False Accusations by Jacobson, Alan (great novels of all time .txt) 📕

get the figure down a bit. I’ll get her to sign a release, and something stating that she’ll refrain from filing any further complaints against you—”

“Whatever…just get it done and get her out of my life. I’ll put the money together and have a cashier’s check in your office by two o’clock.”

The law offices of Hellman, MacKenzie& McKnight were ornately decorated, and dated back to a time when it was a sole practitioner’s office, before Hellman expanded into the adjacent suite and took on two partners. The atmosphere was lavish: forest greens and burgundies, with rich golds woven in between. The walls were papered with a velvet-textured paisley; the chairs were hand-embroidered needlepoint, and the desks were cherrywood.

Hannah Hellman had been partners with Leeza Madison in a small but successful interior decorating company when she and Jeffrey decided to get married. After the firm expanded into the new office space, the Hellmans spent many an evening poring through decorator books, playing with color chips, and matching everything down to the floor tile used behind the reception desk. Hannah had insisted that Jeffrey have input on all the selections. Together, they gave the standard office space life, a personality, an atmosphere.

When Hannah died of ovarian cancer three years ago, she left behind a few snapshots, a five minute video a friend had once recorded at a party, and the memories of decorating the law office. Since they had only begun to renovate their house, the office decor was the only substantive daily reminder of her personality, of the evenings spent collaborating on a theme that would become her living legacy.

Although the firm’s partners had more than once brought up the logical idea of moving into larger quarters in the Welles Tower across the street, he had put them off each time. He could not abandon Hannah. There was something special about feeling her presence every morning of every day.

He strode into the office, nodded to Theresa, and picked up his messages. He pondered the phone call to Movis Ehrhardt...a call Hellman did not want to make; but, his best friend had felt that this was the most prudent way of putting the matter to rest. And, given the circumstances, he did not have any better solutions to offer.

He called Ehrhardt and began the tedious process of negotiating, trying his best to stoop down to the charlatan’s level so they could be on common ground. They finally agreed on forty thousand dollars, a sum that was better than fifty thousand, but which was still exorbitant, and still extortion—no matter how you sliced it. The deal all but done, Hellman wanted one last dig. “That newspaper column was a cheap shot.”

“Hold on, counselor. I had nothing to do with that. I don’t even know if my client did, either.”

“And I’m just supposed to believe that because you’re an honest guy.”

“You should be talking to the paper and the columnist, not me.”

“I’d rather talk to you, because I already know where the story came from.”

“Well, let’s just say, for fun, that suppose my client had a friend who was a columnist and she had innocently mentioned her ordeal to that person. If that person chose to write about it, well, that’s the way it goes. But timing is everything.”

“Son of a bitch.”

“You’ve got quite a vocabulary, counselor. Between your comments yesterday and today, one might think that I was a pretty despicable individual.”

“Socrates said it was wise to know oneself.” Hellman felt a bit better, but it still had not changed the facts of the situation.

Hellman laid out the conditions of the agreement, which prevented Harding from being the source of any further newspaper articles, from disclosing their agreement, and from having any contact with Madison or his family. In all, he had listed fifteen different terms.

Ehrhardt did not object to any of the provisions—for a cool thirteen grand, his take on the forty thousand, he was not going to do anything that jeopardized his fee.

His client did not care either; she got what she wanted: revenge, and money—and not necessarily in that order.

The attorneys faxed each other back and forth, and in three hours, the contract was signed.

The check was messengered over.

And the dirty deed was done.

CHAPTER 25

LIFE WAS MOST definitely sweeter for the Madison family. They were a little lighter in the bank account, but whoever said that money could not buy happiness did not know the dilemma that Phillip Madison had been facing in recent weeks. He came out of his shell and started to settle into a routine of normalcy, enjoying a sense of safety he had not known in almost two months.

Leeza had periodically attempted to ask him about the complaint, and why it had been withdrawn. Each time there was either a convenient interruption or Madison managed to fob her off with a general comment about the lack of merit of Harding’s accusations. When she finally pressed him on the details, he responded by telling her that since there was no proof of anything, the police had nothing left to pursue. It was a logical conclusion, and it seemed to satisfy her.

They barely had much time to enjoy their renewed stability, as Madison had to attend a seminar in San Diego on November 14 on advances in total hip replacement prosthetics. It was a $1,200 continuing education seminar that he had paid for six months ago. He invited Leeza to come along with him, but she was unable to arrange for a baby-sitter for the weekend.

He promised to make it up to her. In fact, he told her to plan a mini vacation to New Orleans, where they had gone a few years ago and had the time of their lives. She booked it the minute he left for the airport on Friday afternoon.

That evening, Madison returned to his hotel room and threw his seminar binder on the bed. He was exhausted, having listened to eight hours of boring recitation. At least it included PowerPoint