False Accusations Jacobson, Alan (books successful people read .TXT) 📖

the hell did she get this? Where...” he said, as his voice trailed off.

Madison reached for the manila envelope on the desk.

“Don’t touch anything,” Hellman said. “Put the picture down.”

“Why—”

“Just do it. I’m going to have it dusted for prints. I bet I know exactly who sent this.”

“Harding.”

“Had to be,” Hellman said. “Who else would have a copy of the check?”

Madison did not answer.

“Movis Ehrhardt,” Hellman said.

“Who?”

“Harding’s attorney.” He rubbed aggressively at his forehead. “Right before we settled, he said that there was more evidence, but the detectives never said they had anything other than the belt and the phone bill. After you assured me that nothing else had happened, I thought he was bluffing.” There was quiet again in the room. “She never gave the police this picture. My guess is that she was going to turn it over to them if we didn’t pay her off.”

“But—but didn’t we have agreement, a contract?” Madison asked.

“In a perfect world, yes. But she’s a sick individual, Phil.” He sighed. “I’ll get on Movis’s ass Monday morning. File a claim with the bar...”

Madison wasn’t listening. New Orleans had popped into his mind. New Orleans and Leeza, and how nice their trip might have been.

CHAPTER 26

“YOU’RE A goddamned fucking sleazebag, you son of a bitch,” Hellman yelled into the phone.

“Must be Jeffrey Hellman,” Movis Ehrhardt said.

“You’re a double-crossing extortionist.”

“Just let me know when you’re done.”

“Done?” Hellman asked. “I’m just getting started.”

“How about telling me what this is all about?”

“Let’s start with the destruction of a family, you unethical son-of—”

“Whoa, counselor, what the hell are you talking about?”

“Either you or your client sent Madison’s wife a picture that makes it look like he was kissing Harding in a restaurant.”

“And I assume it’s your position that that’s not what he was doing.”

“She was complaining of ear pain. She asked him to take a look.”

“And you think that this picture was sent to Madison’s wife by me?”

“You or your client. And given my past dealings with you, it wouldn’t surprise—”

“Why do you think I had anything to do with it?”

“The picture was accompanied by a copy of the settlement check I sent to you.”

There was no response at the other end. The usually vociferous, answer-for-everything Movis Ehrhardt fell silent.

Finally, Hellman broke the interlude. “Well?”

“I need to look into this.”

“You sound like you already know what happened.”

“Well, I shouldn’t be telling you this, but before my client left here, she asked me for a copy of the check. I thought she just wanted it for her records.” There was silence again. “If she did this, I’m very sorry. Regardless of what you may think of me, I’m really sorry about this.”

“I’m having the picture dusted for prints. If those prints come back a match for you or your client, that money better be returned in certified funds within twenty-four hours of my call—or I’m going to find a way of tying you into this scheme and have you disbarred. I’ll make it my personal hobby.”

“I didn’t have anything—”

“We’ll talk tomorrow,” Hellman said just before he slammed the phone down.

CHAPTER 27

IT WAS one o’clock in the morning and Ryan Chandler was yawning, fighting to keep awake.

“You’ve been talking for hours, Phil, but you don’t even look tired.”

“Dredging all this up has been very…difficult. I miss Leeza and the kids. It’s been almost a month since they left. I can’t tell you what it’s done to me.”

“It would tear me apart if Denise and Noah suddenly left me. But I can’t even imagine what you’re going through.”

“Let’s just say that I hope you never have the experience.”

Chandler yawned again; he was half slumped in his chair, and his low back ached. “I think it’s time for me to hit the sack, or I’ll be useless in the morning.”

“We’re almost through,” Madison said.

They said good night and Chandler was asleep five minutes later, not even bothering to take his clothes off.

Madison lay awake the rest of the night. The morning brought welcome sunshine; it was supposed to be 60 degrees today, a refreshing respite from the rain and 45-degree weather that had been feeding Madison’s depression.

When he walked into the kitchen, Chandler was sipping coffee and scanning the morning paper. Madison said hello and then launched into the rest of the story, as if he had been a movie placed on “pause” for the evening.

Chandler figuratively hit “play” by acknowledging his presence.

“I awoke the next morning and found a fax in my machine from Leeza,” Madison said. “She was staying at her sister’s in the Bay Area—I recognized the number at the top of the fax.” He found the handwritten letter, which was stuffed into a cubby next to the kitchen phone, and handed it to Chandler, who began to scan it:

...Please don’t call around looking for me. The boys and I are safe. I need some time to sort all this out. I can’t tell you how much you’ve hurt me. I feel like I don’t know you anymore. You never lied to me before, and this was such an important thing. I don’t know what hurts me more, the fact that you lied to me or your infidelity. Maybe you thought you were protecting me from getting hurt. But how can I forgive the fact that you slept with this woman? Did you really feel the need to go elsewhere? I always felt secure with you. I thought that that was one of the safest things in my life. The money was nice, sure, but nothing can replace your soul, your heart. This has taught me that people can say anything they want, but it’s their actions that really count. Talk is worthless if the actions don’t back it up.

I feel betrayed.

I need time to think things out, decide what to do. Maybe it’s best that we just part now and go our separate ways, before the kids get too much older. I’ll contact you soon.

After Chandler finished,