Sandy lowered his head and appeared to be devastated.
“What’s your father’s name?”
“Thomas. Thomas Coe.”
“And your mother?”
“Evelyn.”
Theo pecked away. “What’s your address?”
“Eight fourteen Bennington.”
More pecking. They waited, then Theo said, “Oh boy.”
“What is it?”
“The bank is Security Trust, on Main Street. Fourteen years ago your parents borrowed a hundred and twenty thousand for a thirty-year mortgage. They have not made the monthly payments in four months.”
“Four months?”
“Yep.”
“All this stuff is online?”
“Yes, but not just anybody can find it.”
“How’d you find it?”
“There are ways. A lot of law offices pay a fee to gain access to certain data. Plus, I know how to dig a little deeper.”
Sandy sank even lower and shook his head. “So we’re gonna lose our house?”
“Not exactly.”
“What do you mean? My dad’s not working.”
“There’s a way to stop the foreclosure, stiff-arm the bank, and keep the house for a while, maybe until your dad goes back to work.”
Sandy looked thoroughly bewildered.
“You ever heard of bankruptcy?” Theo asked.
“I guess, but I don’t understand it.”
“It’s your only choice. Your parents will be forced to file for bankruptcy protection. This means they hire a lawyer who’ll file some papers in Bankruptcy Court on their behalf.”
“How much do lawyers cost?”
“Don’t worry about that now. The important thing is to go see a lawyer.”
“You can’t do it?”
“Sorry. And my parents are not bankruptcy lawyers. But there is a guy two doors down, Steve Mozingo, and he’s very good. My parents send clients to him. They like him a lot.”
Sandy scribbled down the name. “And you think we might get to keep our house?”
“Yes, but your parents need to see this guy as soon as possible.”
“Thanks, Theo. I don’t know what to say.”
“No problem. Happy to help.”
Sandy hurried through the door, as if he might sprint home with the good news. Theo watched him get on his bike and disappear through the back parking lot.
Another satisfied client.
Chapter 4
At fifteen minutes before 5:00 p.m., Mrs. Boone walked into Theo’s office with a folder in one hand and a document in another. “Theo,” she said, her reading glasses halfway down her nose. “Would you run these over to Family Court and get them filed before five?”
“Sure, Mom.”
Theo was on his feet, reaching for his backpack. He had been hoping that from some corner of the firm someone would need something filed in the courthouse.
“Your homework is finished, isn’t it?”
“Yes. I didn’t have much.”
“Good. And today is Monday. You’ll pay a visit to Ike, won’t you? It means a lot to him.”
Every Monday of his life, Theo was reminded by his mother that the day was in fact Monday, and this meant two things: first, Theo was expected to spend at least thirty minutes with Ike, and, second, that dinner would be Italian food at Robilio’s. The visit to Robilio’s was more pleasant than the visit with Ike.
“Yes, ma’am,” he said as he placed her documents in his backpack. “I’ll see you at Robilio’s.”
“Yes, dear, at seven.”
“Got it,” he said, opening the back door. He explained to Judge that he would be back in a few minutes.
Dinner was always at seven. When they ate at home, which was rare because his mother didn’t enjoy cooking, they ate at seven. When they went out, they ate at seven. When they were on vacation, seven. When they visited friends they couldn’t be so rude as to suggest a time for dinner, but since all their friends knew how important seven was to the Boone family, they usually accommodated them. Occasionally, when Theo stayed over with a pal or went camping or was out of town for some reason, he took great delight in eating dinner before or after seven.
Five minutes later he parked his bike at a rack in front of the courthouse and locked the chain. Family Court was on the third floor, next door to Probate Court and down the hall from Criminal Court. There were a lot of other courts in the building—Traffic, Property, Small Claims, Drug, Animal, Civil, Bankruptcy, and probably one or two Theo had not yet discovered.
He hoped to find April, but she was not there. The courtroom was deserted. The hallways were empty.
He opened the glass door to the clerk’s office and stepped inside. Jenny, the beautiful, was waiting. “Well, hello, Theo,” she said with a big smile as she looked up from her computer at the long counter.
“Hello, Jenny,” he said. She was very pretty and young and Theo was in love. He would marry Jenny tomorrow if he could, but his age and her husband complicated things. Plus, she was pregnant, and this bothered Theo, though he mentioned it to no one.
“These are from my mother,” Theo said as he handed over the papers. Jenny took them, studied them for a moment, then said, “My, my, more divorces.”
Theo just stared at her.
She stamped and scribbled and went about the process of officially recording the papers.
Theo just stared at her.
“Are you going to the trial tomorrow?” he asked, finally.
“I might slip down if I can get away. You?”
“Yes. Can’t wait.”
“Should be interesting, huh?”
Theo leaned in a little closer and said, “You think he’s guilty?”
Jenny leaned even closer and glanced around as if their secrets were important. “I sure do. What about you?”
“Well, he’s presumed to be innocent.”
“You spend too much time hanging around the law office, Theo. I asked what you think, off the record, of course.”
“I think he’s guilty.”
“We’ll see, won’t we?” She gave him a quick smile, then turned away to finish her business.
“Say, Jenny. That trial this morning, the Finnemore case, I guess it’s over, right?”
She glanced around suspiciously, as if they were not supposed to be discussing an ongoing case. “Judge Sanford adjourned at four this afternoon, to be continued in the morning.”
“Were you in the courtroom?”
“No. Why do you ask, Theo?”
“I go to school with April Finnemore. Her parents are divorcing. Just curious.”
“I see,” she said with a sad frown.
Theo just stared at her.
“Bye, Theo.”
Down the hall, the courtroom was locked. A bailiff with no gun and a tight, faded uniform was near the main door. Theo knew all the bailiffs and this one, Deputy Gossett, was one of the grumpier ones. Mr. Boone had explained that the bailiffs are usually the older and slower policemen who are nearing the end of their careers. They are given new titles—“bailiffs”—and reassigned to the courthouse, where things are duller and safer than on the streets.
“Hello, Theo,” Deputy Gossett said with no smile.
“Hi, Deputy Gossett.”
“What brings you around here?”