Breach of Trust

28

I met Paul Riley at the Maritime Club, where only about a week ago I’d had lunch with Jon Soliday, who had warned me not to go near the Procurement and Construction Board. I longed for a do-over where I took Jon’s advice and tried a different angle for discovering who killed Adalbert Wozniak and Ernesto Ramirez. But I hadn’t, and now I was dealing with the mess.

“Anyplace but the law firm,” I’d said to Paul. I had not walked into Shaker, Riley since the day Talia and Emily died. I couldn’t stomach the pity or the awkward small talk. Someone there, at some point, had gathered together all my personal items from my office and delivered them to my house. I couldn’t even remember who it was. My memory of that entire stint with Shaker, Riley was much of a blur at this point.

When he showed up at the Maritime Club, Paul looked the same as I remembered him, fit, tan, well-dressed, comfortable in his own skin, quick with the self-deprecation when I asked about his nomination to the federal bench, pending before the Senate Judiciary Committee. “They’ve been trying to find people to say something nice about me,” he said, when I asked him about the delay. Closer to the truth was a hostile senate, slow-footing the judicial nominations of a president from the opposing party.

“You know you have a standing invite to return,” Paul told me, when we took our seats for lunch. “I won’t belabor it, but it’s there for the taking.”

My laugh was uneasy. Surely, Paul would rethink that invitation after this conversation.

In his lengthy career as a lawyer, Paul had done a lot, and there was very little he hadn’t seen. I don’t know where my plight fell on the spectrum, but as I began to explain it to him, I sensed it was personal to him, particularly as I mentioned characters from our trial together, not the least of whom was the prosecutor, Chris Moody. His face went tellingly blank when I told him I’d gotten involved with the PCB-he held his tongue-lashing, I suspect, because he knew it was going to get worse-and he was white as a sheet when I recounted my conversation last night with federal agents. I ran through everything while Paul listened silently. It was clear that he felt sorry for me, which was the last thing I wanted. I would have preferred a glass of cold water in the face, which I probably deserved.

“Well, we could fight it,” he said, after I’d rehashed everything. I appreciated the use of the word “we.” I had no doubt that Paul would step in to help me if asked. But I wouldn’t ask.

“This guy Cimino has made you the fall guy, Jason. My guess is, the feds know that, and if Chris had an ounce of decency, he’d let this go. You could tell him to go scratch his ass and see what happens. If he charges you, you fight it.”

That was certainly a possibility. “You think Moody would let it go?”

“Probably not,” said Paul, with his characteristic frankness. “He’d want everyone pointing fingers. They blame the lawyer, you blame them, and everyone goes down looking dirty.”

My thought exactly.

“Well.” Paul sighed, examined his fingernails. “You could get immunity and see what that costs you.”

“You know what it’ll cost me,” I said. “The supreme court would be very interested, too.” The state bar is controlled by our state supreme court, which handles lawyer misconduct. Even if I got immunity from prosecution, it wouldn’t be immunity from them. “I’d probably lose my license, Paul.”

“Oh, Jason, Jason.” He shook his head. Paul Riley was the best lawyer I’d ever worked with. It was like disappointing a parent. He looked up at the ceiling and sighed. “You could agree to immunity without stipulating to the charge-”

“Which gets me the same thing,” I said. “I’d still have to plead my case to the supremes.”

He didn’t have a rejoinder. I was right. We both knew it. If I took an immunity deal, I’d probably lose my law license, at least for a while.

Paul shrugged his shoulders. “Okay, so you won’t take immunity. You just sit back and hope they decide against charging you? I mean, that doesn’t sound-”

“Oh, I’m not going to just sit back,” I said. “I’m going to work for them.”

Paul chewed on that, drumming his fingers on the table. Someone told a joke a few tables away that left everyone in stitches. How I wished for that kind of frivolity right now.

“So you cooperate without a deal and hope for leniency later?”

“Fuck leniency,” I said. “I am never, ever going to plead guilty. Never.”

“Then I’m missing something. Why work for the G? Why go undercover? What does that buy you with them?”

Nothing. That’s what it would buy me. Absolutely nothing.

“You don’t want immunity or leniency,” he said. “So what do you want?”

I wasn’t sure what I wanted for myself. I knew what Talia would say, were she here. This would be one of her patient commentaries, with phrases like “hard-headed” finding their way in there.

“Oh,” Paul said. “You’re just pissed off. You want payback.”

I shrugged. “These assholes dragged me into their swamp. I should let them get away with it?”

“Jason. Jason.” Paul reached out a hand toward me. “Don’t do what you’re thinking. You’re mad at those guys-Cimino and the others. I get that. I would be, too. They made you an unwitting accomplice. But you have to look at the bigger picture. You have to think of yourself. Take immunity. Because otherwise, Chris Moody will let you do his bidding as a CI and then fuck you afterward. He will, Jason. You know he will.”

Paul was making sense. I suppose I was the one who wasn’t. I would work as a confidential informant for the federal government without any promises from them.

“They screwed me, Paul. And they’re screwing the public, if I needed any further motivation. I’m not going to take that.”

“Fine, then work for the feds, but take the damn immunity, Jason. Don’t be a hero. Because I’m telling you, son, no one will be standing in line afterward to say ‘thank you.’ ”

But I didn’t need a thank-you. I just needed to stick to my principles. I didn’t do anything wrong. Taking immunity meant I did. No, if Chris Moody and his thugs wanted to chase after me on a bogus charge, then I’d have to deal with that when the time came. But I couldn’t let Charlie Cimino and the rest of them-whoever they were-walk away from this.

If I was going to lose everything, at least I was going to do it on my terms.

Paul grimaced as we stood at the doorway of the Maritime Club. “I don’t know how much help I was, my friend. I think you already had your mind made up.”

“I needed your input. And you gave it to me. You told me I’m completely nuts.”

“You’re standing on principle, Jason. I admire that. I do.” He offered a hand. “But admirable can still be foolish. Please take my advice and cut a deal. And please let me represent you.”

“I hope I’m calling you Your Honor sometime soon, Paul.” I shook his hand and pushed through the door, into a wind that was colder than I’d expected.

And I hope, I thought to myself, I’m not doing it from a prison cell.