Chapter Twenty-Five
That evening, I took the subway up to Seventy-Second Street and walked over to Campagnola, a timeless Italian eatery on First Avenue.
I handed the ma?tre d’ my coat as he showed me to Leo’s table.
I wondered if the dinner would be business as usual.
Only our past dinners had always veered away from talking business.
“You made it,” he said enthusiastically, greeting me with a friendly hug. He pulled out my chair and motioned for me to sit down.
“Come up with any more brilliant ideas since this morning?”
“Let’s see if it gets us anywhere,” I said modestly. “Like you said, they might call our bluff.”
He leaned in. “I’m going to give you some advice that it took me way too long to practice. You’ve got to celebrate every small win along the way. If you wait until the outcome you’re hoping for, you lose sight of all the tiny moments that got you there.”
He poured a glass of red wine from a carafe. “Don’t get me wrong. I’m not saying take your eye off the prize. But what you did is worth a pat on the back, regardless of whether they settle.”
He raised his glass. “To all the small moments.”
I toasted back, feeling self-conscious as I wondered if he’d gotten better looking since the last time I’d seen him.
“How are Aldous and Kingsley?”
He grimaced. “Slowly killing me. They have more energy in an hour than I have in a month. We just hired a second nanny to tag-team, because the one we had threatened to quit.”
“No kidding.”
“They’re not easy. Or cheap.” He took a sip of wine. “I asked Jessica if we could leave them with her parents for Thanksgiving and go to Anguilla, just the two of us. She looked at me like I had two heads.”
“Could you take them with you?”
“I wouldn’t take them anywhere without both nannies.”
“Oh boy.”
“You live alone, right?”
I nodded.
“God, do I envy you. I miss the days when I was just responsible for myself.” He looked down at the menu. “Can I be honest?”
I braced myself. “Of course.” I wished I had left the office early and stopped for a drink to take the edge off. I felt like he was glasses ahead of me.
“I came out here this week to get away. I needed space to think.”
I shifted uncomfortably in my chair. “I’m sure taking space helps to be a better partner and parent. It’s a lot. You have to take time for yourself,” I said encouragingly.
“It’s an expensive mental-health vacation. I’m at the St. Regis. On the firm, but still.”
He paused as the waiter came to ask for our order.
“They’re famous for veal piccata,” he said.
“I’ll have a Caesar salad and the veal piccata, please,” I said.
“I’ll do the same.”
The waiter collected the menus. I started to tell Leo that I had outlined Sterling’s fraud complaint but immediately sensed he didn’t want to have a working dinner.
He took a deep breath and looked at me squarely. “I’m leaving Jessica.”
The words hung heavily in the air as I tried to think of something that didn’t sound immature. I didn’t know why, but something about Leo making such a personal confession made me feel self-conscious.
“Oh, wow. I’m really sorry to hear that,” I said awkwardly, knowing nothing would have come out right.
“So many of my friends are unhappily married, but they’re sticking it out. It feels like you’re the only person I can really talk to about what I’m going through,” he said, his voice thick with emotion. “How did you know it was time to end things?”
I fumbled for the right words. The idea that my experience could be helpful felt superficially parallel. “That was different,” I said carefully. “We didn’t have kids.”
“Right. Of course.” He took a deep breath. “It’s painful saying this out loud, but I’m going to offer her full custody, and just ask for visitation rights. Weekends, here and there.”
I tried to affect a neutral expression, but I felt shocked thinking he wouldn’t want to share custody. I wondered how long he’d been thinking about this. Was I a catalyst? I felt embarrassed thinking it, even if I’d wondered before now if the attraction was mutual.
“Is that really what you want?”
He sighed, looking distraught but determined. “I haven’t felt like myself for a while. I need to figure things out.”
I didn’t know Leo’s wife or much about their marriage other than they were both committed to their careers.
But it struck me that no matter what, his choice to leave would have a disproportionate impact on her life.
In many ways, the life I was chasing would have been impossible if Ben and I had had a child.
He looked like he could read my thoughts. “Please keep this between us. Most lawyers at the firm know Jessica, and I’d hate for her to hear it from someone else. I’m planning to talk to her when I get back this weekend.”
“Of course. You don’t have to worry,” I assured him. “I’m sorry you’re going through this,” I said honestly.
He took a slow sip of wine. “It’s going to be a rough couple of months, but hopefully it’ll be better on the other side.”
I suddenly wanted to tell him how much I knew about wanting to get to the other side.
I thought if I could just get through the bar, get to New York, start my new life, be my own person, I’d have it all figured out.
So far, most of what had been waiting on the other side were lessons on how there really is no such thing as getting to the “other side.”
“That’s the thing about getting to the other side,” I said cautiously. “If you’re not facing things on this side, they tend to follow you.”
It made more sense in my head. But I was living it.
Maybe it was Caroline’s voice in my head or my own internal voice. Somehow, having dinner with Leo felt less innocent.
He smiled sadly. “I admire you a lot, Sam. It takes strength to leave someone.”
I hesitated. “I don’t think strength is the right word. I made a hard choice, and it bought me a second chance to do it right. But second chances don’t always look like you thought they would. It’s never a clean break.”
He raised his glass for the second time. “To second chances, then.”
I was grateful when he switched the conversation back to work. “What’s happening with Andie Reese? Has Eddie convinced the prosecutors to drop the case yet?”
“I think she’s going to plead guilty. She wants to move on.”
I debated telling him about George Brenner but decided not to. It was too close to Leo’s world. He probably knew George personally. “She’s writing a memoir.”
“Have you read it?”
I told him about the editing process Eddie came up with.
“Is there anything you can’t do? Star associate, ghost editor . . . looks to me like this new life fits you like a glove.”
“I don’t know about all that, but thank you,” I said.
“You know, it’s been a long time since I met anyone like you.”
Something about the way he was looking at me made me feel vulnerable and flattered at the same time. And far out of my league.
“It’s been a pleasure learning from you,” I said, instinctively wrapping my blazer tighter.
He chuckled and held my gaze. “What do you say to one more drink? There’s a great little bar a few doors down.”
I looked down at my watch. “I’d like that .
. . but I really need to finish the memo from today’s meeting with the prosecutors.
” I instantly felt guilty for lying. But despite all the mental space he’d taken up over the last month, it felt like something had shifted.
His attention felt invasive. For the first time, I felt like wine was heightening my inhibitions instead of lowering them.
“Fair enough,” he said cheerfully. “I’ll pop in for a solo martini and make it an early night.”
I thanked Leo for dinner and promised again that his secret was safe with me.
I walked across to the 6 train, stopping to look down Park Avenue at the MetLife Building thirty blocks below. I knew Charlie had a hearing in the morning and would still be working. I took a picture of the building and texted it to him.
Waving from 72nd Street (good luck tomorrow).
Sterling was adamant that if we were going to file a lawsuit, we needed to file it before Thanksgiving so he could let his dad know he was putting his money where his mouth was.
Leo’s assistant scheduled the settlement meeting for Friday afternoon.
I woke up at 5 a.m. to practice delivering my arguments.
As much as I appreciated Leo’s hands-off approach, the idea of making an aggressive ultimatum to another lawyer while Leo watched was a nail-biting proposition without the added complication of being in emotional limbo.
Charlie had a dentist appointment, which meant there was no one to absorb my nervous energy. I paced our office until it was almost time for the meeting. I found a sleeve of stale saltines in my desk and ate half before going down to set up the conference room a few minutes early.
Leo was already there, answering emails. “All the visitor offices were booked today, so I’ve actually been posting up here since this morning.”
He winked. “I’m feeling great energy in this room.”
He didn’t seem at all rebuffed by my ending the night after dinner.
The visitor desk downstairs called to let us know that Damian Entwhistle and his associate were on their way up. I tried taking a deep, cleansing breath and reminded myself that I knew these arguments backward and forward.
Damian was shorter than me, with a young Joe Pesci vibe. He had a thriving law practice in Jackson Heights defending clients whose business practices often got them in trouble.
“Great view from up here. I think we can see Philadelphia,” he joked in a heavy Queens accent.
We shook hands, and I took my seat next to Leo. I handed them each a set of exhibits I’d printed, marked Privileged & Confidential/Attorney Work Product at the top.
“As you know, our client is intent on filing a lawsuit against your clients for breach of contract and fraud.”
Damian chuckled. “We’ve seen the same emails and texts as you. There’s no way there’s a colorable fraud claim here. But please, continue.”
“I assume you’re referring to the emails our client relied on when deciding to invest his money, representing that his investment would be allocated across four movies, with budgets of no more than $5 million each?”
“Sure. Those emails.”
“We now know your clients inflated the budgets of at least three of the four movies.”
I held up the first handout.
“This is Exhibit A, with a breakdown of what we understand the final budget to have been for Tokyo Summer, in addition to a copy of the tax-credit filing with New York state.”
Damian’s associate, a petite brunette in a pale-pink pantsuit, leaned in and whispered something to Damian.
“Do you need the room?” I asked.
He shook his head. “You can continue.”
“You’ll see at the bottom of the chart is the budget number for Tokyo Summer, which we uncovered by working backward once we obtained the tax-credit filing from the state.”
“Reminder that a court is unlikely to be sympathetic with a fact that you ‘backed into.’”
“I’ll let you read through Exhibit B and C.”
Leo gave me a stealth thumbs-up as they skimmed the next few pages.
Damian looked unimpressed. “Continue.”
“Respectfully, we know your clients doubled the budgets. If forced to file a lawsuit, we’re going to subpoena all of their records, and the line-item budgets will be the first things we demand to see.
And we’re certain the documents will confirm that your clients bloated the budgets with fees for themselves, overpaid actors, used budgeted funds for frivolous Cannes parties.
Then we’ll subpoena each movie’s financial statements, and we’ll know exactly how Sterling’s money evaporated into thin air. ”
He appeared unmoved. “So file a lawsuit, and see what you find,” he said flatly.
“As I said earlier, we’ll be alleging fraud, along with embezzlement, negligent misrepresentation, breach of fiduciary duty, and unfair business practices.
We’ll be seeking compensatory damages of at least $20 million, and another $20 million in punitive damages for fraudulently inducing our client to invest millions and knowingly devaluing our client’s investment, foreclosing any possibility of recouping even a fraction of the millions he invested. ”
Damian smiled politely and stood up, signaling the meeting was over. “I hope you’ve got the complaint ready to go.”
I went in for a firm handshake. “We plan to file at five o’clock a week from today, unless we hear from you otherwise.”