Beneficial Interest （n.） – Olivia
BENEFICIAL INTEREST (N.):
THE RIGHT OF A PARTY TO SOME PROFIT, DISTRIBUTION, OR BENEFIT FROM A CONTRACT OR TRUST
OLIVIA
Three Weekends Later
Islid into a booth at Whimstery Café, donning a black hoodie and sweats like Max always insisted. I’d left my cell phone in my car and “all other electronic devices” at home.
The only thing I forgot was the tin foil hat I made him—along with a much-needed copy of How to Stop Being So Paranoid.
Seconds later, Max stepped into the café in all-black and a pair of oversized sunglasses.
He scanned the empty room for what felt like forever before squinting at me.
After grabbing a coffee, he pressed his back against a wall and slowly stepped toward me like he was filming a scene in Mission Impossible.
“There’s no one in here except us and the baristas, Max,” I said as he neared. “Be serious.”
“I am being serious.” He sat across from me. “This location is now secure for our conversation.”
“Good to know.” I sipped my drink. “So?”
“You want the good news or the bad news about Judge Ashton first?”
“The good news.”
“There is no good news.”
“Okay…” I crossed my arms. “What’s the bad news?”
“That he might be the most un-fucking corrupt legal person on this planet,” he said. “He’s an asshole, but he’s an ethical asshole.”
“How is that bad news?”
“Because there was very little for me to find.” He slid me a thin folder. “He’s very meticulous—across all eighteen of his email addresses—even the ones that can’t technically be linked back to him.”
“Why would anyone need that many email addresses?”
“He has a degree in digital forensic science.” He shrugged. “I think he just does it for fun.”
I flipped open the folder, coming face to face with the list of addresses and stapled pages of emails.
“That’s just a small sample of what’s in every inbox,” he said. “He makes lists of everything and keeps records of conversations, lawyers he meets, et cetera.”
“There’s no way this is all you found,” I said. “When you hacked me, you found lots of interesting things…”
“No, I didn’t.” He scoffed. “Your vibrator purchases and constant returns weren’t interesting to me at all.”
I rolled my eyes.
“There was this one recurring thing, but it’s nothing.” He leaned over and flipped to a back page. “See?”
He pointed to a bank statement.
“He makes monthly payments to a ‘Ryan L.’ in the amount of three thousand dollars, and the payments go back years.”
“Maybe that’s the name of his retirement account?”
“Nah, I checked that.” He shrugged. “I think it’s just an old friend, but...”
“But what?”
“He named the account ‘From your parents,’” he said. “His real name is nowhere on it, though. Does he have a secret kid somewhere?”
“No.” I shook my head. “Not that I know of…”
“I figured,” he said. “It’s probably just another charity, then.”
“Probably…” I flipped through the other pages. “So, over a three to five year span, this is it?”
“Yeah.” He tapped his chin. “He recently spent over two million on a bunch of designer clothes, but I’m thinking that might be signs of a mid-life crisis.”
He spent two million dollars on me?
“Uh… Yeah, maybe that’s it.” I refused to walk down that line of conversation. “Did you even search for ‘Grant Jenkins’ in all this?”
“Uh, duh.” He stood up. “That was the first thing I searched for. Nothing came up except the dockets, notes with lawyers, and alerts he got from news places.”
“You might find something else if you look hard enough, but I doubt it’ll be anything other than his notes.”
“Thanks, Max.”
“You’re very welcome.” He zipped his jacket and started to walk away, but then he turned around.
“I need you to make me a promise,” he said. “One you have to keep for the next twenty years.”
“Depends on what it is.”
“Whenever you make it big—whether it’s in law or via literature—and you have enough to pay off all your friends’ mortgages, and make sure I’m one of them.”
“That’s…random as hell.”
“Nah, that’s one nice thing I forgot about in his inbox.” He smiled. “He paid off twelve different people’s mortgages a few years ago, and then he gifted two of them an extra seventy-five thousand for repairs.”
“Did you say twelve people?”
“Yeah.” He nodded. “Twelve whole mortgages. A whole jury’s worth.”
Silence.
My entire world stopped, and recent words between Liam and me floated through my mind.
“Until someone paid them all seventy-five thousand apparently.”
“I thought only two were paid off.”
“I’m sure there were more…”
“If I knew how much judges got paid…” Max was still smiling. “I would’ve suffered through law school a lot longer.”
“Do you have the receipts of these mortgage payments?” I could barely hear my voice.
“Yeah, I printed those for your folder.” He shrugged. “He paid them off via an offshore account, but that’s typical when you’re dropping that much money.”
“Yes…very typical.”
“You alright?” He tilted his head to the side. “You look sick all of a sudden.”
“I’m fine.” I forced a smile. “Thank you so much for looking into everything for me.”
“You’re welcome.” He smiled back. “Glad I could prove he’s not a dirty judge.”
He totally is…