The Green Teas Cave

By John F. Morken

Conrad Olsen is the son of a once famous San Francisco trial attorney who takes on the representation of Leo and Siri Dubrovsky after their unique home is red-tagged by county inspectors for building without permits. This seemingly innocuous problem soon unravels into a race against time when Conrad discovers dangerous secrets about his clients and the century old Cave located on their Property-Shangri La. Conrad’s once comfortable world of power and privilege rapidly starts to fall apart the more he uncovers and learns about his client’s past and their secrets. The deeper his involvement with his new clients, the more dangerous the case becomes. Attorney Conrad Olsen must overcome tragedy and personal loss while he struggles with his own inner demons, love sickness, secrets and transparent success. Ultimately, Conrad’s own redemption depends upon the personal choices he has made and whether they have become unfixable or just another problem he was raised to solve.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lulu Publishing Services
• Release date: Jul 31, 2017
• ISBN: 9781483471594

Book preview

Marilynn

PROLOGUE

The very concept of objective truth is fading out of the World. Lies will pass into history and a lie told often enough becomes the truth, Captain Darci wrote on the chalk board for his class.

With a show of hands, how many believe that is a true statement?

Captain Guy Darci was lecturing to his third year law school class in what the course outline called: Conflict of Interest and the Truth. It was one of, if not the most, popular electives the third year law students at Hastings College of the Law were taking before leaving the comfort of his classroom and beginning the practice of law.

Captain Darci is a decorated Vietnam War veteran, trial attorney and mentor to many. He had saved lives and seen them taken. He was a stone of a man and had been exposed to or witnessed every possible conflict of interest imaginable that young litigators will face in the practice of law. After forty or so years of taking on the wealthy and powerful, he decided to share some of his knowledge with newly branded lawyers before they were set free on society to make a noise like a lawyer, as he like to put it in words.

Have any of you heard that spoken before? Darci would typically ask his silent class. Ok, how many of you are hearing this for the first time?

The classroom usually filled with a wave of hands and some murmurs amongst his students. Why was the statement so important to mention to his class? Most of the time, for the past two years anyway, the students were given a steady diet of finding the truth and exposing falsehoods in order to seek and ultimately administer justice. Why now, after two and a half years, were they being told the exact opposite?

You see class, finding and knowing the truth is not the same as telling the truth, Captain Darci always warned his bright-eyed class. You may think you know the truth about someone or something and base your decisions or conclusions on what you believe to be the truth, only to discover, often after it is too late, that you were wrong and the lie has indeed become the truth, Darci warned.

Captain Guy Darci is also a senior partner at Axel, Curant, Darci & Cable, Inc. Since joining the firm, forty years ago, Axel and Curant have passed away and Cable was retired. His other partner, Jasper Olsen, had also moved on but not like you think. You see, Jasper Olsen was my father and he left me in the capable hands of Captain Darci after my mother died. Captain Darci was also my godfather and I sat through the very same lecture when I attended his class some years ago, which was more infrequent than I care to admit. Nevertheless, I now work for Mr. Darci and would be lying if I told you I didn’t regret not paying more attention to his syllabus, the lectures or his words of advice. For instance, I now know that Captain Darci never thought up, or necessarily even believed, his original statement scribbled on the chalk board. He borrowed it, and made it his own, from two other noteworthy men. Maybe that was his point - to always ferret out the truth.

George Orwell wrote: The very concept of objective truth is fading out of the world. Lies will pass into history. I hope that is not true, but I know enough to believe Orwell is probably correct. The other guy who said, and a lie told often enough becomes the truth. That was Vladimir Lenin. Given the current state of affairs in the world, that surely has become a true statement and one we trial attorneys try to unravel and, if you are genuine and steadfast, will succeed in doing. But that’s another story.

For now, you must know that the truth isn’t always what is seems and some people struggle with their own veracity, necessarily making conformity to the truth difficult. My story is complicated and filled with many facts, some of which are true and some of which are truth’s mistress. Some of the facts I have placed in the capable hands of Captain Darci, as he is the only man knowledgeable enough to fill in my blanks and tell this story.

I leave it up to you to decide what is truth and what are lies and when you can tell the difference. Should you decide to look for the truth and take on the responsibility of its weight, then accept the burden knowing that only those of you with strong will and keen-eyed character will succeed.

I hope you seek the truth. I hope you see falsehoods in the powerful. I pray you challenge the wrongdoer and seek justice for the meek and the stepped on unfortunates who fall prey to the lies that pass into history.

My name is Conrad Olsen and this is my story.

PART ONE

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GROWING UP

CHAPTER ONE

I took month-long vacations in the stratosphere, and you know it’s really hard to hold your breath. I swear I lost everything I ever loved or feared, I was the cosmic kid in full costume dress.- Bruce Springsteen

A SKIPPING STONE EVENTUALLY SINKS

Lake Tahoe-1975

When I was a young man, my white-haired grandmother, Thelma, once told me, life is funny Conrad, and it will play on you, giving you ups and downs that your physical being cannot, at times, endure. Grandma Thelma always seemed to have an answer to everything; a visionary of sorts. She believed that in moments of despair or hardship that true life becomes tangible.

Hope, it seems, is all that you are left with to survive this life without hardship and, often times, regret, she assured me.

I wish I had listened more closely to what Thelma offered in the way of advice. She believed that no one should live with regret. Thelma was ninety-eight years old when she finally passed. The many hours and afternoons I spent with her before her death, however, have always left me thinking about her words of wisdom, especially the ones about living with regrets.

Sometimes, my dear boy, regret becomes a naked force that slows your being and casts you out far, far away from your very essence, she warned.

Even when I was a kid, my father repeated Thelma’s visions of the future. Never have any regrets, my boy. He was my father and he was famous. At the time, I was too young to understand what regrets really meant, but because he was the only man I listened to, I just assumed it was important and lied when I told him I understood. I was a kid and didn’t have to understand. But I now know that I was wrong and both Grandma Thelma and my father were right.

In the summer, we vacationed at Lake Tahoe. We had a house on the lake with a long dock next to other long wooden docks linked to a sandy beach. There were fancy motor boats with ski lines to tow me and my gang: Jeff, Gary and PJ. There was another kid who stayed down the beach, but he had a patch over his eye. Another kid had a broken arm in a cast, so we didn’t tow him either.

We skipped rocks on the lake until my dad would emerge from his sleep and walk down to the dock from our house with a glass of tomato juice with a piece of celery sticking out of it. After finishing his drink and eating most of the celery stick, he would always pretend to fall off the end of the dock into the cold clear water, then swim ten hard strokes. Afterward, he would dare us, one by one, to dive head first into the freezing water, which we all did happily. Once we all returned to the dock, he said to us: Boys, I’m a new man, let’s get the tube and whip you around. Lake Tahoe has a way of restoring your body.

My father would always ask my mom to join him for breakfast and a beer after I take the boys for a spin. One time, PJ’s braces got caught in the inner tube’s netting or air valve when my dad was whipping us to shore. I guess dad was going too fast, because PJ’s teeth didn’t let go like the rest of us, and he ended up hitting the dock. That was the last summer I spent with PJ.

I remember, after PJ died, my dad took me out on the boat and told me accidents happen, there is nothing you can do but move on and play with the other kids. PJ was buried not long after my dad’s advice. Many people showed up and cried, but I didn’t. I stood in front of my dad and just listened to PJ’s father flounder through his eulogy and occasionally stare right at me and my father. Accidents happen, there is nothing you can do but move on with your life. My dad was probably right.

After PJ’s death, dad started making me drive the boat. I was eight years old. I could drive our boat in and out of slips, buy gas and sign my dad’s name to our box account, which dad always called the other gas station. I’d carry a wilted and somewhat smelly box of old Gordon’s Vodka filled with what my father’s friends called brown stuff and clear stuff to the boat, then hang an earthworm while I waited for my parents. Half the time I would catch a human fed rainbow trout. After fishing, a bunch of dad’s friends would pile on to the boat, and me and dad would drive the boat home. All of dad’s friends would get off the boat and stay at our house until both the clear stuff and brown stuff was gone.

In the morning, when dad’s friends were still fat, smelly and snoring, I would sift through our house and pick up at least two hundred dollars from the poker table, under the couch pillows and sometimes in their pockets. As I got older, my dad’s words began to make sense to me. In fact, the more I captained the boat home from the other gas station, the more I thought about PJ and his unfortunate accident.

PJ was supposed to have had his braces taken off the week before the accident, but his dentist rescheduled his routine appointment to the following week because he had to attend a dental conference in Hawaii. I wondered if the dentist had any regrets after learning about my best friend’s deadly accident. Even still, I moved on, and when the kid down the shore got his cast off, he joined our gang of friends and laughed uncontrollably with the rest of us as we skipped like the very stones we threw across the top of the lake as my dad whipped us to shore.

Dad taught me about accidents, the uncontrollable nature of things and the absence of regret. He probably learned that from his mother, Grandma Thelma. He did not teach me about fear. True fear goes hand in hand with the possibility of losing your life. I imagine PJ felt that fear right before he hit the dock. For me, true fear began on Christmas Eve, in December of 2009. That was when the gift of my youth ended. I cannot say the same about true loss. That came much earlier.

CHAPTER TWO

She gets mad and starts to cry. She takes a swing man, she can’t hit. She don’t mean no harm, she just don’t know what else to do about it.-Jane’s Addiction

ONE MEANS TWELVE

1980-Atherton, California

My father, Jasper Olsen, was a magnanimous and outspoken trial attorney. He authored Strategies and Tactics for Winning: A Trial Lawyers Guide to Winning Jury Trials. His courtroom fame and success was legendary, but I didn’t understand that. He served as the President of the American Trial Lawyers Association twice and was about to be appointed to the United States District Court for the Northern District of California. Those were some of his professional accomplishments.

He also had a thing for vodka Martinis and women. He did his best to keep the extra-curricular activity from my mom, Elena. But her emotional pain could not be treated with wealth and privilege forever. The drink, ultimately, became too important to Jasper. I suppose smart drunks with money will always have friends, as long as the tab is being covered and the stories are being told. They just don’t hold on to sober friends or wives that long. The lure of booze is just too appetizing.

Even still, I idolized him growing up and would mimic his every gesture and mannerism. My dad was a good provider and super fun. My family would snow ski in the winter and water ski in the summer. We would take three-week long vacations at our Lake Tahoe cabin every July, and I would necessarily learn how to captain our beautiful 1941 Chris Craft Barrel Back speed boat at a young age, usually after daddy had too much fun.

My mom, Elena, was beautiful and smart in her own right. She ran track at Stanford University and played front row for their volleyball team. She was unique and I loved her. Elena was accepted into Hastings Law School after graduating from Stanford. But the lightening that struck, I guess, when she met dad, I’m told, was undeniable. They fell in love and got married. I came shortly thereafter, so Elena became a mom and part-time school teacher, instead of a lawyer.

Nonetheless, Elena was more than capable and would stand her ground during one of my parents’ frequent spats. She did her best to ignore Jasper’s selfish tendencies for the first thirteen or so years of their marriage, for my sake, I suppose. However, she quickly grew less tolerant of Jasper’s drinking and womanizing when I matured and entered high school.

On my thirteenth birthday, at first, it would be no different than any other dinner night out. Mom and Dad were having one of their fights after my father started up on his third Martini. We would usually go out to dinner after one of his big courtroom victories or, in this case, my birthday. The trouble usually began after dad would knock back two Martinis in the City with his partners to start the celebration, any celebration. When he arrived home, dad would strip off his tie and crack a beer, or pour himself a healthy glass of wine, and throw the ball around with me while my mom got ready. Those were good times. Thankfully, Captain Darci joined us that night because I don’t remember a lot of the details. I know when we finally arrived at my parents’ favorite local Italian Restaurant, Tony Ginestro’s, my father’s well-lubed tendencies were on full display. Captain Darci tells it best, however.

Hey darling, my son here just turned thirteen and would love to know what you feed those things? was Jasper’s opening statement.

Can you please control yourself, Jasper? For god’s sake, he is just thirteen, and your little darling is Nico’s niece, Elena said with a forced smile. For once try and keep your eyes on me and your prick out of the waitress’s ear, Elena whispered. You are not funny and Conrad is starting to get embarrassed when you’re like this, she pleaded.

Like what, Lena? I’m just having a little fun. I’ve worked damn hard and want to have some fun with my son. Is that too much to ask for? Jasper argued.

Jasper’s hard work was always his first line of defense when justifying his alcohol-fueled shenanigans and arrogant tomfoolery.

Nico was the always jovial Italian manager of Tony G’s and had been married to his wife for over fifty years. He had been serving the Olsens since Conrad was in a high chair and loved Elena as his ally. Apart from Conrad, Nico also fell under Jasper’s influence and played along when Jasper started to drink. For Jasper, one meant twelve and he was never as funny, or likable, as he believed. Nico put up with Jasper because he blurted out random profanity less than hundred-dollar bills, which kept the drinks flowing in Jaspers direction.

Tonight my son is turning thirteen and would love the company of your twins, Jasper muttered to Magdalena in front of Elena when they were being seated in the red leather semi-circle booth. The teapot was about to whistle.

It was at that moment in the evening, on Conrad’s thirteenth birthday, Jasper morphed into the uncaring, argumentative man that won so many jury trials. Magdalena had leaned over the red leather booth to set down another vodka Martini, exposing her sizeable cleavage to Jasper. This display was all it would take.

Where on the menu can I find those…are they on special, two for the price of one? were the last words Elena would ever hear come out of Jasper’s alcohol-fueled mouth. Her tipping point had been reached and then some. Elena grabbed her handbag and slid around the red leather booth, forcing Conrad to stand up. Elena then kissed Conrad on the forehead and looked over at Jasper with a tear running down her cheek. Jasper raised his eyes back at his emotionally spent wife but left his mouth firmly coupled to his Martini glass.

What happened to you, Jasper? were Elena’s parting words as Jasper sat back from the table after lowering the vodka level of his Martini, so as not to spill a drop when he picked it up for the next gulp. In response, Elena hurried out of the restaurant and through the front door, forced by Jasper’s boozy arrogance.

Where is mom going, Dad? Want me to go get her? She is upset. Conrad said.

This is your night, Connie. She just needs some air. I’m sure she will return shortly so we can open your presents, Jasper assured Conrad as he lifted his Martini to his lips. What do you think about the waitress my boy? Isn’t she spectacular? Jasper asked his thirteen-year old son in an ever increasingly louder voice.

I’m worried about mom. She never leaves like that. Maybe you should put your drink down and go find her, suggested young Conrad.

You worry too much, Connie. She probably went outside to sneak a cigarette, Jasper said with his hand held high up in the air summoning Magdalena for another drink order and a wine list.

You should be nicer to mom. She doesn’t like it when you drink so much, Conrad finally spoke his thirteen-year-old mind. She will be fine, Conrad, Jasper barked. Let’s just celebrate your big day.

Jasper did not like to hear from Conrad, or anyone, that he drank too much.