Judgment

49

She was silent for a long time. She watched the traffic on the street below, the shadows of dusk settling on St. James Street. Then she went back to the pile of printouts. A few seconds later her eye was snagged by another e-mail thread. An exchange between Noah Miller and someone named Fiona Charteris.

She read it aloud. “Any idea what that means?”

“Yeah. It means that the client has gotten a look at the financials and knows the company is in deep shit. So if they go out of business, the company’s software, the engine that makes everything run, is held separately, and it belongs to them.”

“I see. And who’s this Fiona Charteris?”

“I didn’t get around to her. I know that Linklaters is a law firm — a member of what’s called the ‘Magic Circle,’ one of the big five law firms in the UK. So she’s probably a lawyer.”

“I’m guessing she represents Harrogate Capital Partners.”

“Right. Let me do a quick search.”

She went back to reading the thread of e-mails between Noah and Fiona Charteris, mostly boring stuff concerning the Wheelz deal, and then one e-mail caught her attention.

“She’s discovering that there’s Russian money behind the Harrogate firm. Russian money that came in from a Russian-owned bank in Cyprus. Which is illegal.”

“Exactly.”

She turned the page.

“Oh wow,” she said.

“What?”

“Noah forwards her e-mail to her contact at Harrogate, and listen to this.”

She read the next exchange aloud:

She looked up. “Something the two lawyers couldn’t talk about over e-mail?” she said. “Something about this woman Fiona.”

Hersh was no longer listening. He was staring at his screen, reading something.

“What is it?”

“What’s the date of that e-mail?”

“November 28, 2015.”

He let out his breath slowly.

“Mother of God,” he said. “I’m reading an article in the Daily Mail. A British tabloid.”

“What?”

“Fiona Charteris, City solicitor, twenty-seven...” He fell silent. His eyes were moving back and forth, rapt on the screen. “Killed in gruesome bus accident near Moorgate Station... crossing the street... Charteris, a third-year associate at posh law firm Linklaters, was going home to shower and change after staying up all night at her law firm... A witness says she was probably pushed...”

He looked at her.

Juliana felt light-headed. She felt droplets of sweat breaking out along her hairline. “Oh, my God,” she said. “Who knows I’m your client?”

He nodded. “Nobody. I never reveal the names of my clients.”

“Philip, listen to me.” Her stare burned into Hersh’s sad eyes. She leaned forward and put a hand on his forearm. “I have a family. I have kids.”

“Of course. I understand. As I was saying—”

“I want you to do everything you can to make sure my name is not connected with this investigation. That nobody knows what I... know.”

He looked miserable. “You know what I’m going to say. I will take every precaution—”

“No!” she exploded. “You make goddamned sure of it. Make a hundred percent certain.”

Now he looked away, toyed with a stapler on his desk. “Okay,” he said. “I’ll do everything in my power. But I think we’re in agreement: we’ve gone as far as we safely can.”

She nodded, not sure what to think. It felt like an insoluble problem, a terrible dilemma. Keep digging, keep peeling back the layers of the onion, and maybe you’ll figure out a way to keep your family safe. But — to shift clichés — the more they poked at the hornets’ nest, the greater the chance of being stung. “I don’t know what the hell to do,” she said.

“And what do you plan to do about this new deadline, that legal decision you mentioned?”

“The motion for summary judgment. Yes. It would end the case.”

“How are you going to rule, or am I not allowed to ask that of a judge?”

“I haven’t ruled on it yet.”

“You going to meet their demand?”

“I can’t. I’m going to deny the motion,” she said. She kept thinking of the plaintiff, Rachel Meyers, and the harassment she’d faced at Wheelz. The ugliness. The young woman wouldn’t settle, wouldn’t take a multimillion-dollar payment from Wheelz. She wanted justice to be done. There was something heroic about that. “But I’m terrified about what’s going to happen when I deny it.”

“Honestly?” Hersh said with a sad little smile. “I don’t think it makes any difference what you decide.”

“What the hell does that mean?”

“Let’s say you grant the motion. Once you give them what they need — well, they’ll probably bide their time, but they’ll get to you.”

“Get to me,” she said. “What are you saying?”

“You’re probably safe as long as they need you around to make a decision. Which means you’re okay until you make that decision, thumbs up or thumbs down. Because once you do — they don’t need you anymore.”

She shook her head, not wanting to hear this.

“It’ll be you and your family, skiing in Aspen on winter break, and maybe none of you come back.”

“Hersh.”

“Or a scuba-diving accident in Costa Rica. Or there’s a car accident.”

“Enough.”

“Don’t think I’m just speculating. I’m trying to warn you away. I mean, there are so many ways this thing could go down. Do you really think they can tolerate your presence on this planet? If they find out you know what you know? There’s always going to be crosshairs on your forehead. A dancing red dot, wherever you go. The marksman’s bindi dot.”

She felt sick, dull, and headachy. The court provided judges with additional security when needed. The State Police. There were lunatics out there, tempers flared in the courtroom, and a lot was at stake. A judge always had to be careful. “Maybe I should ask for extra protection.”

Her phone chirred. Duncan. She let it go to voice mail.

“Yeah, I suppose a squad car parked in front of your house might work for a while. But does that mean that you and your family are going to have to live like that — bodyguards and police escorts, maybe private security — the rest of your life? Being terrified all the time about some minor security glitch? That’s no way to live.”

Tears had come to her eyes. She whispered, “So what the hell am I supposed to do?”

Hersh was quiet for a very long time. Finally he said, “I may have an idea.”