The Exchange: After The Firm

Chapter 27

The firm’s management committee consisted of nine senior partners, ranging in age from fifty-two to almost seventy, Jack Ruch being the oldest at sixty-nine. There was no additional compensation for serving on the MC and most partners tried to avoid it. However, someone had to take the ultimate responsibility for running the place and making the most difficult decisions. But, obviously, never in the firm’s illustrious history had any partner been faced with such a momentous predicament.

Jack rousted them out of bed for a seven o’clock emergency meeting Monday morning. He immediately called for an executive session, meaning the two secretaries and Cory had to leave the boardroom. He asked a partner named Bart Ambrose to take minutes, and, though it was completely unnecessary and borderline irksome, he reminded them of the need for confidentiality. He began with a quick slide show of the photographs Noura had sent to Abby’s new phone the previous Thursday morning: Abby and the boys, their apartment building, her office. He saved the best for last and revealed the long-distance photo of 110 Broad, the handsome tower in which they were now sitting.

“We’re being watched,” he said dramatically. “Watched, followed, photographed, and threatened. And now they’re firebombing our offices on the other side of the world.”

All breathing had ceased as they gawked at the images.

The photos were from Thursday. The McDeeres went into hiding on Friday. Noura, the messenger, made contact on Saturday, met with Abby McDeere on Sunday, and passed along the demand for a hundred million.

Gloom was added to fear as the other eight members of the committee realized just how much money was at stake and that the firm might be on the hook for some of it.

The room was still silent as Jack played the video of Giovanna on a wide screen. Only a few had actually met her, but all of them knew her father. The visual impact of a Scully associate held hostage was breathtaking. They had been apprised of the situation over the past month, but nothing had prepared them for the shock of seeing her gaunt face and hearing her strained voice.

Jack stopped the video but left an indelible image of Giovanna on the screen for them to contemplate. He told them that Mitch had landed in Rome about an hour ago and was on his way to see Luca.

When the questions began, they came in a flood and from every side. Why not involve the FBI and CIA? The firm had strong contacts at the State Department. What were the Brits doing, and the Italians? Was there a plan to try to negotiate? The firm had insurance that paid for highly qualified hostage negotiators, why not use them? How much did they know about the terrorist group? Had they even identified it? Had the bankers been called?

Jack was not expecting the committee to agree on a plan, or on anything else for that matter, so he proposed nothing. He answered the questions he could, deflected those he couldn’t, argued when necessary, and in general let everyone blow off steam and try to impress the others. After a raucous first hour, the committee was split into three or four factions, with loyalties swinging back and forth. The loudest group wanted to go straight to the FBI and CIA, but Jack held firm. A couple didn’t like the idea of Mitch operating like a lone wolf out there, without real supervision.

No one held back. Opinions rose up swiftly, then dissipated. Some of the facts got blurred. Tempers flared and cooled, but no insults were hurled. They were too professional for that and most of them had been close for decades. At one time or another every member of the committee thought of Giovanna and silently asked the question What if that was me? More than once, Bart Ambrose said, aloud, “She’s one of us.”

When, in Jack’s opinion, the discussion had run its course, he moved the conversation to the issue of security. The executive session was adjourned and Cory re-entered the boardroom. He passed out copies of the preliminary report from the crime scene in Barcelona, complete with graphic photos of the firm’s fire-gutted offices.

One benefit of being a player in Big Law was unlimited travel. A senior partner could go almost anywhere in the world, or at least anywhere a person of stature would want to go, and call it work, and with deductions galore. Stop by the Scully office, take a partner to lunch or dinner, maybe see an opera or a soccer match, and write off the whole trip. If there was business to discuss, then double-bill the client and stick him for the tickets as well. Barcelona had always been a favorite, and every member of the management committee had visited the stylish offices there. Seeing the place in charred ruins was difficult to absorb.

Cory outlined their emergency plans to beef up security and surveillance at every office. In his opinion, the terrorists, still unidentified, had hit Athens and Barcelona because the offices were soft targets. Not too secure, easy to get into, unsuspecting. For a bloodthirsty bunch, they were careful not to harm anyone. The fires were meant as warnings.

Where were the other soft targets? He mentioned Cairo, Cape Town, and Rio, but made it clear he was only guessing. This led to a meandering chat about which offices were safe and which weren’t, all bordering on speculation. One partner had been impressed with the security in their Munich office. Another had just returned from Mexico City and was surprised by the lack of surveillance cameras. And so on. They were successful lawyers, proud of their intelligence, and felt compelled to share their thoughts.

Jack knew them well. After an exhausting two-hour marathon, he could filter what had been said and gauge what had not been said. And he knew that in the end Scully would come through. The question was — How much?

Roberto picked up Mitch at the airport in Rome and drove him to Luca’s. During the forty-five-minute drive they covered a lot of territory. Luca was doing okay physically, or at least his condition was somewhat stable, and the news that the kidnappers had made contact and wanted a ransom lifted his spirits considerably. He didn’t happen to have $100 million in his bank accounts, but he was confident that with some good negotiations the figure would come down. He was already working on the Italian politicians.

During the drive, Mitch played the video of Giovanna on his cell phone. Roberto’s eyes instantly watered and he had to look away. He said she was like a little sister, and he hadn’t slept well in a month. He wasn’t sure if Luca should see the video. They agreed to discuss it later.

Luca was on the veranda, in the shade and on the phone. He looked even thinner but he was put-together as always. His light gray tailored suit hung loose. He managed to hug Mitch as he kept talking on the phone. His voice was stronger. Later, over coffee, he replayed his recent conversations. He was not a fan of the current prime minister but knew one of his deputy ministers. The goal was to convince the Italian government to come to the rescue of an Italian citizen. With cash. One of the more immediate problems was that Italy had a law on the books that forbade the government from negotiating with terrorists and paying ransom. Its rationale was simple: big checks paid to criminals only encouraged the kidnapping of more Italians. The British and the Americans had similar policies. Luca said they meant almost nothing. The prime ministers and presidents could pound the podium, denounce terrorists, and promise no ransom, but through back channels deals could be made.

The more pressing issue was confidentiality. How could Scully expect help from the Brits and Italians when their governments knew nothing about the demand for ransom?

The three — Luca, Mitch, and Roberto — had talked at length about amending the Lannak complaint against the Libyan government and asking for more damages. Lannak had lost four valuable employees. Giovanna had been held for a month now. The defendant, the Republic of Libya, had implicitly agreed to provide safety for foreign workers.

The arbitration claim Luca had filed the previous October demanded $410 million in unpaid bills, plus $52 million in interest that had accrued over the past three years. Mitch believed strongly that they should amend the claim, pile on more damages for the bloodshed and kidnapping, and press hard for a settlement. When Luca and Roberto finally agreed, Mitch called Stephen Stodghill, his associate, who was still in New York, and who happened to be asleep at 4 A.M. on a Monday, and instructed him to amend the complaint in Geneva, then meet him in London.

At eleven o’clock Luca retired from the veranda for a quick nap. Mitch went for a stroll around the piazza and called Omar Celik in Istanbul. He was on an airplane somewhere near Japan. Mitch talked to his son, Adem, and informed him of their plans to increase the amount of damages. He did not mention the contact with the kidnappers or the ransom, but that would happen soon enough.

At noon, 6 A.M. in New York, Mitch called Abby and said good morning. Things were fine there. She had talked to her parents at least three times on Sunday and everyone was having a splendid time in Maine. They were not being missed by the boys. No word from Noura.

Luca had an appointment with his doctors at noon and was not available for lunch. Mitch and Roberto walked to a café on a side street away from the tourists. Roberto knew the owner and at least two of the waitresses. With deep frowns and in low voices they inquired about Luca’s health. Roberto passed along the more optimistic version.

Even for an Italian, the ritual of lunch seemed like a waste of time. Who could relax and enjoy food? The two had no experience with hostage negotiations and felt helpless. And what would a professional do? The enemy was unseen, unknown. There was nothing to negotiate, no one to talk to. Noura was just a messenger with no authority. As lawyers they negotiated all the time, back and forth, give and take, as both sides grudgingly inched toward a solution neither really liked. Kidnapping, though, was a different monster because murder was in the equation. But how many professional negotiators had ever dealt with an enemy as savage and inhumane as this one? Chain saws? On video?

They barely touched their pasta.

After the table was cleared and they sipped espressos, Roberto said, “Luca is wealthy by any measure, Mitch, but most of it is old family money. His fine home here has been handed down. He owns the office building. The country home is near Tivoli.”

“I’ve been there,” Mitch said.

“He’s meeting with a banker this afternoon to arrange a mortgage on everything he owns. He thinks it’s around five million. He has liquid assets of roughly the same. He’s putting it all on the table, Mitch. If I had serious money, I would do the same.”

“Me too. But I hate for Luca to lose everything.”

“He can’t lose his daughter, Mitch. Nothing else matters.”