Part 24 (2/2)
”I wouldn't do that. Wear a wire. But, I've got something else. It may not seem important at first glance.”
”Let me be the judge of that.” Veronica motioned toward the guest chair across her desk.
Rae settled down in it, relieved to see the fire sweep back into the detective's eyes.
Nate Farris was sweating profusely, even with the air conditioning on in his Lexus. So, he'd done it. There was no going back now. Literally, no going back.
He hoped he'd have the opportunity to clean out his office, realizing that he should have done that before visiting Veronica Sanchez. If she arrested Sam, too, he'd have the chance after all. But he really hadn't been privy to what was going to be the next step. The Sanchez woman and the black ADA she'd brought in--big guy with gray fuzz for hair--had left him alone while they went off to another room and talked, he guessed, about how credible he appeared to them.
h.e.l.l, he didn't even know if they'd get their warrant. He might even have more time than he really wanted. What if they didn't believe him?
His cell phone tw.a.n.ged. Nate glanced down at the caller ID box. d.a.m.n. Stan Eisley's number like an announcement: We know what you did.
Not necessarily, he told himself. A million reasons why Stan could be calling. Well, at least...maybe...a couple of reasons?
Who was he kidding? Stan Eisley called Morgan or Sam, never him--the appendage husband. The real estate attorney, whom he consulted from time to time, who wasn't even a partner in the firm was who called him.
Nate let the call go to voicemail, waited a bit and then pressed the code for his mailbox. You have one new message. New message: ”Nathan, this is Stan Eisley.” The man's deep baritone resonated. ”I'm with Sam Garvin at the Bayfield office. We have an emergency situation. You need to get here as soon as possible.”
That didn't necessarily mean they knew. It could mean Morgan had been arrested, and they were still clueless as to his part. Yes, that was the likeliest explanation.
Just to be sure, he pushed return call. Stan answered on the third ring.
”Nathan? Are you alone?”
”I'm in my car. What's the emergency?”
”Not over the phone. How long will it take you to get here?”
”I'm in Northglenn,” he lied. ”Depending on the traffic, half an hour? Maybe forty minutes.”
”We'll wait.”
We? He wondered how many that included. ”Uh, is Morgan there? When I left home, her car was gone.” It was a legitimate question.
”No,” replied Stan. ”Morgan is not here.” Then the connection terminated.
Nate was just about five minutes from the office, but he'd now have to kill at least half an hour. Shakily, he pulled into a WalMart complex and parked as his cell signaled another incoming call. Thinking it was Stan again, he almost picked it up. A glance at caller ID told him differently. Detective Sanchez. He let the call go to voicemail *****
”What is it? What's the emergency?” Nate looked from Stan Eisley to Sam Garvin, playing his part to the hilt. ”Where's my wife? I called home, and she didn't pick up.”
”Sit down,” Stan invited coldly, in that bigger-than-he-was tone that Nate hated.
Nate could never look at Stan without remembering his surprise at their first meeting. The managing partner of RS&E was small and lean--probably didn't weigh over a hundred thirty pounds. The man clearly didn't match his voice. But his steel-gray eyes had knocked any c.o.c.ky sense of size superiority right out of Nate at that first encounter.
Today was no different. Worse, in fact. They were in Sam's office. Nate felt like a schoolboy called in to see the princ.i.p.al.
”I think you have a pretty good idea where your wife is. We know where you went this morning.”
”I don't know where Morgan is. So, tell me, where is it you think I went this morning?”
Then it occurred to him that maybe he should seem more worried about Morgan's health or safety. Oh, that should've been his first reaction. ”Has she been in an accident? Is she in the hospital?” he asked a bit too loudly.
”Cut the c.r.a.p, Nathan. Morgan was arrested. You know all about it.”
Sam Garvin sat sphinx-like, regarding Nate as if he were a worm. Not the demeanor of a man worried about his own possible implication in a murder.
”I...I...” Nate stuttered.
”Don't,” interrupted Stan. ”No more lies, please. We know you went to Detective Sanchez at Lakewood PD and gave her access to privileged marital communications between yourself and my client. You gave her medical information about your wife, which you are precluded from divulging by both the HIPAA law and the statutes covering marital communications.”
Inside, Nate squirmed to pull himself together. ”I know my rights. You can't intimidate me. That's witness tampering.”
He heard something very much like a chuckle coming from Sam's direction. This was not unfolding as planned.
”Before you shoot off your mouth any more, you might want to take a look at this.” Stan handed Nate a doc.u.ment from the top of Sam's desk--many pages long--on legal paper.
He took the papers, read the top page. So, Morgan was suing him for divorce. ”So what? If Morgan hadn't, I would have.” Wait a minute. How could she have gotten all this together so soon?
”In case you're wondering, Morgan has planned this for some time. She had been willing to give you a very generous settlement, but in view of your unthinkable behavior, that may change. Drastically.”
Nate's confidence was returning. He was even able to muster a bit of a smirk. ”You are aware, Stan, that Morgan and I didn't sign a prenup?” He'd thought it strange at the time. Then he had decided that Jerome must hold him in high esteem. The old man would never have been that forgetful. And Morgan would never have thought of defying her grandfather. Conclusion: If Jerome had wanted his granddaughter to have a prenuptial agreement, by G.o.d, there would've been one.
”There wasn't really a need for a prenup,” continued Stan, an icy smile on his lips.
Nate's confidence swayed in the chill wind of insecurity. ”I know my rights to marital property. I'm allowed one-half.”
”I'm sure you would be...if there was any...to speak of.”
”You're kidding? Right? How dumb do you think I am?”
Both Stan and Sam seemed to find this amusing.
”Oh, Nathan, I thought you knew. All Morgan's interests in the various trusts are income interests only. She has no princ.i.p.al interest, and the income distributions are by and large discretionary. Antic.i.p.ating that would-be creditors might find Morgan vulnerable, Jerome had us put spendthrift clauses in his trusts for her benefit. But I'm sure he never antic.i.p.ated how these might come into play to protect Morgan from her own husband.”
Sarcastic b.a.s.t.a.r.d. Nate began to pace, crumpling the divorce papers that were supposed to preface his new life.
”There's our house. That was a gift. I know gifts received during marriage are marital property.”
”You are absolutely right. Gifts received during marriage are considered marital property. But you're wrong about the house you occupy with Morgan.” Stan paused a moment, as if to let his words sink in. ”The gift from Jerome was of the use of the house. The vesting is in the Elisabeth Bayfield Trust. You never noticed that? On the property tax bills?”
”I...”
”Now, Sam has something to tell you.”
”About your job, Nate,” Sam was obviously relis.h.i.+ng every word, ”are you aware that Colorado is an employment-at-will state?”
<script>