know differently.”
Ryan glanced at Liz. Did she know about the attic? “What are you talking about?”
Jackson laid a file on the table. It contained a stack of documents nearly eight inches high. “Invoices,” he said flatly.
“Invoices for what?” asked Ryan.
“During the last eight months of your marriage, Liz took over the billing practices of your clinic. She mailed these to your patients with delinquent accounts. You don’t deny she did that, do you?”
“No, I don’t deny it. It was Liz’s idea. I told her we’d never collect, that these people couldn’t pay. She sent them anyway. But you can’t count uncollected invoices as income. That’s absurd.”
Jackson leaned forward, more than a little confrontational. “We don’t think they went uncollected.”
“I don’t understand.”
“You knew Liz was unhappy. You knew this divorce was coming long ago. We intend to prove that you accepted cash payments from patients under the table so that you could hide the money from Liz and keep it for yourself.”
“Have you lost your marbles?” He glanced at his wife. “Liz, tell him.”
She looked away.
“Dr. Duffy, the bottom line is that you owe your wife seven hundred thousand dollars in a lump sum payment, plus monthly alimony commensurate with a thriving private practice.”
“This is laughable.”
“No one’s laughing, Doctor.”
“Liz, I can’t believe you would set me up like this.”
Jackson said, “I’d appreciate it if you would direct your comments to me, Doctor. Not to your wife.”
“Naturally. I’m sure you’re the one who concocted this scheme in the first place.”
“No one has concocted anything.”
“How long have you represented her? Eight months, I’ll bet, ever since she started sending the invoices. Only with the encouragement of a shark like you would she re-bill patients who couldn’t pay and then accuse me of accepting cash payments under the table.”
“I won’t sit here and trade insults with you, Doctor. This meeting will proceed on a professional level, or it won’t proceed at all.”
He rose and pushed away from the table. “Fine with me. This meeting’s over.” He glared at Liz. “It’s definitely over.” He turned and left the room.
Liz jumped up to follow. Her lawyer grabbed her wrist, but she shook free. “Ryan, wait!”
He heard her voice, but he didn’t break stride. It shocked him the way Liz had changed since their pleasant talk on the porch three nights ago. The three-hour prep session with Mr. Congeniality had obviously tapped her negative energy. Or maybe Tuesday was just a ruse.
“Ryan!”
He continued through the lobby, never looking back. The elevator doors opened, and he hurried inside. Liz lunged forward as the doors were closing. She barely made it. The elevator began its descent with just the two of them aboard. Liz was red-faced and breathless from the chase. “Ryan, listen to me.”
He watched the lights above the elevator doors, avoiding eye contact.
“This wasn’t my idea,” she said, pleading.
Finally, he looked at her. “What were you trying to do to me in there?”
“It’s for your own good.”
“My own good? This I gotta hear.”
“It was my lawyer’s idea to accuse you of hiding your income, just to put you on the defensive. I wouldn’t let him use that ploy at a real deposition or in the courtroom, anyplace where it could embarrass you. But today was just a settlement conference. It’s just posturing.”
“ Posturing? It’s an outright lie. How could you let him pull a stunt like that?”
“Because it’s time you woke up,” she said sharply. “For eight years I begged you to get your career in order and earn the kind of money we deserved. You could have been a top-flight surgeon at any hospital you wanted, right here in Denver. You just gave it all up.”
“I didn’t give it all up. I’m still a doctor.”
“You’re a waste of talent, that’s what you are. It’s time you stopped playing Mother Teresa for all the poor sick folks in Piedmont Springs and started making some real money — for both of us.”
“You and your lawyer are going to make sure of that. Is that the plan?”
“If forcing you to write a hefty alimony check every month is the only way to blast you out of Piedmont Springs, then by God, I’m going to do it. You brought this on yourself. I didn’t work two jobs putting you through med school so that I could wake up every morning to the smell of cow manure blowing in from the fields. Piedmont Springs was not the future we talked about before we got married. I’ve waited long enough to get out of that hellhole.”
The elevator doors opened. Liz started out to the main lobby. Ryan stopped her.
“Is that what’s driving you, Liz? You just can’t wait to get out of Piedmont Springs?”
Her eyes turned cold. “No, Ryan. What’s driving me is that I’m sick and tired of waiting for you.”
He swallowed hard, tasting the bitterness as she quickly walked away.
12
Friday afternoon traffic was heavy as Amy reached Denver. She parked near the Civic Center about a mile from the coffee shop, then walked a block to the 16th Street Mall and caught the free shuttle. The bus ride was part of her plan to conceal her identity, to the extent possible. It was conceivable that Ryan’s father had sent the money to her without telling anyone, taking the name and address of Amy Parkens with him to the grave. She didn’t want Ryan to find out who she was simply by checking her license plate.
She was getting nervous about meeting Ryan face to face. She wished she had a friend in law enforcement who could run a criminal background check on the Duffys, make sure the money was clean. She didn’t. Snooping around was no way to get answers anyway. She had learned that from her marriage. Weeks of discreet, behind- the-scenes inquiries had brought only aggravation. The answer had come only after she’d invoked the direct approach and asked him point-blank, “Have you been screwing another woman?” No soft-pedaling it with the usual euphemisms — “seeing someone,” “having an affair,” or “cheating on me.” It had hurt to hear the truth. But at least she knew.
The direct approach. In a pinch, there was no substitute.
The shuttle bus dropped her at Larimer Square, a historic street that boasted authentic Western Victorian architecture. But for the determination of preservationists, it would have been bulldozed for yet another glass and steel skyscraper, like so many others that had sprouted in the days when Denver meant oil and the TV hit Dynasty. It had become Denver’s most charming shopping district, home to specialty shops, cafes, and summer concerts in brick courtyards.
On the corner was the Green Parrot, a coffee house with a bird sanctuary motif, having been converted from a century-old drugstore. A big brass chandelier hung from a thirty-foot coffered ceiling. The soda fountain was now a busy espresso bar. The floor was old Chicago brick. Flowering orchids adorned each of the decorative wrought- iron tables. Bubbling fountains and an abundance of green plants made coffee klatches feel like a day at the park. Huge wire cages towered above the tables, some fifteen feet high, each displaying colorful exotic birds.
Amy checked her reflection in the plate-glass window before entering. She had chosen her outfit carefully. Nothing too sexy. She didn’t want Ryan to infer that his old man had left a box full of money for his twenty-eight- year-old mistress. She wore a navy blue suit with a peach blouse, shoes with only a two-inch heel. No flashy jewelry, just faux pearls and
matching earrings. Sincere, but serious. She entered the double doors and stopped at the sign that said, “WAIT HERE TO BE SEATED.”
“Can I help you?” asked the hostess.
