Stuart Woods 6 Stone Barrington Novels (69 page)

Stone shook it. “Of course. I'm glad to meet you.” Ginsky was a famous New York lawyer, known mostly for his expertise in representing women in divorce cases. He had handled a number of high-profile divorces, and his clients had always done very well from his representation.

“I've heard of you, too,” Ginsky said, sitting down and motioning Stone to a chair. “Bill Eggers speaks well of you, in fact.”

“That's kind of Bill,” Stone said.

“Well,” Ginsky said, “enough chitchat. Shall we get to it?”

“Let's,” Stone replied.

“I trust that now you won't need the identification you requested.”

“No, not for you, but for your client.”

“Ah, yes. Trust me when I tell you that, before our meeting is concluded, you will have adequate proof that I represent Paul Manning. May we proceed on that basis?”

“For the moment,” Stone said, “but I should tell you that I will not come to any agreement until I am satisfied who I am dealing with.”

“Understood,” Ginsky said. “Now, what do you have to propose?”

“Are you acquainted with Mr. Manning's activities with regard to the island of St. Marks some years ago?”

“I believe I have all the relevant facts.”

“Then you will know that your client and mine were married at that time and, in the absence of a divorce, still are.”

“You could put that light on it,” Ginsky said.

“I hardly know what other light to put on it.”

“I think you are aware that my client is, if not dead, then no longer legally alive.”

“You could put that light on it,” Stone said.

Ginsky allowed himself a smile.

“Still, he exists, my client exists and legally, as I'm sure you're aware, their marriage still exists.”

“I assume your client would like that marriage to end,” Ginsky said.

“You assume correctly. She wishes the marriage to end and she wishes not to see her husband again or hear from him.”

“I think that could be arranged,” Ginsky said. “Under appropriate circumstances. What is your offer?”

“My client is willing to pay your client one million dollars in cash, wire-transferred to any bank in the United States, in return for a signed property settlement to that effect and a contractual agreement that your client will never contact her again, nor knowingly inhabit the same city at the same time as my client.” Stone knew that he had already put several stumbling blocks in the way of a settlement, one by omission. The two lawyers were circling each other, metaphorically, feeling each other out.

“I see,” Ginsky said. “Of course, hardly anything you've said is acceptable.”

“Tell me what you're willing to accept, and let's go on from there.”

Ginsky threw his first punch. “Your client achieved a windfall of twelve million dollars as a result of my client's efforts. He wants half that.”

“Your client masterminded a criminal conspiracy, and when it went wrong, left my client to hang by the neck until she was dead,” Stone parried.

“She did not hang,” Ginsky said.

“Neither did your client,” Stone reminded him. “And, when your client murdered three people and was arrested in New York and extradited for his crimes, and was sentenced to hang himself, my client interceded on his behalf, paying half a million dollars to save his life. She could have done nothing, and we would not be having this conversation.” Stone heard the door behind him close; he had not heard it open. He did not turn around. “It seems to me that your client is deeply in my client's debt.”

“I don't owe her a fucking thing,” Paul Manning's deep voice said from the door. “And don't turn around.”

Stone felt cold steel pressed to the back of his neck.

S
TONE DIDN'T MOVE, NOR DID HE ALLOW HIMSELF TO show any concern.

“Paul,” Ginsky said, “that is entirely unnecessary, and moreover, unacceptable. If you want me to represent you in this matter, put it away and sit down.”

“I'll put it away,” Manning replied, “but I'll stay where I am. And, Barrington, if you turn around I'll use it on your skull.”

“Mr. Ginsky,” Stone said, “perhaps it would help if you explained your client's tenuous position to him.”

“Let me explain something to you, Barrington,” Manning said.

“Shut up,” Stone said. “I will not deal with you, but with your attorney. If you can't accept that, then I'll leave now.”

“Get in your little airplane and fly away, huh? Maybe I should have a look at that airplane. You know how good I am at fixing them.”

“Paul, be quiet,” Ginsky said. “If you say another word I will withdraw from this meeting, and we'll all be right back where we started. Mr. Barrington, you have not mentioned your previous offer to resolve any legal difficulties Mr. Manning might have.”

“No, and I won't mention that until we are agreed on all other points, except to say that to resolve the legal difficulties is within my power.”

“Very well,” Ginsky said. “The offer on the table is for one million dollars in cash, a signed property settlement and, I assume, a divorce, and an undertaking not to see or speak to Mrs. Manning again. Is that correct?” He looked toward the door and held up a hand to stop Manning from speaking.

Ginsky had not mentioned that the transaction would take place through a U.S. bank. “You left out a couple of points, but I won't quibble,” Stone said. “That's substantially it.”

“The money is not enough,” Ginsky said. “Let's cut to the chase. Make your best offer.”

“A million and a half dollars,” Stone said.

“If you will offer two million dollars, I think I can recommend the deal to my client.”

“My client has already paid half a million dollars for his benefit; that makes a total of two million.”

Ginsky looked at his client, then back at Stone. “Surely she can do better. She walked away with twelve million, tax free.”

“My client has had many expenses over the years, and she has paid her taxes.” He had advised her to, anyway.

“A U.S. bank is not acceptable for the transaction,” Ginsky said.

“Then we'll wire it to your firm's trust account, and you can disburse it.”

“Still not acceptable.”

“What's the matter, doesn't your client want to pay
his
taxes?”

“That's beside the point.”

“Speaking of points, you haven't addressed all of mine,” Stone said.

“He can hardly agree not to be in the same city with her; he won't know her movements.”

“All right, he stays out of Florida and New York City, except to change airplanes.”

Ginsky looked at his client, then back at Stone. “We won't give you New York, but you can have Florida.”

“Let me enumerate,” Stone said, counting off on his fingers. “Two million dollars. I won't wire it abroad, but to your trust account. You can disburse it abroad, if you want to. He stays out of Florida, or he goes to jail for contempt of court. He signs a property settlement and a document acceding to a divorce petition, here and now.”

“Let me see the papers,” Ginsky said.

Stone unlatched his briefcase, selected the set of documents with the two-million-dollar figure typed in, then slid them across the table.

There was five minutes of silence while Ginsky speed-read the documents. He looked at his client. “This is good,” he said.

“I expect there's a notary at this FBO,” Stone said, “and I want him to sign twice, once as Manning and once as whatever his current passport says.”

Ginsky nodded.

“Let me see the passport.”

Ginsky spoke to his client. “Paul, please ask the girl at the desk to send a notary in here.”

Stone heard the door open and close.

Ginsky slid a U.S. passport across the table.

Stone opened it, anxious to see the photograph. A postage stamp covered the face. He looked up at Ginsky. “How do I know this is Paul's passport, if I can't see the face on the photograph?”

“Do you doubt that the man who was just in this room was Paul Manning?”

“No, I know the voice.”

“Then you don't need to see the face for purposes of identification, do you?”

“Your client is very shy.”

“He has his reasons,” Ginsky said.

Stone copied down the information on the passport: William Charles Danforth, a Washington, D.C., address. He riffled through the visa pages and saw a number of entry and exit stamps—London, Rome, other European cities. “He's pretty well traveled.” He slid the passport back across the table.

Manning returned with the notary, and Stone pulled out additional copies of the agreement.

“Both names,” Ginsky said to his client.

Manning signed the documents on a credenza behind Stone, and the woman notarized them.

“When do we get your client's signature?” Ginsky asked.

“She'll sign today, and the documents will be Fed-Exed to your New York office right away.”

Ginsky gave Stone his business card.

The notary left. “What about the money?” Manning asked.

“To be wire-transferred as soon as the judge signs the divorce decree,” Stone said.

“It's in the documents, Paul. He'll provide a release from the insurance company at the same time. The deal won't be final until we're in receipt of those two items.”

“I don't like waiting,” Manning said.

“It can't be helped,” Ginsky replied. “It's how these things are done. Trust me.”

Stone heard the door open and close behind him.

“Sorry, my client's a little edgy today,” Ginsky said.

“How'd you get mixed up in this, Ed?” Stone asked.

“I've known him since college. He popped up in my life only a short time ago, when he got the e-mails from you.”

“Can you make him hew to the terms of the agreement?”

“I think so. He wants out of the marriage, and he wants the insurance matter off his back.”

“I'll tell you, off the record,” Stone said, “that if he doesn't stick to the letter and the spirit of the agreement, I'll take it upon myself to expose him for who he is, and in a very public way.”

“Are you threatening me, Stone?” Ginsky asked.

“No, Ed, I'm threatening Paul Manning, and I mean it. You should know that he's a dangerous man, and my advice to you is, when this matter is concluded, to stay as far away from him as you can.”

“That may be good advice,” Ginsky admitted.

Stone put his copies of the document into his briefcase and stood up.

Ginsky stood up, too. “We saw you taxi up and get out of the airplane,” he said. “I was expecting you to drive in. Where are you flying back to?”

“I'd rather not say,” Stone said.

“I don't think you'll have any more trouble from Paul. Where do you want to do the divorce?”

“Anywhere in Florida will do.”

“I know a judge here in Palm Beach, and I'm licensed to practice here.”

“Fine with me. I'm not licensed here, so I'll get Bill Eggers to find somebody. He'll be in touch.”

“I'll look forward to receiving the signed documents tomorrow.” Ginsky held out his hand.

Stone shook it. “Thanks for getting him to see sweet reason, Ed.”

“See you around the courts in New York, I expect.”

“I expect so.”

The two lawyers walked out of the conference room and into the lobby. Paul Manning was nowhere in sight.

They walked out to the ramp together, shook hands again, and Ginsky got into a Hawker 125, parked near the door.

Stone assumed Manning was already in it. He walked a hundred yards to where his less imposing aircraft had been parked by the lineman. He did an especially thorough preflight inspection before climbing into the airplane.

He remembered Manning's remark about knowing how to fix airplanes, and he wanted to be sure the one he was flying would keep flying. He started the engine, and he listened to it carefully before starting to taxi.

All the way back to North County airport, he listened to the engine. It got him back safely.

W
HEN STONE ARRIVED BACK ABOARD THE YACHT, LIZ, Callie and Dino were all waiting for him.

“Did you see him?” Liz asked.

“Not exactly,” Stone said, “but we were in the same room.”

“Did he sign the papers?” she asked anxiously.

“Yes.”

“How much am I giving him?”

“Two million dollars.”

Liz collapsed in his arms, laughing. “Oh, Stone, you are a wonder. You saved me four million dollars!”

“Don't ever tell Paul that,” he said.

“I hope I won't ever have to talk to him.”

“I think we can avoid a court appearance for the divorce.”

“Where will we do the divorce?”

“Here in Palm Beach. I'll find you a Florida lawyer for that, but since we have a signed settlement, there won't be much work for him to do. Now you have to sign the documents, and we have to find a notary.”

“I'm a notary,” Callie said. “I have to witness stuff for Thad all the time.”

“Great. Go get your seal.”

Callie left them, then returned with her seal and stamp. Stone handed Liz a pen, she signed and Callie notarized.

“That's it,” Stone said, handing the documents to Callie, along with Ed Ginsky's card. “Will you FedEx these to him right away?”