Indiscretion

I was up early the next morning, even though Simon and I had hung out talking until midnight. After an hour of mindless scrolling on my phone, I dragged my ass out of bed and went to the gym for a Pilates class. On the way back to my sister’s, I got an iced coffee and decided to walk rather than take the subway. Dawson’s office wasn’t too far off course on the route I took, so I popped in to see if he was working today like he’d said he might. I found him at his desk, looking pretty much the same as he had yesterday, only his clothes were more rumpled, and he looked a bit haggard. He didn’t even look up as I stood at the door. So I knocked on the doorjamb.

“Dawson?”

His head snapped up, and he pulled an AirPod from an ear and tossed it on the desk. “Shit. I didn’t hear you come in.”

“Have you been here all night?”

He nodded. “My case is about to explode.”

“The one that sent over a revised witness list yesterday? Fanning?”

Dawson blew out two cheeks full of air. “I did some digging. Turns out one of them is the president of a small bank in the Bahamas, and the other is my client’s first wife.”

“I take it that’s not good?”

“It’s an extortion case—at least that’s what the main charge is. There are also a few smaller ones that have less bite. The biggest thing in our favor was that the government couldn’t find the money my client was supposedly collecting, though apparently his ex could. I swear, the DA’s office should put ex-wives on the payroll. They can find shit better than any investigator I’ve ever met.”

I smiled, but it didn’t sound good for Mr. Fanning. “How much did they find?”

“More than seven million. All because his ex wanted him to pay for half of their son’s summer camp. He refused, so she took him to court and let him tell the judge how broke he was. Big mistake. You never piss off a woman who knows where you used to hide the bodies. Now he not only has to pay for a hundred percent of his son’s camp, he’s going to wind up serving twenty years for extortion.”

“Is there anything I can do to help?”

“Can you make Mr. Fanning take a deal? I spoke to him on the phone last night, and he’s still refusing. I told him to come in this morning after he’d had some time to think about it. I’m hoping the new information that’s come to light has sunk in, and he’ll think better of wanting to go to trial.”

“Will they even give him a deal now?”

“They offered eight years when he was first indicted, which he scoffed at. I’m friendly with the DA who’s trying the case, so I called him early this morning. The offer is now twelve. And it’s only open until five PM today.”

“Can I make you some coffee or something?”

“If you don’t mind, that would be great. I need to hit the head and wash up before Mr. Fanning shows. He should be here any minute.”

“No problem. If he’s here before you’re done, I’ll stall him.”

“Thanks. I appreciate it.” He walked to a cabinet and pulled out a dress shirt on a hanger. On his way back to his desk, he stopped and sniffed the air.

“Do you have something coconut on?”

“No.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yep. You asked me that the other day. I think you have coconut on the brain. I’ll go make that coffee.”

I’d barely had time to press start on the coffeemaker before I heard the clank of the front door. I walked out to the lobby and found a short, balding, unassuming man with Coke-bottle glasses. This couldn’t be the extortioner, could it? “Can I help you?”

“Dawson Reed, please.” He nodded. “Name’s Jack Fanning.”

Not what I expected, but okay. I put on a friendly smile. “Please have a seat. Dawson is just finishing up a call. He won’t be too long. Can I get you a coffee or something in the meantime?”

“Black.”

Man of few words… “Of course. I’ll be right back.”

On my way to the break room, I popped my head into Dawson’s office. He was shirtless, the top of his pants was open, and his belt was unbuckled. My eyes snagged on the happy trail that ran from his belly button into the waistband of his underwear.

Dawson smirked. “Good to know.”

“Good to know what?”

He shook out a folded undershirt and pulled it over his head. Tucking it into his pants, he zipped up. “That your date didn’t go the distance last night.”

“What are you talking about?”

He pulled on the dress shirt and started to button. “If you were full, you wouldn’t look hungry.”

My nose wrinkled. “You’re really an ass, you know that?”

“So I’ve heard a few times.”

“More than that, I’m sure.” I rolled my eyes. “Mr. Fanning is here. I’m bringing him coffee now.”

“Thank you. I’ll be ready in a few minutes.”

Mr. Fanning chugged the hot, black coffee like it was a water bottle and he’d just run a marathon, then handed me back the empty cup. “Thanks.”

I didn’t really have anything to do today, so I figured I’d stick around to see how things turned out. After I delivered the man of few words to Dawson’s office, I took a seat at my desk and worked on a petition I hadn’t had time to finish before I left yesterday. One paragraph in, the yelling started. I couldn’t help but overhear.

“You told me I had a good chance of getting off!”

“And you told me you had no assets other than the ones the feds had frozen.”

“That’s money from an inheritance!”

“Why is it in an offshore account?”

“Because I’m on my second wife. I’ve learned my lesson on sharing all the things I’ve worked for.”

“I take it that means you didn’t list the bank account on the financial disclosure you would’ve filed during your divorce proceedings with your first wife?”

“No.”

“So your intent wasn’t to defraud the government when you were asked if you had other assets, it was to defraud your ex-wife?”

“That’s right.”

“Can you provide a paper trail of how you came into possession of this money? A copy of the will, a settlement filing from the estate of the deceased?”

“I was just given the money. There was no will.”

“How? Via check?”

“Cash.”

“By whom?”

“An uncle.”

“An elderly uncle, who was about to die, handed you seven-million dollars in cash?”

“That’s right. He was old school. Didn’t trust banks.”

It went quiet, and a few seconds later, Dawson’s door swung open. He poked his head out and waved to me. “Oh good. You’re still here. Would you mind coming in for a moment, Naomi?”

“Umm…sure.”

I followed Dawson into the office. He put his hands on his hips and spoke to me. “I’m sorry for putting you on the spot like this, but I want to show Mr. Fanning how things are going to go in court next week.” He glanced over at the client. “Naomi was an assistant district attorney. She started here last Monday and knows nothing about your case.”

The client’s arms folded across his chest. “Yeah, so?”

“Naomi, the government found seven-million dollars in an account under Mr. Fanning’s name in the Bahamas. He just told me it was an inheritance, and an elderly uncle gave it to him. In cash. Would you mind playing the ADA role and pretending he’s on the stand?”

“Oh…kay.”

Dawson leaned against the credenza and casually crossed his feet at the ankles. “The witness is all yours.”

“Umm… Okay. Mr. Fanning, can you tell me how you got the cash to the Bahamas?”

“I carried it?”

“In something?”

“Yes, a bag.”

“What kind of a bag? Can you describe it for me, please?”

“A duffle bag.”

“Like the kind you’d bring to the gym?”

He shook his head, like he was annoyed at the antics. “Yeah, whatever.”

“So one duffle bag?” I held my hands about two feet apart. “Maybe this big?”

“Something like that. I didn’t measure it.”

“Mr. Fanning, a million dollars in hundreds weighs twenty-two pounds and takes up a full backpack. Seven million wouldn’t fit in a regular-size duffle.”

His face burned crimson. “Then I must’ve checked the bag.”

“You checked seven-million dollars?”

“I must’ve. Because it got there, didn’t it?”

“Yes, it definitely did.” I started to pace back and forth in the office, finding my rhythm. “I’m not the best at math, but since one million weighs twenty-two pounds, seven million would be roughly a hundred and fifty-four pounds.”

“So?”

“What airline did you take?”

“American, I think.”

I lifted my phone and typed in American Airlines international baggage weight capacity. I turned the screen toward Mr. Fanning. “The maximum a bag can weigh is one hundred pounds. They weigh them when you check in.”

It looked like steam was about to billow from his nose. He jumped up from his chair and flailed his arms around. “What kind of nonsense games are we playing here?”

Dawson pushed off from the credenza he’d been leaning on and stood tall. “I’m trying to show you what the prosecutor is going to do to your story if we go in there with this crap. Naomi doesn’t know anything about your case other than what she learned two minutes ago. How well do you think it’s going to go when a hungry prosecutor has had months to prep?”

The two men had a staring contest for a long time. Eventually, Dawson turned to me and smiled. “Thank you, Naomi.”

I took that as my cue and, with a nod, went back out to my desk. After that, there wasn’t much more yelling. Twenty minutes later, Mr. Fanning stormed out of the office. He walked so briskly past my desk, he caused a wind that shifted some papers into the air. Dawson picked them up as they floated to the ground.

“Five o’clock, Mr. Fanning!” he yelled after the client. “That’s our deadline. Get back to me before that.”

The man never stopped walking. Once we heard the front door open and slam closed, Dawson hung his head and laughed. “How the hell do you know the weight of a million dollars cash? I was expecting you to take a totally different direction. I thought you’d hit him with not filling out the required paperwork for traveling with more than ten grand in currency.”

I chuckled as well. “I grew up outside of D.C., so most of our school field trips were to government buildings and Smithsonian museums. In sixth grade, we went to the Bureau of Engraving, where they print the money. They have a glass box with a million dollars in tens stacked. I remember the guy telling us the weight was two-hundred-and-twenty-two pounds. I don’t know why, but that fact stuck in my head. I just divided that number by ten, figuring he’d pack hundreds not tens. Plus, I’ve stood next to stacks of cash that were confiscated in drug busts. I know it would be more paper than he could carry.”

“That was even better than I could’ve done. You must’ve been kick-ass on cross examination.”

I’d been feeling all revved up about getting to interrogate someone again, but his comment took the wind out of my sails.

Dawson must’ve noticed my crestfallen face. “Did I upset you by putting you on the spot like that?”

I lifted my hand and forced a smile. “No, it just…felt good. And now it hit me that I’ll never be able to do that again—interrogate a witness—unless I’m playing pretend like I just did.”

“Sorry.”

“It’s not your fault.”

“I complain about this business a lot, but I can’t imagine not being able to do it anymore. So I get it. I really do.”

I smiled sadly. “Thanks.”

“How about I buy you some lunch? I’m pretty sure you just scared Mr. Fanning into taking a deal. It’s the least I can do.”

I took a deep breath and nodded. “Sure, why not?”

Dawson and I walked two blocks, and he stopped in front of a small restaurant. “This is the place.”

“Vegan Palace? We don’t have to go here. I can get a salad almost anywhere.”

He opened the door and gestured for me to walk in ahead of him. “I’ll find something. The menu is pretty big.”

“You’ve been here before?”

Dawson shook his head. “I looked it up online.”

“When?”

He shrugged. “The other day.”

Interesting. The man who poked fun at me for eating rabbit food had done research on good local vegan places.

The waitress sat us at a table. I opened the menu and started perusing, but Dawson just sat there. “Do you already know what you want?” I asked.

“No, but I’ll just get whatever you get. Unlike you, I’m not picky.”

“I’m not picky.”

He sipped the water. “Right.”

“I’m not. I just don’t eat meat.”

“Or eggs.”

“Right.”

“Or dairy.”

“Well, that’s part of being vegan. I don’t eat animals or foods that come from animals.”

He grinned. “Like I said, one of us isn’t picky. I’ll have whatever you’re having.”

I ordered us two different dishes. A chicken parm and a sunchoke risotto, and the waitress left us with a basket of sourdough gluten-free bread and garlic butter.

Dawson grabbed a piece of bread. “So let me get this straight, the chicken parm isn’t actually chicken and the garlic butter doesn’t actually have butter in it?”

I smiled. “That’s right.”

“Is the garlic garlic?”

I chuckled. “I think so.”

Dawson bit into his bread. He made a face but didn’t say anything. “So tell me about your date?”

“I told you, it wasn’t a date.”

“Did you eat together?”

“Yes.”

“Drink wine?”

“Yes.”

“And what restaurant did you go to?”

I sighed. “We didn’t. We had takeout at his place.”

Dawson frowned. “He wants in your pants.”

“He was tired. It took him twenty-six hours to get home from Mumbai the day before. Not everyone has an agenda. Haven’t you ever picked up a friend and shared a meal with some drinks?”

“Sure, Ben.”

“I meant a woman.”

“Nope.”

“So you don’t have any female friends?”

“Not good-looking ones I’d share a meal with alone in my apartment.”

“Well, that’s just sad. Because women and men can be friends.”

Dawson folded his arms across his chest. “No, they can’t. Not when you’re attracted to each other.”

“I seem to remember you told me you think I’m beautiful not too long ago. Yet we’re sitting here, aren’t we?”

“And we’d be back at my place with me eating something a hell of a lot better than the shit we’re going to eat here, if you were good with that.”

My jaw fell open. “I can’t believe you just said that.”

“Why?”

“Because it’s crass.”

“Did I ever give you the impression I was anything else?”

“Actually, yes.”

“When?”

It was my turn to fold my arms across my chest. “When you took the time to look up local vegan restaurants and read reviews. That wasn’t crass. It was thoughtful.”

He bit off another piece of bread. “Or…I’m trying to butter you up.”

I narrowed my eyes. “They don’t serve butter here.”

He smiled. “It’s a good thing you aren’t a DA. Arguing with you turns me on. I wouldn’t be able to focus across the aisle from you with a hard-on.”

I acted appalled, but also…the man made me a little insane. Because the thought of him hard while in court sort of turned me on.

I took a deep breath and attempted to shake it off, then rounded our conversation back to business and had Dawson fill me in on the other charges Mr. Fanning had been indicted on. It was nice to talk shop again. When our food came, Dawson asked if he could run his defense for another case by me. Before I knew it, our plates were clean, and two hours had gone by.

“Are you going back to the office?” I asked on the way out.

“For a little while. I need to tie up a few loose ends, but then I’m going to head home and crash for a few hours. I didn’t sleep last night.”

We walked out to the street together.

“What about you?” Dawson asked. “Any plans for the rest of the weekend?”

“I was invited to an art opening tomorrow night. But I’m not sure if I’m going.” I left off that Simon had also mentioned having dinner before.

His eyes narrowed. “With who?”

“Nosy much?”

“It’s with Sam, isn’t it?”

I rolled my eyes. “I know you know his name is Simon, and not that it’s any of your business, but yes, Simon invited me to an art exhibit because we’re friends. I think you’ve become a little obsessed with my personal life.”

“Why aren’t you sure if you’re going?”

The truth was, I’d let Dawson’s comments make me question whether Simon might be interested in more than just friendship. He had said some sweet things last night, and I’d probably read into them because of the stupid stuff Dawson had planted in my head. Simon was just a sweet guy. Though there was no way in hell I’d be telling Dawson he’d made me question Simon’s intentions.

“I’ve been a little tired lately.”

Dawson opened his mouth like he had a retort on the tip of his tongue, but then shut it and stuffed his hands in his trouser pockets. “I’ll see you Monday?”

“Yep. Monday.”

He caught my eye. “Thanks for your help today, and enjoy your platonic friend tomorrow tonight.”

I lifted my chin. “I will. You know, not every man has a one-track mind and is incapable of being friends with women.”

Dawson offered a two-finger salute. “If you say so.”