Look Closely (4 page)

“Look,” Beth said. “I only came on as general counsel a year and a half ago.”

I turned around to see her shutting the conference-room door.

“What I found,” Beth said in a lowered voice, glancing at the closed door, “was that this place is run exactly the way Sean wants it.”

Itookmyseatagain.“Andwhatdoesthatmean?”

Beth walked around the table, coming closer to me, and leaned on it with both arms. “It means that Sean doesn’t want anyone to talk about the Fieldings takeover, so no one does. I wasn’t apprised of the rumors. I never heard of any of the al egations until that article. Honestly, I wouldn’t keep that from you.”

I had only worked with Beth for a year or so, but she seemed like a straight shooter, and I believed her. “It’s just that I don’t know anything about that takeover,” I said. “I don’t know how to refute the al egations. I feel like I’ve been completely ambushed.”

Beth slumped into a chair. “God, I feel the same way. I even thought about quitting, but this is a great job when I don’t have to deal with the boss. I don’t know what to tel you except what I’ve learned about the Fieldings deal since yesterday.”

“I think I’d better hear it from McKnight himself. Where is he, by the way?”

Bethgaveashakeofherblondhead.“Heshould be here any minute.You’ve heard what he’s like?”

“I’ve heard he’s an asshole,” I said, deciding that now wasn’t the time to mince words.

I saw Beth’s face go slack, then heard a rough laugh behind me. I swung around to see a man standing in the now open conference doorway. He must have been in his late fifties, but the trim body and the immaculate blue suit made him look younger. His salt-and-pepper hair was brushed away from his sharply angled face.

“I assume you’re Ms. Sutter,” the man said. He walked into the room and extended his hand. “I’m the asshole.”

I

stood,

feeling

heat

rush

to

my

face,

but

I

was

stil angryaboutbeingkeptinthedark,soIdecided

not

to

go

overboard

in

my

apology.

I

shook

McKnight’shand,feelinghisstrong,drygrip.Hisgreen eyesranquicklyoverme,beforetheysettledonmy own eyes with a look of complete concentration.

“I’m sorry you heard that,” I said. “I’m sure it’s not true.”

“Oh, I’m sure it is.” He didn’t let go of my hand. Instead, he stood there holding it, intently studying my face, until I pul ed away.

I made a show of looking at my watch. “We need to get to work. Why don’t you start by tel ing me about the Fieldings deal.”

McKnight took a seat at the head of the conference table. “You’re al business, aren’t you?”

“Isn’t that why you hired me?”

He gave me a tight smile. “Of course. What do you want to know?”

I flipped through my legal pad to the list of questions I’d prepared last night in my hotel room. The questions were those that the plaintiff’s attorney might ask McKnight on cross-examination.

Once I got him talking, I found myself relaxing somewhat. Technical y, the man would make an excel ent witness with his obvious intel igence, his even more obvious good looks, and the way he never hemmed or hawed, never seemed edgy or defensive. He had brought with him a stack of documents, meticulously organized and tabbed, which he referred to every so often. He’d prepared wel for the arbitration, and that impressed me. So many clients thought that I could—and should— do al the work for them.

His explanation of the Fieldings al egations sounded plausible, too, yet something stil gnawed at me. The way he told the story, the Fieldings family members had been undecided over whether to sel to McKnight Corporation. Sean had had a talk with Walter Fieldings, the founder and eldest family member, and convinced him that it would be in the family’s best financial interests to sel . Walter Fieldings had, in turn, convinced the rest of the family, and the deal went through. Yes, McKnight said, there were some grumblings that he had pul ed some kind of trick. The authorities had even questioned him, but everyone realized the blackmail al egations weren’t true, and nothing came of it. He’d never been charged with anything, and he made the Fieldings family very rich.

“And that’s it?” I said, the incredulity slipping into my tone despite myself. “There’s nothing more to the story? You just had a talk with Papa Fieldings, and the deal fel into place?”

“Essential y,yes.”McKnightleanedforwardon

hiselbows.Hiseyesheldmine,andIwonderedfor

a

second

if

he

was

one

of

those

older

guys

who

hit

oneverywomanunderforty.Forsomereason,that thought didn’t strike me exactly right. There were ahandfulofthosetypesinmyoffice,andtheywere much more overt—staring at your breasts, letting theirhandsrunoveryourbackasyoupassedthem.

“Are you doubting me?” McKnight asked.

“I’m trained to doubt everyone.”

“How interesting.” He sat back in his chair, crossing his arms over his chest, as if waiting for me to make the next move.

“Look,” I said. “I’m not trying to antagonize you, but if you want to avoid a trial, we need to win this week, and if we’re going to win, we need to make sure you sound credible.”

“Are you saying I don’t seem credible?” McKnight’s tone was low and, to be honest, scary.

“I’m simply saying that in case they’re al owed in, you have to be ready for some intense questions on this issue. Your story needs to be perfect.”

McKnight’s gaze never left my face. “Wel , Miss Sutter, what part of my ‘story,’ as you put it, don’t you believe?”

I reviewed the notes I’d taken. It was a good question, because I couldn’t exactly find fault with his rendition of the events.
He
was the problem, I realized. I didn’t trust him, and that made me very anxious. Any lawyer’s worst nightmare is a client you can’t trust, who might hold things back or take matters into his own hands. McKnight struck me as that type, but I couldn’t very wel tel him that. In one month, the Gardner, State & Lord executive committee would vote on new partners. If I lost the McKnight account right before the vote, I might lose the partnership. I’d worked too hard to let this guy ruin it for me.

“It’s nothing precise,” I said, raising my head to meet his eyes again. “As I mentioned, I just want you to be ready.”

“If there’s one thing you should know about me, it’s this. I am always, always ready.” He closed the file folder in front of him as if the subject were also closed.

“Al right then. Let’s review what’s going to happen this week.”

I took them through what I expected of the arbitration step by step, and when we were finished, McKnight stood from the table and began moving toward the door. It was twelve o’clock, one hour before the arbitration started.

“Please cal if you want lunch sent up,” he said to me. “You do eat, right? You do require regular human sustenance?”

I blinked a few times, confused at his hostility. “I’ve been known to eat once in a while,” I said wryly.

“Good to hear it. I’l see you at the arbitration.”

“I think we should walk over together so that we can talk some more about your testimony,” I said.

He stopped and turned around. “I think you’ve taken up enough of my time.” With that, he sailed out the door.

I looked at Beth. “What the hel ?”

She rol ed her eyes. “Don’t take it personal y. Supposedly, he wasn’t always like this. I’ve heard that he used to be a decent guy until he got a divorce years ago. He was never the same after that.”

“A divorce made him such a jerk? Are you kidding me?”

She shrugged. “You never know what can push a person over the edge.”

A few days later, I sat at a scratched wooden table, alone in the arbitration room, getting ready to present McKnight’s Web designer as my next witness. Since everyone else was at lunch, the room was cool and quiet. The proceeding was being held in a stately old government building near the federal courthouse, the place where McKnight Corporation would find itself in approximately six months for a trial if the arbitration didn’t go wel . The arbitrators had barred members of the press from the room, but journalists were always stationed outside, like vultures waiting to swoop, so most of the time I stayed put until I had to leave for the day.

It was hard when the room was so stil . I wasn’t as focused as I should have been. My thoughts kept straying from the notes and deposition transcripts piled in front of me to the letter tucked at the bottom of my trial bag. I kept counting the days until I could leave Chicago and drive to Woodland Dunes. Only two more now.

So far, the arbitration had been an odd mix, some parts better than I expected, others decidedly worse. I’d been pleased with my opening argument. I went into that zone where I wove my words easily, where I could read the arbitrators’ faces and change my course when their interest waned. The only thing that threw me was the constant feel of Sean McKnight’s eyes on me. It didn’t seem like the lustful watch of a man interested in a May/December romance. That would have been simple, because I knew how to handle come-ons. No, his stare felt more like an ever-present evaluation. Every time I saw him observing me from the corner of my eye, I had to force myself to concentrate so that I could keep on the path of my statement.

Luckily, after the opening arguments, McKnight did as he said he would and disappeared until it was time for his testimony. Once he was on the stand, he became the charming person customers associated with McKnight department stores. I was surprised when the plaintiff’s attorney, Evan Lamey, didn’t hit McKnight hard with questions about the Fieldings takeover. I would’ve liked to think that Lamey was entranced by McKnight’s good looks and smooth talking, but I knew better. Lamey was trying to cast a shadow of doubt over McKnight with his cross-examination, al the while saving his real zingers in case a trial was needed. As a result, McKnight finished his testimony at the end of the day with a smug look on his face.

“You see,” he said, leaning toward me so the others wouldn’t hear, “I didn’t need the practice.”

I clicked my trial bag shut. “Don’t kid yourself. He went easy on you.”

AflickerofdoubtcrossedMcKnight’sface,then disappeared. He didn’t ask what I meant. Instead, he simply said, “When do I have to be back here?”

“Closing arguments. Friday at one o’clock. Unless of course you want to show support for your employee, who wil be testifying tomorrow.”

“And what do you do with your evenings here in Chicago?”

“I…” I faltered for a second, startled at the shift in topic. I wondered if I’d been wrong before, if he might be hitting on me. But his eyes were cold, and he had taken a step away, as if he found it difficult to be in my proximity.

“Idon’tthinkthat’sanyofyourbusiness,”Isaid.

“I think it is. I’m paying you to be here.”

“You’re not paying me for my time after hours.”

“Yes, right.” He studied my face with that way of his. Then he swiveled on the heels of his Italian-leather shoes and walked out of the room. I decided that he was, by far, the rudest and oddest client I’d ever had.

People started trickling into the arbitration room now, and I was final y able to get my mind on track. Unfortunately, the McKnight Web designer, a Jesus look-alike named Gary Sather, didn’t fare as wel as his boss that afternoon. My direct exam went smooth enough, although I had to constantly remind Gary to speak up and to respond to questions out loud instead of answering with a nod or a shake of his head. On cross-examination, he crumbled. Lamey didn’t hold back this time. He went after Gary hard, his cross designed to show that the McKnight Web site stole ideas from its competitor, Lamey’s client.

“Is it possible,” Lamey said, prowling in front of Gary like a lion stalking its prey, the tails of his gray suit coat flapping behind him with the movement, “that the Easy Click and Shop system you said you designed for McKnight was actual y a copy of technology you saw somewhere else?”

Gary blinked again. He looked at me for help, even though I’d told him not to. “I don’t think so,” he said.

Lamey stopped in front of him. “You’re not sure, then?”

I tried to wil the answer to Gary by mental telepathy.
Say you’re sure, say you’re absolutely positive that you created it on your own, just like we practiced.

Gary missed my telepathy and lamely shrugged his shoulders.

“Let me ask it another way,” Lamey said, taking a step toward the witness. “Is it possible that you’d seen something very similar to the Easy Click and Shop system on another Web site before you designed the McKnight site?”

Gary blinked again. “I guess it’s possible.”

“So, it’s possible that you borrowed that technology and used it on the McKnight site.” Lamey flipped through some papers as he said this, a trick designed to make Gary think that he had something in writing that could verify his statement.

Gary watched him and licked his lips. “Yeah,” he said final y. “It’s possible.”

I resisted the urge to drop my head in my hands.

I opened the window and let the azure sky push a damp spring breeze through the rental car. I’d final y escaped the clog of cars that surrounded the Loop and was heading east on the Dan Ryan Expressway toward the Skyway. On the passenger seat, I had a bottle of water, a bag of pretzels and a map of the Midwest. Strangely, I didn’t actual y need the map. I knew the way, as if I could sense the streets and highways that would lead me to the past, to Woodland Dunes, and maybe to the truth about my mother.

Yesterday’s closing argument had gone as wel as possible, but afterward, when the arbitration room cleared, I’d broken the news to McKnight that Gary’s testimony would almost certainly make the arbitrators find for the plaintiff.

McKnight listened, his unreadable eyes watching me, and then he said, “Fine. He’l be gone by this afternoon.”

I looked at him incredulously. “You can’t fire him!”