Richard exhaled, relieved to share this burden with someone else. “You’re a master at fixing things, Wendy. What should we do? I need you thinking outside of the box on this one.”
“Is Olivia okay?” Wendy asked.
“Olivia? Oh, she’s fine. It stung a little, but she’ll get over it.”
“We should contact Beth Musselwhite and do damage control at the outset, tell Beth about the video before she gets a copy of it. If someone shot that video of you and Sandy in order to get Countryside, they’ll make a move of some sort. We could always get an expert to say the video was photoshopped. A professional could digitally manufacture anything. That should be our position. I’ll line up experts to support it when I get off the phone with you.”
“Good idea.”
“I’ll call Beth when we hang up and set up a meeting for first thing tomorrow. And then I’ll make some phone calls. Leave it with me. No need for you to worry about this. You focus on Beth, and I’ll take care of everything else.”
“Thanks, Wendy. Can you please text me the time of the meeting?”
“Sure,” Wendy said. “Get some rest, Richard. Something tells me things are going to get worse before they get better.”
Monday, October 13
Richard spent a hapless weekend in his studio apartment trying to stay on top of his workload, but he soon discovered he couldn’t focus. He turned his attention to finding Sandy, but after going to her apartment three times on Saturday and twice on Sunday, he realized that she had gone. It wasn’t like her to not tell him where she was, but he didn’t worry.
Wendy called at eight o’clock Monday morning. “Beth Musselwhite doesn’t want to meet with you. Says there’s no need.”
Richard, who had poached himself an egg, nearly dropped his plate. “She’s firing us. Did you explain the situation, how the video was faked?”
“I did.”
“Did she not believe you?”
“She didn’t say one way or another. She said she’s sending a letter with instructions.”
“I’ll go to her,” Richard said.
“I don’t think you should—”
“She owes me a face-to-face. If she’s going to take her business elsewhere, I want to hear it from her. And who knows, with a little luck, I can talk her round.”
An hour later, Richard headed across the Golden Gate Bridge and north on 101, taking the Corte Madera exit. Countryside had its offices in a huge shopping center just off the freeway. A vast parking lot circled the entire property. Richard cruised around to the area closest to the Countryside office. There, in its reserved parking space, was Beth’s silver BMW. He parked in the reserved spot right next to Beth’s car and strolled nonchalantly towards the Countryside office.
The receptionist smiled when she saw Richard. Holding up her finger, she mouthed, “One second, okay?”
Richard nodded while she wrote down a phone number. “I’ll see that he gets the message. Thank you.” She hung up the phone and turned her attention to Richard. “Sorry about that, Mr. Sinclair. Does Beth know you’re coming?”
“She doesn’t. Do you mind if I just go on back?” He didn’t wait for an answer. Instead, he hurried past the receptionist, into the underbelly of Beth’s domain.
“Mr. Sinclair, wait.”
Walking past the rows of cubicles and offices, towards the corner of the building where Beth kept her office, Richard didn’t knock before he went in. In contrast to light and airy open space where the clerical staff spent their workday, Beth’s office was furnished like a Victorian drawing room, thick noise-absorbing carpet, heavy dark furniture, and subdued lighting lent the office an anachronistic air that Richard never liked. Beth sat at her desk, serene and in control, as though she were waiting for him.
“I figured you’d come storming in here. I suppose I should apologize for not wanting to meet with you, Richard. That wasn’t fair of me.”
Richard begged, “Please don’t take your business from my firm. That video isn’t real, Beth. I know it looks real, but it’s not. We’re investigating its origin. When I find out who is responsible, they will pay.”
Beth studied Richard as she leaned back in her chair. “It’s not so much the video, Richard. I understand how things like that can be manufactured.”
“Beth—”
“You don’t deny you were sleeping with Sandy, do you? Regardless of the video, you were unfaithful to Olivia.”
“That’s not the issue,” Richard said.
Beth held up her hand. “Please. Let me finish. I understand that some men cheat. They tell themselves they have needs and their wife can’t fill them. I’ve never understood the entitlement that allows men like you to break your vows, but that’s not important right now. So tell me the truth. Were you sleeping with your secretary? Ah. So the answer is yes. I’m glad you didn’t lie to me. And spare me the story of how the video of you two having sex is fake. It’s not. You know it’s not, and I know it’s not. You’re an investment to me, Richard. I always keep track of my investments.”
“Someone put a camera in my bedroom,” Richard said.
“I know. I believe that you didn’t know about that. Our generation is a little different, I think. The sex films are for the youngsters.” Beth took a brass paperclip out of the holder on her desk and set about unfolding it. “The issue, and what’s important now, is that I no longer respect you. And I’m glad you’re here so I can tell you in person that I will not be renewing our contract for representation next year. I will honor year-end bonuses, as promised. I expect you to turn over all of your cases to our new firm.”
She opened her calendar. “Let’s say you turn over the files by November 1. That will give you a couple of weeks to get things in order. And to make things easier for you and Andrew, I’ll issue your year-end bonuses when the files are handed over to our new counsel. Does that suit?” Beth didn’t wait for Richard’s answer. She scribbled something in her calendar. “Very well. That’s settled then.”
After thirty-plus years of trying hundreds of cases before juries, not only did Richard Sinclair know how to think on his feet, he also knew how to stuff down his emotions as though they didn’t exist. These skills deserted him now. Feeling as though he had been hit by a tsunami, Richard felt the room tilt. He shook his head, somehow managed to maintain his equilibrium. His brain scrambled for an appropriate response, something he could say to get Beth to change her mind. For the first time in his long and storied career as a litigator, the words wouldn’t come.
“We’ve had a very successful relationship for almost twenty-five years,” Beth said. “Your litigation skills are renowned. You’ll find other work, if you want it. But why don’t you retire? Take Olivia and go away for a while.”
Beth stood. As if following by rote, Richard found himself standing too. Soon Beth had woven her arm through his and was ushering him towards the door. “I was very fond of you once, Richard. Now it’s time for us to let things go and move on. You will survive this mess, of that I’ve no doubt.” She patted his arm, a maternal gesture that should have infuriated him. “I’ll send over a formal letter memorializing our conversation this afternoon.” She pushed him out and shut the door behind him. Richard turned and stared at the closed door for a moment, a befuddled look on his face.
Sound and sights swirled around Richard as he walked out of Countryside, numb and unsure of his footing. He somehow wound up in his car, but didn’t remember