“What do you think I should do?”
“Take the evening and think about it. I have until tomorrow afternoon to get back to him.”
“I don’t want to do it, Jeffrey.”
“I know. But I want to do what’s in your best interest. Let’s not think with our emotions, okay? Take a few breaths, compose yourself, and get back to work. I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”
Madison made it home early that evening, just as the kids were finishing dinner. He played a game of Hungry, Hungry Hippos, then rolled on the floor with them while Scalpel barked and licked him, then brought over a tennis ball to play catch with…politely demanding attention.
He capped off the night by lulling them to sleep with a story about dragons. Leeza was reading and vegging on the family room couch, having been relieved of her nightly duties for the first time in weeks. She was enjoying every minute of it.
Madison looked at her several times during the evening while they were watching a show, and he almost asked her opinion about what he should do. But since he did all their self-directed investing, he could easily write a check from their brokerage account. He ran that aspect of their lives, just as she paid the bills when they came in. She would never notice the missing fifty thousand dollars.
Each time he thought of bringing up the topic, he heard Jeffrey’s voice in the back of his mind: It’ll look to her like you’re guilty. She may not understand.
While that might in fact be the case, he just did not feel right about keeping it from her. Maybe she would feel better about it and would understand if she were consulted about it from the beginning.
As they were sitting there and Madison was about to broach the subject, Leeza received a call from her sister in Texas. She had not spoken to her in months, and that was that for the evening. Nearly two hours later, she came to bed. Madison was fast asleep, exhaustion winning out over stress. He had not gotten a decent night’s sleep in days.
The next morning, low, gray clouds hung from the sky. It had unexpectedly drizzled a bit, dampening the Sacramento Herald that had been lying on the step when Madison opened the door.
He thumbed through the paper, skimming the front page and catching up on some current events before turning to the sports and business pages. Suddenly, his eyes settled on a column by Carrie Anson. The headline struck him like a brick across the forehead:
When Your Doctor is Accused of Rape
He swallowed hard; felt a bit lightheaded. He began to read: “Rape is a disease in our society, one which occurs not only in dark, back streets and alleys, but now seems to pervade even the safest of places: our doctor’s office…”
Madison felt a rumbling deep inside his gut. “…When a woman places trust in her doctor, a prominent member of the medical community who has received numerous state and national awards, we must wonder just how safe we are when that door closes and clicks shut…” He started to skim, and caught key phrases: “…heading up a popular local nonprofit agency…had made overtures to her in public and now this tragic event. How could this happen in our community…”
Leeza walked into the kitchen to make the kids breakfast. She would want the newspaper when he was done with it.
Anything interesting?” she asked as she poured the pancake mix into the bowl.
“Hmm? Oh, nothing. The usual.” Remembering he had wanted to re-up his subscription to the Bee and cancel the Herald, he closed the paper, buried the front page under the Metro and Living sections, and then gave her a kiss. “See you around six, right after rounds, okay?”
“Sounds good,” she said, pouring a couple of dabs of batter onto the skillet.
He left and drove off. Dialed Hellman and caught him in his car on the way to the office.
“Have you seen the Herald?”
“That’s what you called about?” Hellman asked.
“I take it you haven’t read it.”
“It’s sitting on the seat here next to me.”
“Pull over and read Carrie Anson’s column. Page two. Call me right back.”
Thirty seconds later, Madison’s phone rang. He tapped his Bluetooth. “Yeah.”
“Jesus.”
“Pay them the money, Jeffrey.”
“Phil, I can go after them for this article. This is libelous.”
“Jeffrey, I’ve had enough. Even if you get them to print a retraction, they didn’t mention any names. What are they gonna say, the doctor we didn’t mention didn’t really do it? Are they going to say they made it up? No. Will they say we’re sorry we wrote the story, that there have been no formal charges filed against anyone? It’ll look like someone threatened them with a lawsuit, which is exactly what you’d be doing.”
“Phil-”
“Pay them the money, Jeffrey. Get her out of my life.”
“I’ll see if I can 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 amp; 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
