Desperate Measures

15

Stone was working as lunchtime approached, when Joan rang. “Herbie Fisher on one.”

“Good morning, Herb.”

“And to you, and thanks so much for the referral.”

“What referral?”

“Cilla Scott.”

“Oh, she’s called you already?”

“She’s seen me. She just left.”

“You’re taking her on, then?”

“I certainly am. She’s the ideal client — organized, prepared, and, most important, dispassionate. She wheeled in years of tax returns, financial statements, and annual reports for his hedge fund, along with her prenup. She’s given me enough to put her husband into a homeless shelter, but she’s instructed me to bend over backward to be fair to him. If I were being divorced, I’d love to have an ex-wife like that. How’d you come across her?”

“She fell into my lap. Who’s representing her husband?”

“Terry Barnes, at Barnes & Wood. I’m expecting his call. He and Donald Trask are old fraternity brothers from Cornell. I’m guessing Trask will listen to him.”

“That could be good or bad.”

“No, Barnes will just want to be shed of all this, and he’ll know how to give it to Trask straight and make him take it.”

“Sounds like the ideal opponent.”

“Just an honest one, which is what Trask needs to get him through this with some of his ego intact. The guy’s been sucking at her family teat for the past eight years, and he should understand that it’s over.”

“Well, if anybody can explain it to him, Herb, it’s you.”

“Yeah, I’m putting on my Dutch uncle mask as we speak. Hang on.”

Stone was put on hold for about a minute, then Herb came back.

“Terry Barnes is on the way over here. Things are moving fast and smooth.”

“Do I have to remind you that where divorce is concerned, ‘fast and smooth’ are an illusion?”

“Hope springs eternal. I gotta go make some notes for this meeting.”

“Keep me posted.”

“Cilla has given me permission to do that; she seems to trust you implicitly.”

“I’m flattered.” He hung up as Joan buzzed again.

“A Ms. Scott on two.”

Stone picked up. “Good morning. I hope you’re staying off that foot.”

“You and Dr. Kevin would be proud of me,” she said. “I’ve got myself a little cart to rest my knee on, and I scoot around like that. The concierge has furnished me with a minion to carry my purse and drag my wheelie around with all my documents. I left them all with your Herb Fisher.”

“I heard. What do you think of him?”

“I think he’s ideal.”

“He said pretty much the same about you.”

“I’m seeing my father’s financial advisors, then having a quick lunch with your friend Margot, to hear about the real estate market, and then we’re going apartment hunting.”

“You move at the speed of light.”

“Every step I take is one away from the marriage, and that’s what I want most right now. Here’s Margot, gotta run.” She hung up.

Joan buzzed again. “A Mr. Trask to see you. He doesn’t have an appointment.”

“Who Trask?”

“Donald.”

“Well, shit, send him in, I guess.” Stone stood up to greet a very large man in a well-cut suit. Six-four and two-twenty, Stone guessed. Works out daily.

“Mr. Trask?” He extended a hand.

Trask shook it perfunctorily and accepted an offered chair.

“What can I do for you?” Stone asked, not very invitingly.

“You can stay away from my wife for a start,” Trask said truculently. “I know you’re behind all of this.”

“All of what?”

“This divorce thing. You two have been planning it, haven’t you?”

“Mr. Trask, please listen carefully, and remember what I’m saying because I don’t want to repeat myself. I met your wife less than twenty-four hours ago, entirely by accident, when she sprained an ankle in a shop I was visiting. I got her back to her hotel and arranged for a doctor to come and see her. When I told her I practiced law, she asked me to recommend a divorce attorney. I did so and, I might add, without regret. That is the sum total of her relationship with me. Do you understand?”

Trask glared at him, tapping a foot. Stone thought it probable that the man was accustomed to ending talks like this with his fists.

“Is that the truth?”

Stone nodded slowly. “Now, if there’s nothing else, please excuse me. I have work to do.” That last part was a lie, but Stone thought it sounded good.

“I expect you’ll hear from me,” Trask said, getting to his feet.

“We won’t be speaking again,” Stone said. “Your wife is represented by Herbert Fisher of Woodman & Weld. Your attorney can put you in touch with him, should you have any further questions.” He stood and watched the man leave, then sat back down just as Joan came in.

“You all right?”

“I haven’t been beaten to a pulp, if that’s what you mean.”

“I had a bad feeling,” she said. That’s when he realized she was holding her.45 behind her back.

“I don’t think he’ll be back,” Stone said. “In any case, there shouldn’t be any occasion for drawing weapons.”

“What do you mean? Everybody in this house is carrying, including you.”

“Well, yes, but that’s another matter entirely. Mr. Trask is not a suspect in the case.”

“Who is he?”

“An ex-husband-to-be.”

“Oh, shit,” she said. “The worst kind.”

“He was operating on incomplete information,” Stone said. “I augmented his education on the subject, so please decline any further calls or requests for meetings from him, and don’t hesitate to call the police if he becomes persistent.”

“I can’t just shoot him?” Joan asked, half joking.

“Maybe later,” Stone said, and she went back to her desk.

Stone took some deep breaths and went back to what he hadn’t been doing.