I might be falling in love.
In the midst of the most fucked-up time of my life, I think I am falling head over heels for Cal.
That is all.
Love,
Macy
Chapter 8
Macy is rigid as she sits next to me in my small conference room where we're waiting for the federal prosecutor, Deanna Switzer, to meet us. I insisted the meeting be here at my law firm, which I knew would help ease Macy's nerves, and I chose for Macy and me to be in the room at least fifteen minutes early. I wanted to her to be settled in, and I wanted Miss Switzer to feel like the stranger in the room.
The news stories have started to die down a bit, the big excitement of the arrests over now. Macy's father and uncle, as well as the rest of the indictees, all made bail. Macy's father was obviously the largest at ten million, but not one of them got out of jail for less than six zeroes on the end.
It would be at least a year, maybe more, before the trials ever started. Until that time, Travis and Luke Carrington had been suspended from their board seats but were still earning a salary. I expect that will end once the dust starts settling, but what did they care... they had billions in savings.
Macy's mom finally stopped calling her. Her father, however, was not dissuaded. He knew Macy would be approached by the feds, and he tried his damnedest to have a face to face with her before that could occur. The day he made it out on bail, he had his driver take him straight to Macy's apartment.
Luckily, she was at lunch with me and not there to have to deal with it. She only knew he stopped by when she heard the voice mail he left her stating such and that he would appreciate it if she would call him at her earliest convenience. She ignored that message and the eight others that followed. She stayed at my apartment the rest of the week, wanting to avoid her father showing up on her doorstep.
Whatever went down in Brussels, it has her dad immensely worried.
Which makes me worried, because I'm thinking Macy is the key witness to this.
And she's not talking.
God forbid Miss Switzer has evidence that links Macy to having knowledge of whatever went down, and she refuses to answer. If so, she's going to find herself in hot water. It's why Macy and I stayed up late last night and went over every possible contingent that could occur today, and I coached her repeatedly on how to answer the questions... yet not really answer the questions.
A sharp rap on the door and it swings open. Janis steps in first, and then pushes her back against the door, making room for Deanna Switzer to enter.
And she's exactly what I imagined a tough, federal prosecutor who I knew had been at her post for twenty-three years would look like.
She's maybe five-five, so not too short, but she's rounded in most places. Her mousy, brown hair is styled in a bouffant-like helmet and then frozen in place with what looks like a gallon of hairspray. Her jowls hang down, her face sort of doughy. She wears no makeup and has on a sensible black pantsuit with black loafers.
I stand up to greet her, giving Janis a quick nod that she can leave. Giving me what would pass as a smile I suppose, the prosecutor leans across the table and gives my hand a bruising shake. "Dee Switzer," she says in a raspy but clipped voice. "Please call me Dee."
I can smell the stale cigarette smoke on her, and I bet she's the type of person that would smoke right at her desk in the federal building regardless of their no-smoking policy.
Motioning with my hand for her to take a seat across from us, I say, "Call me Cal. And this is my client, Macy Carrington."
Dee looks across the table at Macy and gives her a warmer smile than was bestowed upon me. She even manages to tilt her eyebrows in such a way as to convey an almost "motherly" type of aura. Which was a totally wrong move since Macy doesn't respond well to her own mother.
"Miss Carrington," Dee says with sympathy oozing from her voice. "Thank you for taking the time to meet me. I have quite a few questions, but I'm hoping it won't take too long."
Macy doesn't say a word, just gives a polite nod of her head.
Dee pulls a recorder out of her briefcase and sets it in the middle of the conference room table. Before she can turn it on though, I'm shaking my head and leaning forward. I place the tips of my fingers against the unit and push it back toward her.
"You're not recording this," I tell her calmly.
Dee doesn't miss a beat. She knows better than to argue with me, so she just shrugs her shoulders and plops the recorder back in her case. She takes a moment to pull out a yellow legal pad, a pen that she clicks on, and then perches a pair of reading frames on her nose.
"Alright," she says after taking a deep breath. "Miss Carrington... may I call you Macy?"
"Of course," Macy responds generously, and I'm pleased to hear with a sure voice.
"Lovely name," Dee says as she taps the pen on the legal pad. "As you know, your father and uncle, as well as several other board members of Quarter Mine and some of the members of Quarter Mine's accounting firm, have been arrested. I am the attorney who will be prosecuting those cases, and I believe you may be a witness."
"I don't have any dealings with Quarter Mine," Macy says calmly.
"Have you ever held a position at any company owned in whole or in part by Quarter Mine?" Dee asked.
"No," Macy responded.
"Have you ever volunteered or interned at any company owned in whole or in part by Quarter Mine?"
"No."
"Ever owned any stock in Quarter Mine?"
"No."
"Their subsidiaries?"
"No."
"Ever stepped foot inside Quarter Mine's offices located over in the financial district on Wall Street?"
"Once," Macy says but offers no more.
Just as I taught her. Answer the question and only the question. Don't elaborate.
"And when was that?" Dee asks, not in the slightest bit perturbed that Macy isn't being overly forthcoming. She knows anyone represented would be prepared to handle the interrogation.
"When I was ten years old," she says, giving nothing more.
"And what was the purpose of that visit?" Dee asks, but this is a dead end. Nothing a ten year old saw or didn't see would be of use to her case.
"I had the flu. My mom was out of the country at a spa. The nanny was sick. So my father brought me to Quarter Mine's offices with him. Had me sleep on the floor by his secretary's desk while he worked."
I wince. Macy told me this story last night, because I had already asked her these questions. What kind of fucking father takes their kid with the flu into work with them?
"I see," Dee murmurs as she scribbles something on the legal pad.
"Have you had any relationships with anyone that has ever worked at Quarter Mine or one of the subsidiary companies?"
"Define relationships," Macy requests.
"Friendship, dating, sex... relationships."
Macy was also expecting this one from our prep last night. "You mean outside of my father and uncle?"
"Yes," Dee huffs out, and for the first time, I can see her getting frustrated with Macy's evasiveness.
"No."
"No relationships with anyone other than family?" Dee clarifies.
"That's correct."
"Let's talk about Brussels," Dee says in an abrupt change of subject. Macy's body practically vibrates with nerves as she sits next to me. I can see the knuckles on her hands turning white as she clasps them in her lap. "You went to Brussels approximately eleven years ago, correct?"
"Yes. A family vacation," Macy says quietly, but she holds eye contact with the woman across the table.
"Your mother and father went?"
"Yes."
"How about your uncle, Luke Carrington?"
"No, he didn't go."
"Was this unusual... going on a trip out of the country?" Dee asks, tilting her head inquisitively to the side.
"Not at all. My parents took me to many foreign places."
"Like w
here?"
"I've been to Paris, Vienna, and Prague to name a few. Sicily for a few days. Oh, and Berlin."
"Sounds lovely," Dee says appreciatively. "What did you and your family see while on vacation in Paris?"
Macy just blinks at Dee Switzer for a moment before hesitantly answering, "The usual vacation stuff. Eiffel Tower, the Louvre, Notre Dame."
Dee nods with an encouraging smile. "Oh, and what about Vienna? Did you get to see the opera house?"