Melissa Powers, who had insisted on an appointment for today. He looked around his office for a moment and listened to the traffic below. The week’s mail, opened and sorted by day, was in a folder on his desk. On top of it were his calendar for the week and reminder notes. The case files that needed attention were lined up on the floor to his right, next to the large potted plant that Kay Del Colliano had sent him eight years ago when he left his former law partner, then under indictment for attempting to bribe a cop, and started his own practice.
Everything looked and sounded the same.
On the keyboard of his computer was a large note from Cheryl: “Melissa Powers coming in at eleven.” Jay looked at his watch—it was ten thirty—and opened the mail folder.
Melissa arrived promptly and, after greeting Jay, settled—slowly crossing her long, tanned legs—into a chair
facing his desk. She had on a short white skirt, gold leather sandals, and a light cotton pullover blouse. At twenty-two, her large hazel eyes deceivingly innocent, she did not need makeup and wore none, except for a hint of red lipstick.
“I’m sorry about Danny,” she said. “I tried calling.”
Jay nodded. He had not picked up the phone at home except for Cheryl. “Thanks,” he said.
Jay had gone to the Hyatt in Short Hills to meet Melissa and Marcy on the night of their parents’ deaths. They had a drink in the plush lounge on the twentieth floor, overlooking the lights dotting northern New Jersey’s rolling hills. He had not slept with Melissa that night, although she wanted to and he had been tempted. He did not blame her, knowing from experience how powerful an antidote sex was to grief, powerful but extremely temporary. He remembered seeing the Powers sisters’ thoughts in their eyes as they sipped their drinks. He knew what they wanted: their parents’ money, all of it, and as quickly as possible. He also knew the obstacles they faced.
“What’s up?” he said.
“They’ve put a freeze on all of my father’s assets.”
“Mesa Associates?” Jay said.
“Yes.”
Jay knew from the discovery in the now moot divorce case that Bryce Powers had been funding, out of his own pocket, a disastrous townhouse/golf course development in Arizona. Whatever could go wrong, had: the general contractor had filed for bankruptcy, the subcontractors had walked off the job, the bonding company was claiming fraud, the town fathers were upset; and somehow Bryce’s people had overestimated the market: sales were slow at first and recently nonexistent. Powers had kept it from failure, but still, at the time of his death, it was over six million
dollars in the red. His investors, all general partners, could not be expected to be happy about being potentially liable for a debt in excess of ten times their initial investment. They would certainly try to do something about it, that is, shift the blame to Bryce, hence the jeopardy to the Powers assets.
“What kind of a freeze?” Jay asked.
Melissa had been holding some papers in her lap, which she handed to Jay. “We were served these this morning at the house.”
Jay glanced at the top document, an Order To Show Cause and Temporary Restraining Order, knowing that the fifty pages below it would be affidavits from irate partners.
“What about Plaza I and II?” he said.
“The partners are having a meeting next week. They’ve actually invited us.”
Jay knew that the partners in Plaza I and II were the same, for the most part, as those in Mesa Associates. Bryce had made many people wealthy over the years. No one challenged how he ran his business, not even those who knew about or guessed at his daughters’ illegal “maintenance” contracts. They all wanted to be invited back into the next deal. But Bryce was dead now and, given the amount of money involved, lawsuits against Melissa and Marcy and the Powers estate would be sure to follow.
“Don’t go,” Jay said.
“What will they
Everything looked and sounded the same.
On the keyboard of his computer was a large note from Cheryl: “Melissa Powers coming in at eleven.” Jay looked at his watch—it was ten thirty—and opened the mail folder.
Melissa arrived promptly and, after greeting Jay, settled—slowly crossing her long, tanned legs—into a chair
facing his desk. She had on a short white skirt, gold leather sandals, and a light cotton pullover blouse. At twenty-two, her large hazel eyes deceivingly innocent, she did not need makeup and wore none, except for a hint of red lipstick.
“I’m sorry about Danny,” she said. “I tried calling.”
Jay nodded. He had not picked up the phone at home except for Cheryl. “Thanks,” he said.
Jay had gone to the Hyatt in Short Hills to meet Melissa and Marcy on the night of their parents’ deaths. They had a drink in the plush lounge on the twentieth floor, overlooking the lights dotting northern New Jersey’s rolling hills. He had not slept with Melissa that night, although she wanted to and he had been tempted. He did not blame her, knowing from experience how powerful an antidote sex was to grief, powerful but extremely temporary. He remembered seeing the Powers sisters’ thoughts in their eyes as they sipped their drinks. He knew what they wanted: their parents’ money, all of it, and as quickly as possible. He also knew the obstacles they faced.
“What’s up?” he said.
“They’ve put a freeze on all of my father’s assets.”
“Mesa Associates?” Jay said.
“Yes.”
Jay knew from the discovery in the now moot divorce case that Bryce Powers had been funding, out of his own pocket, a disastrous townhouse/golf course development in Arizona. Whatever could go wrong, had: the general contractor had filed for bankruptcy, the subcontractors had walked off the job, the bonding company was claiming fraud, the town fathers were upset; and somehow Bryce’s people had overestimated the market: sales were slow at first and recently nonexistent. Powers had kept it from failure, but still, at the time of his death, it was over six million
dollars in the red. His investors, all general partners, could not be expected to be happy about being potentially liable for a debt in excess of ten times their initial investment. They would certainly try to do something about it, that is, shift the blame to Bryce, hence the jeopardy to the Powers assets.
“What kind of a freeze?” Jay asked.
Melissa had been holding some papers in her lap, which she handed to Jay. “We were served these this morning at the house.”
Jay glanced at the top document, an Order To Show Cause and Temporary Restraining Order, knowing that the fifty pages below it would be affidavits from irate partners.
“What about Plaza I and II?” he said.
“The partners are having a meeting next week. They’ve actually invited us.”
Jay knew that the partners in Plaza I and II were the same, for the most part, as those in Mesa Associates. Bryce had made many people wealthy over the years. No one challenged how he ran his business, not even those who knew about or guessed at his daughters’ illegal “maintenance” contracts. They all wanted to be invited back into the next deal. But Bryce was dead now and, given the amount of money involved, lawsuits against Melissa and Marcy and the Powers estate would be sure to follow.
“Don’t go,” Jay said.
“What will they
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