The Dead Lawyer Conspiracy

By Jane T. Robe

A SECRET ENTERPRISEAN IRRESISTIBLE IRONY

Quirky new San Francisco attorney Rachel Ballentine accidentally uncovers a national conspiracy to steal billions of dollars from lawyers. When she suspects the money is funding a covert organization linked to espionage, and political intrigue, she must act.

Rachel is joined by several high-profile senior attorneysher Grey Panthers. Together they embark on a dangerous search for the stolen funds, and discover the money was funneled into corporations resurrecting the dead. Digging deeper reveals that the scheme reaches into the IRS, the CIA, and possibly the Oval Office.

Despite the danger, the Grey Panthers are determined to leave their legal careers with a bang. Throwing down the gauntlet, they file a lawsuit implicating powerful government officials of illicit activity with a circus-like media spotlight, but those sinister forces do not want the truth exposed. When bribery, theft, and maligning the group fail, Rachel and her Grey Panthers must proceed with caution. The consequences could be deadly.

• Language: English
• Publisher: iUniverse
• Release date: Dec 18, 2008
• ISBN: 9780595618323

Jane T. Robe

Jane T. Robe served as a judicial officer for ten years and taught as a law professor for over a decade. She currently practices law in Northern California’s wine country and is writing The 13 Keys while completing The Dead Panther Conspiracy, the next book in the Rachel Ballentine series. Her previous novel, The Dead Lawyer Conspiracy, was an Indie Book Award finalist. www.janetrobe.com

Book preview

PROLOGUE

I raced to my mailbox and found the letter I’d been waiting three long months for. I quickly slit open the envelope.

I did it, I did it. I’m in the club! I shouted excitedly while jumping up and down. The State Bar’s congratulatory letter had just informed me that I, Rachel Ballentine, had passed the Bar and would soon be able to practice law. It was only later I spotted the footnote, Fee notices will be mailed under separate cover.

At that very moment, a private meeting was about to begin on the other side of the country. Several CIA operatives were seated around a large eighteenth-century mahogany table. All eyes were on the man at the head of the table.

He calmly rolled his Mont Blanc pen between his fingers while the operatives gave him an update on the Caribbean accounts. No one looked at the age spots on the back of his hands. No one dared acknowledge the slight shake to his carriage. When they were done, they waited.

Have the fees been adjusted? he asked.

The increase will start with the next group, a man on his right replied.

All transfers and deposits are running smoothly? It was not a question, but a statement to confirm.

Yes, sir, came from across the table.

Personnel available as needed? he continued.

The query was met with a quick nod.

Their stony faces masked their fear. Everyone knew he possessed the power and unlimited resources.

He was lethal.

He answered to no one.

Be afraid.

CHAPTER 1

I was standing in a room filled with people about to become new lawyers. They were smiling, laughing, and giggling at the fact that in just a few moments, they would be licensed to practice law. Today was the Northern California swearing in ceremony. It was being held at the Hyatt on San Francisco’s Embarcadero by the Bay. The event was designed to facilitate the administering of the oath each lawyer was required to take. After sufficient schmooze time, there would be an opening speech followed by a series of group oaths swearing us into the profession.

And so here I stood with wine glass in hand surveying the room. The nervous energy was overwhelming. I nodded to a few people I knew, but stayed in my corner. I don’t like lawyers and had no intention of socializing with them. The indoctrination starts in the first year of law school, and by graduation, most have lost all ability to converse and function as normal human beings. You want to talk in legalese, a language that makes ordinary people’s eyes glaze over. You’ve also become adversarial over irrelevant things and want to argue about everything.

I therefore remained in my corner until I spotted Chris. Christopher Winthrop, III was a thirty-year-old accountant at a prestigious firm. I find most accountants boring; he was the exception. Not only was Chris tall, dark, and handsome, but he was fun. And he seemed to get me. We’d met in my last year of law school and had been together almost a year.

Seeing me, Chris made his way over. He gave me a hug before taking a glass of wine from the circulating waiter’s tray. Why are you standing all by yourself? he asked.

You know how I feel about lawyers.

Yes, I know. Hey, I have a new one for you, he teased.

That got my attention. He had just started with, Well, there was this lawyer who got his head chopped off when the mic on the dais suddenly squealed. Everyone became silent. Chris mouthed the word later as a fifty-something gentleman stood up and walked to the center of the stage. After tapping the microphone, he introduced himself and began his speech on how we were the guardians of the profession. We were to be honest and act with the highest level of integrity. I suffered through twenty minutes of this, and two other speeches that were merely variations of the same theme, before they got around to the oath. Joining everyone, I raised my right hand and swore to uphold the law. Finally, it was over.

Finally, it was time to celebrate.

•••

I woke up around ten the next morning after a late night with Chris. While the coffeemaker dripped a fresh pot, I eyed the stack of unopened mail on the table. I knew I wouldn’t like what was in there. Ignoring the pile, I enjoyed my first cup. After the second, and with caffeine zinging through my veins, I took a deep breath and started to open them. The third envelope was a bill for State Bar membership fees. The next was a statement for admission dues to the appellate court, followed by a bill for fees to practice in the Ninth Circuit. Were they crazy? Where did they think this money was going to come from?

Well, you can’t get blood from a stone. I don’t have it! I said aloud.

Pushing the envelopes aside, I decided I was declaring today a play day. I’d worry about my finances and getting a job tomorrow. While sipping my third cup, I concluded that I needed a new magnet. Well, wanted one anyway, as I had over two hundred artfully decorating my refrigerator door. My one area of clutter, and it was small. That was really important when you lived in a studio apartment.

My home was located in a twelve-story building on Nob Hill. It looked like it was straight out of an old movie set, with twelve-foot-high ceilings, crown moldings, and a Murphy bed. This meant I never had to make my bed since all I did was push it back into the wall. You entered the apartment directly into the main room. Windows lined the opposite wall with my thrift-store table and two wicker chairs sitting in front of them. On the left was the door to a walk-in closet and a brown velour loveseat. Next came the entrance to the kitchen, a room so small that if I opened the refrigerator, I couldn’t open the oven doors opposite it. Then again, why would I ever want to?

The Murphy bed came out of the middle of the right wall. I pushed the pillows under the covers and tucked in the blanket before lifting the bed upward. The wall now showed a large antique mirror and art deco carvings. One hardly noticed the two legs that hinged down when the bed was used. I moved the coffee table back in place and nodded. All straightened. After a quick shower, I dressed and set out on my poor man’s version of retail therapy.

A few hours later I returned home carrying a bag of groceries and a new magnet. While dinner was cooking, I pulled out what I call my legal bible. The book is an annually published volume containing several thousand pages of unadorned law: statutes without any interpretations followed by their date of passage and any amendments. What most people didn’t realize is that the law in its naked glory is fascinating—it truly is. It’s the interpretation, application, and of course the lawyers that muck it up.

My bible reading began about a year ago. I found the prior year’s version in the discard bin outside the law library and had taken it out of curiosity. Once home with my new treasure, I’d poured a glass of wine and started reading. While sipping my second glass, I’d discovered that in 1872, the California legislature had been quite busy passing a slew of legal maxims. They proclaimed: He who doeth evil not get justice in the courts and The law never requires impossibilities. This cracked me up (or then again, maybe it was the wine). In any case, when I feel the need, I break open my bible and read a few verses.

So after flipping to the index, I closed my eyes and made a few aerial circles with my pointer finger. Stabbing the page, I then opened my eyes to see I’d selected the Evidence Code. I turned to it and skimmed until I saw something that looked interesting. Section 637 read [t]he things which a person possesses are presumed to be owned by him. Hmmm, I bet that’s where possession being nine tenths of the law comes from. Section 667 read, A person not heard from in five years is presumed to be dead. I know I saw this one in a movie.

I continued to skim and read for awhile. After dinner, I turned on the TV, and the hours quickly sped by. I was watching a young Captain Kirk asking to be beamed up when Chris called.

"I knew you’d be up watching Star Trek," he said in greeting.

Did you now?

Yep. You either need me or that show to sleep.

Chris was referring to the fact that when I’d been completely stressed out studying for the bar exam and unable to sleep, he’d had an epiphany. He’d noticed that any time I watched the show, I’d fall asleep. To test his theory, he taped two episodes and told me to play one when I wanted to go to bed. It worked the first time I tried it.

Even so, as his tone had been smug, I reminded him that as long as the show still aired at eleven or I had the tape, I could get to sleep on my own.

Gee, thanks, he said. Way to make me feel needed.

Sorry I said with a sigh. You are wanted and needed, and I can’t survive without you. How was that?

Much better.

Star Trek was over by the time we hung up. I reached over and turned on the tape, and was asleep in minutes. Before nodding off, I wondered whether I should alert someone about the therapeutic use of the show. Then again, maybe I was receiving subliminal messages and being trained as an intergalactic spy.

You never know …

CHAPTER 2

The following afternoon I walked down the hill to my recent alma mater. I went directly to the placement office and skimmed the attorney listings. There were almost thirty possibilities, so I logged onto one of their computers and went to work. I’d brought a disk containing a copy of my resume and a form cover letter to amend as needed.

Three hours later I surfaced. After stuffing, sealing, and putting stamps on the envelopes, I left. Looking for a job was work—hard work, I thought as I dropped the stack in a mailbox on the way home.

Two weeks later, a law firm finally called for an interview. Thank goodness. I was starting to consider the Help Wanted sign at a nearby McDonald’s.

For the role I donned my one navy blue suit. As I pulled my long dark hair back in a French twist, I glanced in the mirror. My green eyes had taken on the suit’s blue hue. I also noticed that the ensemble’s conservative lines did little to hide my curves. Shrugging, I let it go. I wasn’t about to starve myself to be fashionably thin. And so with my costume complete, I picked up my briefcase and headed out the door.

The interview hadn’t gone well. They expected fifty billable hours each week, which meant seventy real work hours. I didn’t get it—I really didn’t. Wouldn’t it be better to hire two people for thirty-five hours at half the pay? The quality of the work had to diminish with the long hours. When I’d foolishly suggested this to the man who’d interviewed me, he didn’t see things the same way. Oh well, it was definitely swing time.

I changed into jeans and a T-shirt and headed up to my park at the top of Nob Hill. Located across the street from Grace Cathedral, it offered 360-degree panoramic views of the city. I sat down on a swing and stared up at the sky. Sighing deeply, I acknowledged it was useless trying to push a square peg into a round whole. I could pretend for a short time, but in the end I didn’t belong in one of the oh so proper law firms. It wasn’t me. What was me? I wondered. Sighing again, I let it go. Today wasn’t the day for the answer. Raising the question would have to suffice. Instead, I kept swinging and let the serenity of the park work its magic.

It soon did, allowing the angst of the day to dissolve as if it had never been. Now peaceful, I enjoyed my private world at the top of the hill, free to indulge in daydreams and fantasy. I imagined this was my personal backyard and stared at the sky. As a child, I would look up and wonder whether there was anything beyond the frothy blue clouds. Was our world like a souvenir globe that others could shake and control? OK, too out there, I thought and smiled.

Only then did I notice the sound of someone else moving beside me. Turning, I saw a man swinging and also watching the sky. He was seated at the opposite end and seemed completely oblivious to my presence.

I peered at him as unobtrusively as I could. Ms. Manners (whoever she was) always said that staring was impolite. This wasn’t the first time I’d seen him here. He was about sixty with a medium build and thinning grey hair. He was also wearing what must have passed for the senior version of preppy: tan chinos, blue deck shoes, and a light blue shirt under a darker blue cable sweater.

Are you going to keep looking all day? he inquired.

Drat, I was caught. I could feel the heat in my cheeks and knew that I was blushing. Ignoring it, I turned toward him.

Hi. I’m Rachel. I’ve noticed you in my park before.

Your park?

I could feel the blush come back. Well, I don’t own it or anything. I just think of it as my park. I love coming here in the afternoons after the kids leave. Usually I have it all to myself.

He continued to swing in silence. Well, he doesn’t have to talk to me, I thought testily. I was just being polite. A few more minutes passed without a word. He probably has a screw loose, I decided. It was time to go. Jumping off my swing, I turned and said, Good-bye—have a nice evening.

I was surprised when I heard Good-bye, Rachel.

Two days later, I went up to the park at twilight. The swings were empty. I was happily pumping away and staring at the sky when I felt another’s presence. Turning my head, I saw the same old man sitting on the end swing. He was watching me. I nodded in greeting and returned to my swinging. Today he was dressed in blue pants and a tan sweater.

After a few minutes, to my complete surprise he said, Hello, Rachel.

Hello.

You weren’t here yesterday, he commented.

No. After a pause I asked, Where are you from?

California, but we lived in England at times. My mother was British.

Ah, a British bloke. Great accent.

I don’t have an accent, he said seriously.

If you say so … do you have a name, by the way?

Yes.

Are you going to share it with me?

He waited a beat before saying, Oliver.

Oliver, I repeated.

Yes, Oliver, he confirmed.

Introductions complete, we swung in companionable silence for the next fifteen minutes. Once the sun had set, I acknowledged that it was time to go. With legs dangling, I jumped mid-swing and landed in the sand.

Bye, Oliver, I said and waved.

Good-bye, Rachel.

I walked home with a smile on my face. Not only had I learned the park guy’s name, but I’d come to a decision about the unpaid fee bills. They were still sitting on the table. And as much as I pretended to ignore them, I couldn’t.

Ten minutes later I was back at my place pouring a glass of wine. I gathered what I needed and sat down at the table. Pulling my legal bible toward me, I flipped to the index. Statutes dealing with the State Bar and its authority to assess member dues were contained in the Business and Professions Code. I opened to this section and waded through the mounds of excess verbiage. Lawyers had written this stuff, after all. Fifteen minutes later I stopped. I now understood that the bar association was permitted to charge a specified annual membership fee. This amount could be increased for particular items in designated amounts. Grabbing my legal pad, I made three columns on the top page and labeled them Statute Section, Purpose, and Maximum Amount.

Over the next hour I carefully reread the code and jotted down the relevant information. I also drank another glass of wine. Buzzed, I checked the time. Oh, no, I’m going to be late! Grabbing my jacket and purse, I shut the lights and ran out the door.

Chris was already waiting for me when I arrived at the Thai restaurant. After dinner we went back to my place. We were seated on the loveseat when I told him about the interview.

You need to play the game. That’s how the world works, he explained as if I were six years old. He seemed to have no idea how condescending he was being or how mad I was getting.

He continued, "You work long hours and pay your dues to get a grab at the brass ring at the end. It’s called partner."

But what if I don’t want that? Can you really see me in an office every day wearing a suit and being one of them? Pretending and keeping things in?

If you want to be successful, you’ll have to.

You consider that success? I asked softly.

It’s what I’m going for. You know that.

But is that your only definition of success?

I …

And then he was silent.

"I think I’m going to leave now before either of us says something we may regret. I’ll talk to