Read Online A Conflict of Interest by Adam Mitzner - Free Book Online

not indicted. But you owe me half a million if I walk.”
    My discomfort with this line of discussion must be obvious. I want to look over at Abby to see how she’s reacting to this showdown, but I’m pretty sure I know.
    “I’d love to take your action,” I tell him, “but I don’t have that kind of money.”
    He chuckles, a condescending gesture if ever there was one. “Two minutes ago, my getting indicted was as certain as the sunrise. But now, when you’ve got something at stake, you’re suddenly not so sure.”
    “I’m sorry, Michael. I think I missed your point.”
    “It’s actually pretty simple,” he says, all evidence of good humor having vanished. “Nothing is certain when you’re the one at risk.”

9
    M y mother is waiting for me on her front lawn. The guard at the front gate must have called her when I passed that checkpoint, even though my name is on the permanent “let through” list.
    “This is such a wonderful surprise,” she calls out as I walk up to greet her.
    “I called you this morning to say I was coming,” I say, embracing her.
    “I know, but before you called, I wasn’t expecting a visit from you until Thanksgiving. So it’s still a surprise. Are you here on a case?”
    “Yes. I told you. I have a client down here.”
    My mother leads me into her house, the first time I’ve been back since my father’s death. Oddly, it seems larger than the last time, although that may be because it was filled with people then, and before that it had always been occupied by my father too.
    It’s strange to be back. I can’t shake the feeling that any moment my father will emerge from the bedroom wearing his red and blue pajama nightshirt, which was more of a dress, actually, and was his standard uniform at home, not unlike the one Scrooge wears.
    “Have you eaten dinner?” I ask. “I’ll take you out.”
    “Oh, thank you, but I just had some pasta. I can make you something if you’d like.”
    “That’s okay. I’ll just have some cereal.”
    We reassemble in her kitchen, me with a bowl of Frosted Flakes, while she has a glass of chardonnay.
    “Are they stale?” my mother asks.
    “No. They’re fine. I don’t think there’s an expiration date on Frosted Flakes.”
    I take a visual inventory of my mother’s condition. She’s a veryattractive woman, always has been and, likely, always will be. She’s tall, five-nine she tells people, but I suspect she’s an inch or maybe two taller than that. Her hair is now blond, but it suits her, not at all brassy looking, and her only wrinkles are the crow’s-feet at the corner of her eyes, which most people think make her look more attractive. She’s always been extremely fit, even without adhering to any type of exercise regimen, so much so that she sometimes looks too thin, although she would say there’s no such thing.
    There’s a part of me that would like her to appear more bereaved, but then I realize I’m being unfair. After all, I look the same as I normally do too, and it doesn’t mean that I’m not still in mourning.
    “So, what’s your case about?” she asks.
    The question surprises me. As I told Elizabeth, my mother almost never asks about my work. I hesitate for a moment to see if she’s going to say something to reveal she already knows Michael Ohlig is my client. When she doesn’t, I assume I’m just being paranoid and proceed to answer her question, although with as little detail as possible.
    “It’s a stock trading case.”
    “Did the guy do it?”
    I laugh dismissively. “Sorry, no exception to the attorney-client privilege for moms.”
    “Who am I going to tell?”
    “That’s not the point. Let’s talk about something that won’t get me disbarred. Okay? So, how have you been?”
    “I’m hanging in there. Everyone says you’ve got to take it one day at a time. So that’s what I’m doing.”
    “Can’t argue with that advice. What are you doing each day at a time?”
    “Same thing as