51
I called my mother to tell her I would be home late, and after we sent Linda home for the day, Michael, Stuart, and I sat around the table in Michael’s office strategizing.
Linda told us that she had signed a document stating she would not discuss her family’s arrangement with Sam, but both Michael and Stuart explained that was entirely unenforceable from a legal standpoint and in no way binding.
All three of us agreed, however, that it was best to keep her name out of the papers. Both because it would look bad for us hiring her and because we were sure Sam would launch a smear campaign against her, making her testimony at the divorce hearing harder to believe.
“Then it’s worthless,” Stuart said. “We already knew he was crooked.”
“If the Post reporter is willing to talk to her anonymously, it could work,” I said. “But the sister won’t confirm anything. Linda said he got their name and called the house, and she refused to talk.”
“How much of that was to protect Linda’s job though?”
I didn’t know the answer. All I knew was Linda said her sister wasn’t saying a word.
“Let’s just call the reporter and tell him what we know—in loose terms,” I said.
“It’s not much more solid than what you told him initially,” Michael reminded me.
“We didn’t know then that Sam was sleeping with a teenager whom he later bribed to lie about his opponent.”
Michael and Stuart exchanged a glance. “Do we know how involved Larry was in all this?” Michael asked.
I leaned back slightly. “What are you implying?”
“Sam isn’t stupid,” he said. “He’s not going to take the fall for anything.”
I connected the dots. “If anything actually illegal happened, Larry could go to jail.”
“Look, I’ll employ you as long as you want,” Michael said. “But that makes your life ... interesting.”
On the one hand, if he committed a crime, he belonged in jail. And on a personal level, I had no problem with that.
On the other, I didn’t want the kids facing that stigma. Money would work itself out. But Robbie, in particular, would be ostracized at school when the news got out.
I swore viciously. “Honestly, can we just hire a hit man at this point?”
Both men chuckled.
“So we have nothing?” I asked.
“Not nothing,” Michael said, putting a hand on mine. “Finish the letter. We’ll call the reporter tomorrow. Together.”
“Cut that out,” Stuart said, plucking Michael’s hand off. “You two caused enough trouble today.”
“To be fair, it was a couple weeks ago.”
Stuart stood up and shook his head. “I’m going home. If you’re going to do anything else”—he gestured between the two of us—“keep it between these walls where it can’t be photographed, please.” He made a sour face. “And not on my desk.” At the door, he muttered something that sounded like “Teenagers.”
Once he was gone, Michael looked at me. “Want to go sit on papers on his desk so it looks like we fooled around there?”
“Absolutely.”
He was right. We didn’t have nothing.