Page 53 of Pro Bono

Warren said, “I appreciate that Ms. Susquino was willing to do the extra work, and that you were willing to be open about what she found out.”

“I understand that in the scramble to cover up the crimes, the perpetrator or perpetrators restored Mrs. Ellis’s money, or came close to it, and that when she learned of this, she withdrew her investments and closed the accounts.”

“That’s correct,” Warren said. “On my advice.”

“Then I assume that means you and she are satisfied and we can put this unfortunate event behind us.”

Warren stared into his eyes and said, “I advised it because I could see no reason to believe that she or any other client of your company could be confident that their money won’t be siphoned out of their accounts tomorrow.”

“There are many reasons, but I’ll just mention three. The first reason is that we’ve already been accumulating evidence of who was responsible and how he went about it. We’re also looking into the question of who else knew and might be part of the conspiracy. And three, we’re looking very closely at anyone who should have noticed something wasn’t right and pursued it.”

“Personnel matters are up to your company, of course,” Warren said. “Our lawsuit is only about my client’s accounts.”

“What does your lawsuit suggest she is entitled to?” Morham asked.

“I want to receive proof within thirty days that the federal authorities have been informed, and I want a suitable payment for expenses and damages to my client within ten days.”

A man in the same side of the table as Warren leaned forward and said, “One million dollars.”

Warren realized that the upper-level executive who had flown in from New York was not imaginary. He was here to make the settlement. Warren said to him, “Two million, in a cashier’s check, within one week.”

“Two it is, and you drop your lawsuit and do not do any press releases or public statements.”

“It’s fair to give the company time to revise its procedures and correct the problems before they’re made public,” Warren said. “If you live up to the agreement, we will drop the lawsuit and won’t make public statements. We can’t refuse to answer questions asked by the authorities.”

“Founding Fathers will accept that,” the man said. “We should have a contract ready for signature within a day or two.”

Warren said, “I’d like the agreement typed up and signed before I leave the building. In fact, I have a version in my office computer right now. If you’d like, I can send it with my phone to any computer here that’s connected to a printer.”

The man down the table smiled. “I get that you anticipated the terms we would need. But did you actually anticipate the amount?”

“I knew what I would settle for.”

The man said to the others, “You can all go, except for Mr. Morham, Mr. Caine, and Ms. Ostroff. We’ll need you for the contract. Thank you all.” As the others all filed out, he walked up to join Warren near the headof the table. “I’m David Stokes, in case you didn’t remember from the long list of names.” He shook hands with Warren. He said, “We’ll wait while you send us the contract, and then Ms. Ostroff and Mr. Caine, who are attorneys, will read it, and then you, Mr. Morham, and I can sign it.”

Mr. Morham said, “Send it to FMorham@Founding Fathers.” Mr. Caine went out to a nearby office and returned with five copies. It was such a simple agreement that it fit on five sheets, including the signature lines. The two attorneys verified that it accurately reported the oral agreement. The two executives signed, Warren signed, and then the two company attorneys signed as witnesses. A few minutes later Warren was walking out of the conference room with a fully executed copy.

23

Ronald Talbert did some of his best thinking while he was driving. He had been driving for over four hours, but had not succeeded in working things out so there would be a satisfactory future. He had been struck by Connie Pollock’s offhand remark that he could vanish into a country that didn’t extradite American criminals. He had pulled his car into the parking lot at South Coast Plaza in Costa Mesa, plugged in his phone, and done some online research.

Out of 193 countries the United Nations recognized, the US had diplomatic relations and extradition treaties with most of them. Some that had treaties were capricious and couldn’t be relied on to live up to the treaties—Ecuador and Switzerland, for instance. Others wouldn’t turn over anybody who might be executed, but turned over everybody else. The ones who were left didn’t appeal to him—places like China, Russia, North Korea, Iran, Syria, Afghanistan. The best exception seemed to be Bhutan, which was very high altitude and tiny, and didn’t seem to have gotten around to making a policy on the topic. It might be possible for him to sneak into some foreign country, change his appearance, develop a false identity, and then sneak over a second border to avoid anysearches, and live a miserable, solitary existence there. He started the car again and drove to the northbound freeway entrance toward home.

He knew Francesca couldn’t run away with him, and it wasn’t something he held against her. She had been heroic in fulfilling her part of the marriage, even though the marriage must have felt like he’d doomed her to a smaller life than she’d been raised to expect. She had never complained about that. When he’d heard her explaining to the kids why their family weren’t going to Maui for Christmas or France for the summer like some of their friends, it had felt like he was being bled to death, but she said it with simplicity and good sense. “I promise you, it will be more important to you in a few years that you’re able to go to a fine college because we didn’t waste our savings on expensive vacations. Those are pretty, sunny places, but we live in a pretty, sunny place. People in those places pay to come here.” When he remembered it, he could hear her voice. In order to cover up his thefts, he’d had to drain some personal savings in a hurry, assuming he could replenish them within a few weeks. It occurred to him that the transfers had included the kids’ college funds, and that he wasn’t ever going to be able to get near Founding Fathers Vested again.

He realized that he was an hour and a half from home, and Francesca would be expecting him in about an hour, so he drove faster. He knew that he should be using every second in some constructive way. He had to face one of the problems that he had been pushing out of his mind all day. He didn’t want to go to prison. No, it was much worse than that. He would rather be dead. Lots of people thought that, but the ones who hadn’t obtained the means for suicide and kept them where they could reach them quickly were trapped.

His cousin Tim had been a handgun enthusiast. He’d told Ron once a few years ago that his collection had reached a hundred. Ron had said, “Iknow there are two major kinds—revolvers and semiautos—but they’re all tools that do exactly the same thing, aren’t they? Isn’t it like having a hundred hammers?” Tim was dead now. He’d been on this exact freeway when a big truck had swerved into his lane and knocked his car sideways into the concrete barrier.

Talbert checked his phone’s directory. Tim’s number was still in it. Before he could start thinking of reasons not to, he pressed the number. After a few seconds he heard Tim’s wife answer, “This is Tina.” He said, “Hi, Tina. This is Ron. Cousin Ron Talbert.”

“Hi, Ron,” she said. “I haven’t heard from you in a while.”

“Yeah, I’m sorry about that. Part of it is this business. I happened to need to drive to Irvine today, so I’ll be going right past your house. I wondered if I could stop and see you and Ricky on my way home.”

“Uh, sure. I guess so. Only he likes to be called Richard now, because he’s older. How far off are you?”

“I guess about fifteen minutes. I just passed the exit for Route 133.”

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