “That was initially something Snow created in the governor lite’s office.”

“The governor-?”

“Sorry, the lieutenant governor’s office. Basically, your job as lieutenant governor is to sit around and be ready if the old man croaks, but the one thing that falls under the lieutenant governor is driver’s licenses. He oversees DMV.”

I’d seen that. Adalbert Wozniak’s company had sought to provide hospitality supplies to the affiliate Department of Motor Vehicles offices.

“So, Snow falls into the governorship, and he decides to use that same model. Only the governor doesn’t just preside over one agency-he oversees dozens of administrative agencies with millions upon millions of dollars’ worth of contracts. Each agency doles out contracts, right? For anything you can imagine. Well, now Snow says, all of those agency contracts-all of them-are going to fall under a single board, the PCB. That’s over a billion dollars in contracts, with five people appointed by Snow deciding who gets what.” He looked up from his salad. “You get this contract through Hector?”

I nodded.

“Right. And who interviewed you? Derek Bruen?”

“Who’s that?”

Jon shook his head. “The guy who’d normally be interviewing you,” he said. “Anyone other than Charlie Cimino?”

I drew back. He seemed to have a pretty good handle on things. “Just Cimino,” I answered.

“Sure.” Jon shook his head and smiled. He seemed to be sensing that he was coming on too strong. “Well, hey, I’ll say this much-there’s lots of work with the PCB. Lots of money for a private practitioner. I’m sure it’ll work out fine.”

“Are you?”

He wiped his hands with his napkin and took a long drink of water. “Jason, you’re a big boy, and a smart guy. Smarter than they’ll be used to over there. Just call it like you see it, and document everything. Paper the files.”

“Cover myself.”

“Cover yourself, exactly.”

“Jeez, Jon, is it that bad?”

He took a long time thinking about that. “The truth is, I don’t know. I hear things. But the capital, I mean, it’s like a sewing circle. Who knows? But when I say names like Governor Snow and Charlie Cimino, I don’t usually use words like ‘ethical’ in the same breath. Know what I mean?”

I wasn’t particularly surprised by what Jon was telling me, but hearing him say these things, I admit, gave me some pause.

“Look, I’ll just say this once, Jason. Because you’re asking. And then I’ll shut the hell up.”

“Okay.” I opened my hands. “Hit me.”

“The second best thing you can do is be careful, like I said. Cover yourself.”

“And the best thing I could do?”

“Walk away,” he said. “Walk away, Jason.” He wagged a finger at me and did not smile.