Read Online Last to Fold by David Duffy - Free Book Online
Authors: David Duffy
Tags: Mystery
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up for partner, I shoved it through. No question she deserved it, but it was still a fight with the old stiffs who think they run this place. Woman, Dixie accent, criminal law—not the Hayes & Franklin mold. She got the U.S. attorney post six months ago. Big-time appointment. Now the bitch wants two mil bail. No good deed…”
“That was her on the phone this morning, at Mulholland’s apartment?”
“Courtesy call. Some frigging courtesy. We had an understanding. She’s been looking into FTB for months. Predatory lending makes good press. Sorry, that’s unfair. Not at all clear she could’ve made a case, but between you, me, and the microphone in the wall, some of FTB’s practices were close to the line. Anyway, when the credit crunch hit, we talked, and I thought we agreed, absent compelling evidence, she’d leave Rory alone so he could focus on saving the bank. There are jobs at stake, among other things.”
“Maybe she found the compelling evidence.”
“Rory says there’s nothing to find. Our own investigation—Hayes & Franklin, I mean—backs him up.”
“Not the first time a client’s lied to his lawyer.”
“Thanks, Turbo. I can always count on you to cheer me up.”
“What about the money laundering?”
“This morning’s the first time I heard anything about that. We’re looking into it.”
“Surprised Felix Mulholland, too.”
He pulled his chair back to the desk and leaned forward. “What do you mean?”
“I was watching. Something about that spooked her.”
“You sure?”
“The first job of a good spy…”
“Don’t give me the assess-human-nature speech. I’ve heard it as many times as the Russians winning World War II. So what’s the deal between the two of you?”
“What’d she tell you?”
“She’s a client, Turbo. What she tells me is between us.”
“Be careful how much stock you put in your clients, Bernie. Felix Mulholland was no more born Felicity Kendall in Jackson Heights, Queens, than I was born Richard Nixon in Yorba Linda, California. She’s a client with a past. Colorful is one adjective. I’m sure the Post will find others.”
That got him out of the chair, half standing, leaning forward. “The Post ? What the hell are you talking about?”
Since I arrived, Bernie had been talking at me, sometimes to me. He was preoccupied with other problems, I understood that, but I wanted his full attention for the next few minutes—partly for his own good and partly because I needed him to appreciate I was coming clean. However this thing played later tonight, Bernie had to believe my judgment was unclouded by emotional connections rooted in ancient history. The threat of more unwanted media coverage—from an always unwanted source—did the trick. I chose my words carefully.
“I take it Mulholland didn’t have you guys check her out before he popped the question?”
“No! Of course not. Why…”
Bernie sat down and pushed back from the desk again, putting distance between himself and whatever he feared I was about to say. The look on his face was the one of a well-dressed pedestrian as he jumps back from the curb, knowing he’s too late to avoid the muddy splash from the taxi accelerating through a great big puddle.
“Prenup?” I asked.
“None of your damned business,” he growled.
Careful. Bernie took confidentiality seriously. Appearing to pry wasn’t going to help. “True enough. You know she was married before?”
“No. Why is that relevant in this day and age?”
“Mulholland’s her third, at least.”
“So?”
“Second’s named Barsukov.”
The chair slid forward in a flash and Bernie leaned into my face. “Lachko Barsukov?”
“Yep.”
“Jesus Christ. How do you know this?” He was fully in my face now.
“I’m the first.”
CHAPTER 7
I watched all five Kübler-Ross stages pass through his eyes—denial, anger, bargaining, depression, acceptance—in the time it took him to slump back into his chair. Then
“That was her on the phone this morning, at Mulholland’s apartment?”
“Courtesy call. Some frigging courtesy. We had an understanding. She’s been looking into FTB for months. Predatory lending makes good press. Sorry, that’s unfair. Not at all clear she could’ve made a case, but between you, me, and the microphone in the wall, some of FTB’s practices were close to the line. Anyway, when the credit crunch hit, we talked, and I thought we agreed, absent compelling evidence, she’d leave Rory alone so he could focus on saving the bank. There are jobs at stake, among other things.”
“Maybe she found the compelling evidence.”
“Rory says there’s nothing to find. Our own investigation—Hayes & Franklin, I mean—backs him up.”
“Not the first time a client’s lied to his lawyer.”
“Thanks, Turbo. I can always count on you to cheer me up.”
“What about the money laundering?”
“This morning’s the first time I heard anything about that. We’re looking into it.”
“Surprised Felix Mulholland, too.”
He pulled his chair back to the desk and leaned forward. “What do you mean?”
“I was watching. Something about that spooked her.”
“You sure?”
“The first job of a good spy…”
“Don’t give me the assess-human-nature speech. I’ve heard it as many times as the Russians winning World War II. So what’s the deal between the two of you?”
“What’d she tell you?”
“She’s a client, Turbo. What she tells me is between us.”
“Be careful how much stock you put in your clients, Bernie. Felix Mulholland was no more born Felicity Kendall in Jackson Heights, Queens, than I was born Richard Nixon in Yorba Linda, California. She’s a client with a past. Colorful is one adjective. I’m sure the Post will find others.”
That got him out of the chair, half standing, leaning forward. “The Post ? What the hell are you talking about?”
Since I arrived, Bernie had been talking at me, sometimes to me. He was preoccupied with other problems, I understood that, but I wanted his full attention for the next few minutes—partly for his own good and partly because I needed him to appreciate I was coming clean. However this thing played later tonight, Bernie had to believe my judgment was unclouded by emotional connections rooted in ancient history. The threat of more unwanted media coverage—from an always unwanted source—did the trick. I chose my words carefully.
“I take it Mulholland didn’t have you guys check her out before he popped the question?”
“No! Of course not. Why…”
Bernie sat down and pushed back from the desk again, putting distance between himself and whatever he feared I was about to say. The look on his face was the one of a well-dressed pedestrian as he jumps back from the curb, knowing he’s too late to avoid the muddy splash from the taxi accelerating through a great big puddle.
“Prenup?” I asked.
“None of your damned business,” he growled.
Careful. Bernie took confidentiality seriously. Appearing to pry wasn’t going to help. “True enough. You know she was married before?”
“No. Why is that relevant in this day and age?”
“Mulholland’s her third, at least.”
“So?”
“Second’s named Barsukov.”
The chair slid forward in a flash and Bernie leaned into my face. “Lachko Barsukov?”
“Yep.”
“Jesus Christ. How do you know this?” He was fully in my face now.
“I’m the first.”
CHAPTER 7
I watched all five Kübler-Ross stages pass through his eyes—denial, anger, bargaining, depression, acceptance—in the time it took him to slump back into his chair. Then
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