Motion to Kill

CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

When Mason started working on Victor O’Malley’s case, he asked Sullivan why O’Malley paid rent instead of moving into one of his own office towers. Sullivan explained that O’Malley had the space tied up at rock-bottom rates through a series of long-term options, which was better than losing out on market-rate rents on his own property. Mason recalled the conversation as he walked to the Union Energy Building and took the ancient elevator to O’Malley’s twentieth-floor office, knowing that his client was a man who didn’t miss a trick.

O’Malley shook Mason’s hand with both of his, patting Mason’s back and smiling like a proud father. He ran his empire from a scraped and scarred desk too small for his frame. The walls were lined with photographs of his projects, leaving no room for pictures of his family or any other sentiment.

His office faced south and west, overlooking the site for the new performing arts center that would open next year. A fierce battle had been waged in the corridors of city hall by competing developers, each of whom had invested in pockets of property on the southern fringe of the downtown in the hopes that the city would choose their site for the project. Millions of dollars had been at stake, with each contestant promising to build a world-class facility. O’Malley outprepared and outfought the competition. Gleaming and buoyant, he drew Mason to the windows to show off his victory.

“Goddammit, Lou, just look at that! It’s magnificent! Five years ago that land south of the highway was worthless. Half the buildings were abandoned and the few businesses that were left were thrilled to sell so they could pay their back taxes. You know what their problem was? No vision. No ability to look down the road and see what might happen-and not enough balls to take the risk they might be wrong.”

He put his arm around Mason as they turned from the windows and eased themselves into cane-backed chairs facing each other across a small round conference table opposite his desk.

“I’m still in shock about Harlan,” O’Malley said in low tones, slowly shaking his head. “He was a good man, not the brightest lawyer that ever practiced, but good and loyal.”

Mason was surprised at the speed with which the news had spread.

“How did you find out?”

“The press. It’s how I find out everything about myself these days. All I have to do is wait for St. John to leak his latest story and the phone rings off the hook. That’s why I was calling you this morning-I figured you’d want to reschedule our meeting.”

“Scott said he told you about Pamela’s arrest.”

“I don’t know which is more of a shock, Pamela and Sullivan or poor Harlan. Murder-that’s too far beyond me to even seem real. Can I get you something to drink?”

“No thanks. We know that St. John has been focusing on the loans by the bank to companies you controlled. If you’re convicted, that can mean anything from civil penalties to jail time. But there are two other problem areas that I need your help to figure out.”

O’Malley looked at Mason without expression. “What are they?”

“One of your companies, Quintex, has been involved in a series of sale and leaseback arrangements. The return cash flow was tremendous in comparison to the amount invested. Your son put those deals together. St. John may be interested in them and I need to know why.”

“And the other?” O’Malley prodded.

“Sullivan billed you half a million dollars for work the firm didn’t do. You paid us and I don’t think you’re that generous.”

“Lou, I appreciate all you’ve done, but with Richard Sullivan and Harlan both gone, I’ve decided to change counsel. Under the circumstances, I don’t think we should be discussing specifics.”

Mason fought the urge to tell O’Malley that he was a no-good slime ball who’d decided to can them because they were too close to figuring out what he was doing. He didn’t look forward to telling Scott they’d been fired. The murders of Sullivan and Harlan, an unfunded million-dollar liability to Pamela, the FBI investigation, and the loss of their biggest client would be too much for the firm to handle. Clients would abandon them in droves if the staff didn’t beat them to it. He was tired of being pushed around and he was ready to fight back. He hadn’t suddenly fallen in love with the law or the firm. He was just in the mood to step on someone’s throat.

“I understand your concerns, but I thought we’d agreed that we’re both better off trying to work through this together. Besides, it’ll cost you a fortune to bring someone else up to speed. This is the wrong time to make that sort of a decision.”

O’Malley’s eyes narrowed to cold bands. “I’ve made the decision and it’s simple enough that even you should understand it. You’re fired. I want a final bill on all my matters tomorrow morning, and you’ll be paid by noon. Have my files delivered to this office within twenty-four hours.” He stood to signal the end of the meeting.

Mason remained seated. “You’ll have the bills in the morning. If we aren’t paid by noon, the lawsuit for our fees will be filed by five o’clock.”

Then he got up. O’Malley’s face darkened as Mason walked to the door. He wasn’t used to people talking to him the way he talked to them.

“And,” Mason added, “the files belong to the firm, not you, but you’re entitled to copies. It’ll probably take a couple of weeks for a job that size, and we’ll require payment in advance. Have a nice day.”

Mason smiled as O’Malley slammed the door in his face.

Back at the office, he explained to Angela, Maggie, Phil, and Diane what had happened.

“Angela, how many copiers do we have?”

“Three upstairs and one down.”

“That won’t be enough. Call one of the copy companies and have them bring over as many portables as they can. Get as many staff people as you need. I want every scrap of paper in the O’Malley files copied by morning.”

“Do you want them bound and organized like the original files?” Diane Farrell asked.

“No, just stacks of paper in expandable folders with the name of the matter on them. Copy the attorneys’ notes and memorandums sections, but don’t include them in O’Malley’s copies. We’ll hold on to those until a court tells us O’Malley is entitled to them.”

“There’s no way we can finish that tonight. It’s already four o’clock,” Angela said.

“O’Malley will probably file a lawsuit against us first thing in the morning. We’ll give him the copies tomorrow. His new lawyers will spend weeks figuring things out. In the meantime, we can start looking out for our own asses. I’m outta here.”

“Where the hell are you going?” Diane asked. “You leave us with the shit work and head for the nearest bar! No way!”

“Just do your job while you still have it. I have a date with a cop.”