“Tony was right about Megan Walton being the key to understanding your settlement offer,” Penelope says directly to Cumming. She waits for him to respond. He doesn’t. She straightens up, braces her right elbow in her left palm, rests her chin in her other palm, and taps the end of her index finger on the tip of her nose. I know the move but realize that she’s not really pondering the problem; she’s just playing with her audience.
“It seems to me that your Windy City friends are in deep doo-doo if Megan Walton is found to be at fault for the crash, gentlemen,” she continues. “Especially if it comes out that she was underqualified to be flying paying customers in an aircraft like the Cessna 210. Hmmm?”
“There’s been no suggestion of that,” Cumming shoots back.
Penelope arches her eyebrows as if she’s surprised to hear so silly a thing. “Maybe not that you’ve heard about.”
I finally twig onto where Penelope is going. “That would suggest stunning negligence on the part of Windy City Sky Tours, wouldn’t it?” I ask Cumming.
He doesn’t bother to respond.
Penelope fixes another laser stare on Cumming and agrees with my assessment. “Yes, it would. A clear case of gross negligence and willful misconduct of that magnitude would almost certainly pierce the veil of liability that Windy City’s owners are trying to hide their assets behind.”
Meaning that Senator Milton would have a clear shot at the personal fortunes of Jonathan Walton, Caitlyn Tyson, and Oliver Franklin, in addition to the assets and liability insurance of Windy City and the estate of Megan Walton. That’s some serious coin. I turn an admiring look on Penelope. As usual, even when I thought I’d worked out where her head is, my partner was already a step or two beyond the rest of us. The junior Butterworth Cole attorneys seem to be as surprised as I am. Herbert Cumming doesn’t. If he knew this, shouldn’t he have been pushing to prove the Windy City gross negligence and willful misconduct that Penelope is postulating?
The disdain dripping from her words and the malice in her eyes telegraph Penelope’s belief that that’s precisely the outcome Cumming is seeking to prevent with today’s settlement offer. “So, Herbert, who’s the Butterworth Cole client you’re acting on behalf of this morning? The Walton family? The Tysons? The Franklins? It certainly isn’t Senator Milton.”
Cumming stares imperiously down his nose at Penelope as if she’s a fly on a hot dog that he’s about to shoo away. It strikes me as a stunning display of arrogance in the face of such a devastating accusation.
“Actually, never mind,” Penelope says with a dismissive wave of her hand. “I’m sure the Illinois Bar Association will get to the bottom of it.” She gathers up her purse and portfolio before she leads me to the door leading out of the conference room. Then she pauses and looks back. “As for how deeply you’re in bed with the Lucianos and their lawyers, I guess we’ll just put a bug in the FBI’s ear and let them muck around in that mess.”
Cumming’s arrogant expression disintegrates into dust the moment Penelope mentions making a referral to the FBI.
“I think you know where you can stick your settlement offer,” I say in a snide aside.
Penelope shoots a surprised, unreadable look my way. “We’ll show ourselves out.”
“They can stick their settlement offer? What was that?” she asks hotly when we’re in the elevator. I know I’m in trouble but don’t know why until she adds, “If we can get Rick and Billy’s insurance company on the hook for the two and a half million and R & B doesn’t admit to any wrongdoing, I’ll take the deal in a heartbeat.”
Oh. Sorry, Billy. Sorry, Rick. Sorry, Mel.
Penelope’s gaze softens by the time the elevator reaches the lobby. She punches my shoulder as we step outside, winks, and warns me, “I’ll beat you up next time you tell anyone that we’ll do something without talking to me first. Understand?”
Properly chastened, I nod.
She meets my gaze. “I’ll touch base with Cumming this afternoon to let him know that we’ll take the settlement offer under advisement and discuss it with our client.”
What if Cumming spurns Penelope’s olive branch because of my asinine outburst? “I’m sorry,” I mutter.
She waves my apology aside and sets off down Wacker Avenue with me following meekly in her wake. By the time we reach the parking garage, my mind is once again fully occupied with my missing daughter.
Chapter Twenty-Five
After yet another afternoon with no progress in the search for Brittany, I microwave my third consecutive dinner of penne pasta, wash it down with a beer, break out the bourbon, and glumly settle into Papa’s La-Z-Boy. Jake sent some technicians by earlier to sweep the house. No cameras. No listening devices. So, that’s a bit of a relief. His print guy left a mess on and around the La-Z-Boy that took me twenty minutes to clean up. No word yet whether or not the exercise proved fruitful. I’m sure Jake will tell me when he knows something. There’s also promising news on the R & B front, however. Penelope calls to inform me that Butterworth Cole will await the results of our consultation with Billy and Rick regarding the settlement offer. Which leaves the matter of Billy and Rick finding the means to pay their portion. To that end, we have an affidavit from Rick’s hepatologist stating that Rick’s liver issues and transplant were the result of a genetic condition, not alcohol abuse.
“You’ve been busy,” I say. “Still in the office?”
“Afraid so,” she replies. “I just scheduled a face-to-face meeting with a lawyer and senior claims executive of R & B’s insurance company. With the hepatologist’s report, they’ll have to reinstate Rick and Billy’s policy.”
“And if they don’t?”
