On Boston Common

By Earl S. Titlebaum

This story is a fast moving, modern day thriller that surprises the reader with its 'Hitchcock'- type ending. It follows Stanley Diamond, the main character from his humble beginnings in Boston as the only child of a lower middle-income family.

Every aspect of his family life and practice is initially ideal. Then, as if he had enraged the wrath of the Gods, Stanley Diamond's world collapsed around him. His wife and one of his children are killed in an airplane accident and his best friend and partner reveals that he hates the daily practice of law and leaves the firm to accept a judgeship.

Although initially stunned by this one-two punch, Stanley goes on to develop a close relationship with his remaining daughter Jennifer while devoting his efforts to his career. The story follows "a day in the life" of Stanley Diamond following his tactful negotiations of business mergers, court appearances and general management of the expansion and operation of a law firm. While representing a high school friend, Midge Robinson, who was a classic abused spouse, he directs his private investigator, Ted Robbins to check the well-being of a child she had given up for adoption twenty years before.

His investigation reveals an organization dealing in adoptions, in-vitro fertilization and frozen embryos with gross income sufficient to make it a
Fortune 500 company.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Sep 29, 2020
• ISBN: 9781664129054

Earl S. Titlebaum

N/A

Book preview

PROLOGUE

T he fire engines arrived no more than six minutes from the time the car hit the bridge abutment. Flames rose twenty feet above the two year old Mercedes Benz 550 S Sedan. The black mushroom of smoke hovered from the vehicle to the Massachusetts Turnpike. It was clear to all who witnessed the results of the crash that the lone occupant of the vehicle was burned beyond recogni tion.

Once the fire was out, the State Police, who had official jurisdiction over the Turnpike, dismissed the Framingham firefighters who had been dispatched to help them. The area had been marked with yellow tape indicating its’ off limits status to the news reporters and curious bystanders.

Three troopers, dressed in full uniform measured the path of the vehicle before it crashed into the abutment in an attempt to reconstruct the accident.

The man must have been traveling between ninety and a hundred and ten miles an hour as he hit the bridge, the first investigator offered to his associate. The second investigator volunteered, I do not see any evidence of braking.

He must have been asleep. The third investigator added.

No-way, Tom. The lead investigator interrupted. The vehicle went one hundred and sixty feet over the grassy medium strip before he hit the abutment. He would have awakened once he hit the grass and tried to stop the car. There would be some evidence of braking or an attempt to change its course. That man either was trying to commit suicide or he was unconscious just prior to contact.

Did anyone get the deceased’s name?

"The car was registered to an Edward Morris. It appears that he lived in a pretty affluent neighborhood in the Town of Weston.

The lead investigator raised his eyebrows.

CHAPTER ONE

THE FIRM

I t was a clear fall day one year later. The sun was warm, but there was a cool breeze that swept the colorful fallen leaves in gusts across Boston Common. Men and women scurried about to their destinations huddled in their tightly wrapped coats to fend off the change in the wea ther.

Stanley Diamond drove around the Boston Common and parked his car in his reserved space on the second floor of the new Center Parking Garage. He smiled at his success in convincing the building manager that his new Mercedes SL should occupy the closest spot to the building. All occupants, who parked in the garage would have to pass by his car on their way in and out of the building and would drool in envy.

He clicked his remote key, locking his car, and quickly climbed the six stairs from the garage to the office building two steps at a time. He passed the rear entrance to his office preferring to make his grand entry through the front lobby.

It was 8:15 A.M., and the office staff knew that when Stanley Diamond came through the door all conversation pertaining to last night’s activities, the success or failure of the local sports or conjecture of pending trials had to stop.

Stanley was the All-American Boy, who played by the rules and followed a carefully laid plan to achieve his goals. Although a bit of a hellion growing up, he was the perfect son, the great kid who lived next door, and the admiration of every girl who knew him, or wished to know him. His 6’ 1" frame was lean and muscular as a result of long hours at the gym and his early morning jogs around the golf course three days a week. His clean-cut, neatly combed dark brown hair now had traces of gray around the sideburns. He could have been a GQ model with his European cut custom made suits that perfectly draped his frame. A carefully selected tie complemented his suit and monogrammed shirt. Highly polished shoes finished the look that became Stanley Diamond’s signature.

His intelligence was readily apparent but was overshadowed by a real down to earth personality. He was every woman’s image of the perfect married man.

Good morning Mr. Diamond, the receptionist stated with an admiring and cheerful manner. Good morning, Betty, Stanley responded with a smile and wave of his hand as he dashed by her workstation. Good morning Mr. Diamond, Good morning Mr. Diamond. Each secretary or paralegal took the opportunity to personally address Stanley Diamond the senior partner of Diamond, Wilkinson and Rosen, and he in turn courteously responded by greeting each of them by their first name.

Protocol mandated that only the twelve partners were allowed to address him as Stanley which revealed their status in the firm.

As he approached his corner office, his personal secretary Nicole immediately greeted him. She was the first person he employed after he passed the bar, completed his internship in the DA’s office, and entered into private practice. Nicole was just nineteen years old at the time and right out of college. Now, fifteen years later, she still maintained her youthful body through diligent exercise, but hid behind horn-rimmed glasses, dark colored suits and loose fitting blouses to reflect the position as the Managing Partner’s most trusted employee. She handed him his morning drink, a special blend of Colombian coffee with a dash of vanilla.

Stanley removed his suit jacket, took a quick sip from his personalized coffee cup, and picked up the Roger Wellington file in anticipation of his appointment with the client the next day. He enjoyed any work pertaining to Roger, a gentleman in his early eighties who still was as sharp as he had been during his career as a founder and principal of Wellington & Jones.

Roger Wellington had founded the highly regarded business and consulting firm with Arthur Jones in the early forties immediately after they graduated from Harvard Business School only to disband during World War II. When the war ended, they resumed their association and never looked back. The firm continues to do business under the name of Wellington & Jones to this day even though Roger had retired shortly after Arthur Jones was killed while covering an assignment for an associate who had been laid up with the flu.

Stanley scanned the trust documents he had already carefully prepared reviewing them to be sure they properly provided for the care and maintenance of Roger’s daughter Martha and her sixteen-year old daughter Amanda.

Martha had been married and divorced twice and it was quite clear that neither the mother nor daughter was responsible with a dollar. Stanley knew that Roger would critique each provision of the trust document being sure that he understood and approved its meaning and that it accurately reflected his intent to provide for his offspring after his death.

Stanley paused a moment, reflecting to himself how he was not sure at times if Roger really wanted to change the document or whether he sought a reason to meet with him. Their relationship was special and Roger felt that Stanley was the son he had hoped for, but never had. Stanley managed to find a half dozen items to correct, which he highlighted in red and placed in his out basket for Nikki.

He then made a few telephone calls to clarify the Paradise Foods merger, thereafter carefully editing the legal documents to their final form. Nikki buzzed him indicating that a Marjorie Robinson was on the line. She noted to Stanley that she was hysterical and had requested an immediate appointment.

I’ll take the call. Stanley responded as he picked up the telephone.

Is this the real Midge Robinson? he inquired tongue in cheek.

Stanley, I must see you immediately. I need your help.

I can see you tomorrow at 8:00 a.m.

That would be fine.

Are you O.K.?

I’m fine now. It can wait until the morning, but I think I need some professional advice.

You know I’ll always be there for you. See you first thing tomorrow.

Stanley told Nikki to block out 8:00 to 9:00 a.m. for Midge Robinson; he put his jacket on as he added, I’m off to the tennis matches at Longwood. as he passed by her desk and headed out the door.

CHAPTER TWO

TRAGEDY ON THE COURT

T he Longwood Tennis Club, located in Chestnut Hill, an affluent suburb of Boston, boasted a long history of hosting major tennis tournaments as well as charitable events. The Boston Bar Association annually held a special event on behalf of the Jimmy Fund featuring local and nationally known tennis professionals and celebrities dedicated to raise money to help children in their treatment of ca ncer.

Stanley Diamond, who had organized the event ten years earlier, still donated his time and efforts, and was known for his generous contributions. In recognition, he was annually gifted a box at center court

It was almost tradition that he, his wife Laurel, and his two daughters, Jennifer and Amy attended this charitable event with his closest friend and partner Robert Powers, and his wife Judy. This year he also invited his private investigator, Ted Robbins and his wife in recognition of work well done.

They were as us usual, picked up in a white stretch limousine and dropped off in style at the main entrance of the tennis center.

The event featured a few up and coming professionals who sought to outdo their seeded peers in the preliminary matches. The main event had advance billing of Regis Philbin and Martina Navratilova who had challenged Pete Sampras and Michael Douglas as the main charity event.

The tennis matches would be followed by a dinner served under tents specially constructed for the event and attended by the who’s who of greater Boston. Stanley enjoyed his recognition and the companionship of local professionals who were also active in philanthropic activities. He was proud to introduce his family to friends, associates and clientele who knew it was acceptable to refer to him on a first name basis in this informal setting.

Advertisers provided favors, balloons and samples of their wares, in addition to dollar contributions to the charity.

The mood of the crowd was elevated, responding by applause to the joking and interaction of the players. Stanley and his guests appreciated the ad-lib ability of celebrities as Regis Philbin and Michael Douglas as they meekly responded in jest to the agility and precision of former tennis superstars.

Stanley’s children, Jennifer and Amy pointed out five clowns who, while mixing with the crowd, were throwing T shirts and hitting tennis balls into the upper levels of the grandstand.

The event was disrupted as an explosion in the parking lot shocked the crowd.

Regis Philbin announced, I know we won the last game, but I think fireworks is an over reaction.

The crowd laughed, and applauded the players.

A series of two additional quick explosions brought flames and black smoke over the stadium further shocking the audience.

Police officers left their posted positions at each exit of the stadium and surrounded the three cars that were now in flames.

Stanley surveyed the reaction of the crowd and noted that the clowns had all converged upon a box on the opposite side of the stadium. In unison they removed machine guns hidden beneath their loose costumes and replicating the Valentines Day Massacre executed those seated on the south center court box, in the direct opposite side of the stadium from Stanley.

The screaming crowd panicked rushing toward the exits.

Stanley reacted pushing his wife and daughters to the ground shielding them with his body. He waited a full minute after the machine guns stopped. Slowly raising his head, he peered across the stadium and noted blood-splattered seats with eight lifeless bullet ridden bodies that now occupied the box. Clown costumes scattered in front of deserted seats surrounding the carnage.

A single police officer assumed his station in front of the box and radioed his findings. Stanley yelled to Robert and Ted. Let’s get out of here.

Their wives had panicked and repeated, Oh my God, Oh my God. The children were crying.

Ted Robbins grabbed his wife and Jennifer’s hand, and led them up the stairway to the exit as they all held hands so as not to lose each other.

Once in the parking lot, police officers directed them away from the burning vehicles, which were now fully engulfed in flames.

They made their way through the parking lot as people sought the protection of their vehicles while waiting in the resulting traffic.

Fortunately, their stretch limousine had parked on the main street. They literally jumped in, as the vehicle sped away from the stadium.

Do you know who was in the box? Jennifer asked her father with her eyes wide open in curiosity as she still shook from the trauma of watching the execution.

I have no idea. Stanley responded, But it was obviously a preplanned terrorist execution.

The 11:00 P.M. news showed a quick segment of the event as an alert cameraman panning the smoke from the first explosion caught the end of the execution, as it captured clowns removing their costumes as they escaped down the exit ramps from the stadium.

Ted Robbins called Stanley on his cell phone later that night remarking that although, the media did not release the names of the victims, he had recorded the news video and was able to freeze the tape and recognize two of the victims as prominent local doctors.

CHAPTER THREE

THE ROBINSON MATTER

T he next morning Stanley greeted Marjorie Robinson who promptly appeared for her scheduled appoint ment.

Good morning, Midge. Stanley said, with a compassionate gesture in his voice as he reached with his right hand and placed his left around her back to embrace her.

Marjorie Robinson smiled at him as she fought off her tears being careful to support her left hand that was bandaged at the wrist.

Midge Robinson and Stanley had grown up together in Mattapan, a working class section of Boston. Both had excelled in school and they had actually competed against each other until the last semester to see who would become the class Valedictorian. Although Stanley had prevailed, Midge never let him forget that his success was based upon two business courses he took in his last semester while she continued with advanced calculus and her fourth year of Latin.

Midge pulled away from his embrace and walked over to the two black leather chairs in front of Stanley’s massive mahogany desk. His desk, like the rest of the office, was neat and distinct in its richness and yet expressed a simple elegant affluence. Files were carefully stacked vertically indicating his organization within a busy and lucrative law practice.

Stanley walked around his desk positioning himself in his high back leather executive chair as he placed a legal pad in front of him. ‘It must be six or seven years since we graduated. he joked hoping to break the ice with a little humor.

Yes. she chuckled, regaining her composure. At least six or seven. recalling that she had just received an advance announcement of their twentieth reunion which was to take place the next spring.

Is that your family Midge inquired, pointing to the leather picture frame that was displayed prominently on the corner of his desk.

Yes, Stanley responded, those are my girls.

He continued to bring Midge up to date.

I met Laurel while in college. She’s a southern girl from North Carolina. We just celebrated our nineteenth anniversary last week. The oldest is Jennifer who just entered her senior year at Weston High School. She’s a superstar on the athletic field and a hellion off. Amy, the blond, is our prized scholar. She takes after her mom who has the brains in the family. They keep me on my toes but provide me with every incentive to get through the day.

That is enough about me. He added, thinking he had spent more time than normal explaining his personal family situation. Midge was an old friend and he did feel some responsibility for putting her at ease before he discussed her problem.

What’s happening in your life? Stanley asked, after a long uncomfortable minute of silence.

Midge brought him up to date on her activities from the time she left her three-family home in Mattapan. After taking a year off, she attended Boston University and received her undergraduate degree in Education. She continued on at Harvard where she received her Master’s Degree in Psychology and finally became Valedictorian of her class.

It was at Harvard that she renewed her acquaintance with Henry Rob Robinson. Rob was a year younger, and had also gone to the same grammar school with Midge and Stanley.

He was a different breed. His family was a fourth generation American on his mother’s side and his father actually tracked his family tree back to the Mayflower. After humble beginnings, his ancestors made their fortunes with a fleet of ships trading rum, slaves and sugar. The next generations legitimized their money as moneylenders, factoring, and at the turn of the century with the purchase of coveted seats on the New York and Boston Stock Exchanges. Rob’s father Randall not only occupied the family seat on the Boston Stock Exchange, but also had established the brokerage firm of Robinson & Dearborn in Boston’s financial district.

Randall Robinson was brought up on Beacon Hill, but detested the Boston aristocracy with which his family had been associated. He eventually settled down with his wife and family in an oversized colonial house in the suburbs. Although his house was in a section of single-family residences, the three and six family apartments soon were built around him isolating an affluent section from an otherwise mostly Jewish middle class neighborhood.

Rob’s 6’ 2’’ height was stretched over a solid big boned frame. Weighing only 185 pounds, his big chest and thin waist made him appear much bigger than he actually was. His slicked back blond hair and parchment white skin highlighted a baby face and blue eyes.

Rob was encouraged to socialize with his neighbors. Although he was different in culture and religious upbringing, he was accepted as one of the boys in the neighborhood. He excelled scholastically and was without a doubt one of the best athletes ever to come out of Boston. In high school he was a three-letter man. As captain of the baseball and football teams, major universities throughout the country offered him athletic scholarships and other incentives to come to their schools.

He chose Harvard University due its scholastic prestige and prevailing athletic opportunities in football. Most of all however was his desire to follow in his father’s footsteps.

Midge met him on their first day on the campus. They had both received their class assignments and were at the bookstore purchasing the texts highlighted on the required reading lists. Midge was just ahead of Rob in a line that extended from the bookstore around the hallway out the front door.

Rob was attempting to balance a cup of coffee, a sports bag and the Boston Globe with a new briefcase. It was filled with his class assignments, required reading lists, and address lists of all students on campus.

As the line moved forward a few steps at a time, Rob tripped over his sports bag pushing his briefcase into Midge. They both fell to the ground. Rob’s arm was stretched out as he attempted to balance the remaining coffee in his cup. Nobody was hurt except for Rob’s pride.

As they both lied on the ground their eyes met and, Midge noted his embarrassment and looking at the remaining few drops of coffee in his cup said, No thank you, I don’t use cream in my coffee. They both burst out laughing as he helped her up from the ground. Rob picked up her books which she had dropped saying, Sorry, I’m so sorry over and over. He noted that some of the contents had spilled onto the front of her sweater, and instinctively started to brush the beaded droplets from her breast. Once he realized what he was doing he turned red, gazed into her eyes and noting her embarrassment, said, Whoops. They both continued laughing.

Not knowing what to do, or say he simply paused, and for the first time took a close look at Midge.

She was a beautiful girl with dark brown straight hair pulled back on one side partially covering her right eye. Her high forehead exaggerated her large brown eyes and seemed to indicate a devilish nature when she laughed. Most of all he was intrigued by the motion and the firm lines of her body

May I buy you a cup of coffee when we get through here?" he inquired, looking directly into her eyes to divert his realization that he had been staring at her. Midge had caught his stare and felt flattered by his interest. She was happy to accept his invitation.

They continued in line, making small talk about the school, their mutual friends, and finally made their individual purchases of books and supplies.

The coffee shop had a table for two in the back. They talked for hours before realizing that they had much to do before the next day when their classes began. Not wanting their conversation to end, Rob asked, Are you on the full meal plan?

Yes, I think so Midge responded, ‘’Then with a pained look on her face added, I do not even know where the cafeteria is.

I’ll come by your dorm at six o’clock, we can go together.

Midge smiled, and with a twinkle in her eye said, I will look forward to that.

It was a friendship that blossomed into a deep love affair. They religiously put aside time each night so they could study together at the library, but also made sure that their schedules included times when they could become lost in their lovemaking. Their love and lust for each other continued and they were inseparable on and off campus. Midge went to every football practice and game and from that day on they attended their respective family’s holiday functions together.

Upon graduation, to the surprise and disappointment of none, they were married. The wedding was an extravagant affair on campus attended by over three hundred members of their families and friends.

Eighteen years had now passed since they had taken their vows. They had since built a large colonial home in Wellesley, an affluent suburb west of Boston.

Midge never pursued a career, or had any children with Rob but stayed active in the local garden club, playing tennis three times a week and working out at the local health club.

Rob, as expected, had followed in his father’s footsteps as a stockbroker and became a vice president, and partner in Robinson & Dearborn. He belonged to the right golf and tennis clubs, was active in the Knights of Columbus, and served on the town planning board. Each interface expanded his client list and the success of Robinson & Dearborn.

With the advent of the discount brokerage firms and Internet stock trading, Rob found that some of the previously loyal clientele, whom he had advised and who had invested through the firm for three generations, had abandoned his firm opting to take advantage of computerized investment services and lower fees. He found himself having to spend more time at the club as the firm’s rainmaker and therefore away from Midge.

Rob attended every town meeting and traditionally ended the evening at the club’s bar. Midge understood his plight, and encouraged him to downsize the firm, in order that he would be able to give up his administrative function within the firm and return to investment counseling for those clients who could afford and appreciate his talents. Rob spent more time away, often returning at 1:00 or 2:00 a.m. rather than attempting to implement any of Midge’s suggestions or offering any other changes. He drowned in self-pity resorting to alcohol.

Rob became a mean drunk and Midge’s initial attempts to hide his drunken conditions were met with physical abuse. She soon learned to pretend she was asleep, letting him sleep off his intoxication rather than deal with his problem.

The more he drank, the more their relationship suffered. His frequent unavailability to the few remaining loyal clients and his intoxicated condition when he did contact them eventually led to many switching to other brokers or financial consultants.

Rob hit bottom when Kent Wentworth removed the Wentworth Trust fund from the firm. The Trust was a charitable trust established by the Wentworth family three generations before. For the past sixty years a Robinson had the exclusive responsibility of investing what now amounted to over one hundred and sixty million dollars.

Kent Wentworth had attempted to contact Rob to discuss the changing environment. The stock market had dropped dramatically over the last month. Although the Dow Jones Industrial average had decreased almost ten percent it was considered by prudent long term investors as a temporary market adjustment. Kent wanted to make a few personal investments as well as to reinvest at the lower price additional moneys that had just been contributed to the Trust as a result of the death of his uncle.

One evening while relating his concerns to his wife at the club he noted Rob at the bar. When he confronted Rob as to his unavailability earlier that day, Rob, in his drunken condition, didn’t hesitate to tell Kent to take your fucking trust and shove it up your third generation ass. He went on to tell him I don’t need you or anybody else to tell me what to do or when I should or should not be available. I do your investing and have made your trust millions of dollars. Go to Fidelity to see if they can give the trust the rate of return and ass kissing that the Wentworth family is used to.

Kent, unused to dealing with drunks or such language, was totally embarrassed by his attitude and language and by the fact that it was made in the presence of his wife and friends. He gritted his teeth as he responded, I hope you still feel that way in the morning when I transfer all 160 million dollars invested from your firm to Fidelity, as he and his wife turned away and abruptly left the club.

The next morning Kent Wentworth called Jeffrey Dearborn, Rob’s counterpart in the firm and the son of