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Overview
Ambitious young attorney Tom Crane is about to become a partner in a high-profile Atlanta law firm. But first he must clear one final matter from his docket: the closing of his deceased father’s law practice in his hometown of Bethel, Georgia. Killed in a mysterious boating accident, John Crane didn’t appear to leave his son anything except the hassle of wrapping up loose ends.
But instead of celebrating his promotion, Tom finds himself packing up his office, having suddenly been “consolidated.” To add insult to injury, that same night his girlfriend breaks up with him . . . by letter.
Returning to Bethel with no sense of his future and no faith to fall back on, Tom just wants to settle his father’s affairs and get back to Atlanta. But then he runs into an unexpected roadblock—two million dollars of unclaimed money stashed in a secret bank account. And evidence that his father’s death may not have been accidental. Worse still, a trail of data suggests his father played a role in an international fraud operation.
Along the way, he meets a woman who is as beguiling as she is beautiful. And her interest in the outcome of the case is just as high as his. She challenges Tom’s assumptions . . . and his faith. Now he must decide whom he can trust—and how far a father’s love can reach.
- A stand-alone legal drama
- Full-length Christian fiction novel set in the small-town South
- Includes discussion questions for book clubs
Product Details
| ISBN-13: | 9781595544513 |
|---|---|
| Publisher: | Nelson, Thomas, Inc. |
| Publication date: | 07/18/2011 |
| Pages: | 416 |
| Sales rank: | 507,147 |
| Product dimensions: | 5.70(w) x 8.26(h) x 1.12(d) |
About the Author
Read an Excerpt
water's Edge
By ROBERT WHITLOW
Thomas Nelson
Copyright © 2011 Robert WhitlowAll right reserved.
ISBN: 978-1-59554-451-3
Chapter One
Chiseled deep into the rock face of Stone Mountain, Georgia, is a football field–sized carving of Jefferson Davis, Robert E. Lee, and Stonewall Jackson. Young Atlanta lawyer Tom Crane was on the brink of a promotion as important to him as Lee's selection as commander of the Army of Northern Virginia—litigation partner at Barnes, McGraw, and Crowther.The phone on Tom's desk buzzed. He picked it up.
"Arthur Pelham from Pelham Financial is on line 802," the receptionist said. "Do you want to take the call?"
"Yes, put him through."
"Good afternoon, Tom."
"Good afternoon, Mr. Pelham," Tom replied in his best professional voice.
"It's time you started calling me Arthur," the sixty-year-old investment adviser replied. "I was Mr. Pelham when you and Rick were playing on the same Little League baseball team in Bethel. You've been earning a paycheck long enough to use my first name."
"I'm not sure I can do that," Tom answered, relaxing. "Would it be okay if I called you Sir Arthur?"
"As long as you stay away from King Arthur." The older man laughed. "I heard too much of that when I was in grade school and someone wanted to pick a fight with me. Listen, I know you must be busy, but do you have a few minutes? It goes back to our conversation at the cemetery after your father's funeral."
"Sure."
"We had a board meeting in New York yesterday, and I brought up the possibility of hiring your law firm to handle some of our litigation load. Most of our clients are happy with our services, but there are always a few bad apples who get upset and file lawsuits for all the crazy reasons you're familiar with."
Tom sat up straighter in his chair. Landing a client like Pelham Financial with offices in New York, Boston, Los Angeles, and Washington, DC, would be the most significant event of his legal career. It would cement his rise to partnership status and give him instant influence at the highest levels of the firm.
"That would be outstanding," Tom said, trying to contain his excitement. "Would I be the primary contact person for your firm?"
"Yes, you're the man I trust. Lance Snyder, our general counsel, wasn't at the meeting yesterday, and I want to get his input before making a final decision. Until that happens and I get back to you, I'd ask you to keep this conversation confidential."
"Of course."
"Excellent. I'll be in touch with you by the first of next week." Arthur paused. "How are you doing personally?"
"Okay. I have to make a trip to Bethel soon to shut down my father's practice. Bernice Lawson is contacting his clients, but there are things only I can do. The trick is finding the time to work it into my schedule."
"You're not too busy to take on more business, are you?"
"No, no," Tom answered quickly. "And if I have the opportunity to represent Pelham Financial, it will become my top priority."
"That's what I like to hear. Every client believes his files are the most important matters on his lawyer's desk."
"With you, that will be true."
"Excellent. I hoped this would be a good time to bring this up with you."
"Yes, sir. It couldn't be better."
The call ended. Stunned, Tom sat at his desk and gazed out the window. Stone Mountain never came into focus. Future potential always outshines faded glory.
* * *
The following morning Tom and Mark Nelson, another senior associate in the securities litigation group, were in a small conference room down the hall from Tom's office. Spread before them were documents delivered the previous evening from a regional stock brokerage firm that had been sued by a small group of disgruntled investors who lost several million dollars in a corporate bond fund.
"What are we missing?" the dark-haired Mark asked. "Each of the plaintiffs signed comprehensive acknowledgment and disclosure documents. They knew the risks before they invested a dime."
The two lawyers worked in silence for several minutes. Tom laid out a complete set of the disclosure forms so that the signature pages were side by side, then carefully inspected them.
"Take a look at this," Tom said to Mark. "The handwriting for the signatures is similar, even though the names are different."
He slid the documents across the table to Mark, who held them up in front of his face.
"Maybe."
"Particularly the m, p, t, and w," Tom continued. "And one is from a man, the other a woman."
"So?"
"Yet both are written in a feminine style."
Mark leaned over for a closer look. "The originating broker on both accounts is a woman, Misty Kaiser. If you're claiming she forged both signatures, it doesn't fit the gender and makes you a chauvinist."
"Unless Ms. Kaiser is like the girl you dated last year who took you on a ten-mile hike and had to stop and wait for you to catch up every fifteen minutes."
"It was every thirty minutes, and I've got the right girl now," Mark replied, tossing a crumpled piece of paper at Tom's head. "Megan may not be as flashy as Clarice, but she's not texting me in the middle of important meetings demanding that I pick up her dry cleaning and stop for Chinese takeout on the way home."
"What about the signatures?" Tom persisted.
Mark shrugged. "I have to admit the handwriting is similar. Should we get an expert to take a look at them?"
"Maybe. But first let's find out if Kaiser is still with the company. I don't want to bring up something this inflammatory based on a random suspicion."
"I'll call Sam Robinson, the human resources director," Mark said. "He'll also know whether there are complaints on file from any of her other clients."
Tom looked at his watch. "Why don't we circle back this afternoon? I have a meeting with McGraw in a few minutes."
Mark sat up straighter. "Are you going to talk to him about a partnership?"
"That's for him to bring up, not me," Tom answered evenly. "You know McGraw. His agenda will be my agenda. I scheduled this meeting to ask for time off so I can close down my father's practice in Bethel."
"Okay, but just to let you know, I'm putting my name in for a promotion," Mark said.
"I wouldn't expect anything else. I'm going to let them know I'm interested too."
"What are you going to say if they ask us to critique each other?"
With the conversation with Arthur Pelham in his pocket, Tom knew the time would soon be right to broach the partnership issue with McGraw; however, he didn't want to hurt Mark.
"Becoming a partner isn't about cutting you down," Tom replied. "I'm going to make my case, not criticize you."
Mark took a deep breath and sighed. "They've been watching both of us for years. Nothing we say now is probably going to make much difference. But you can imagine how stressed out I am. I've been here almost eight years. If I don't make partner soon ..."
Mark didn't finish the sentence. He didn't have to.
* * *
Tom stood in front of the gold-framed mirror in the hallway on the thirty-sixth floor and straightened his tie. Six feet tall with broad shoulders, wavy brown hair, and dark-brown eyes, he was wearing the blue suit he usually reserved for court appearances. Reid McGraw was an old-school lawyer who sneered at business-casual attire. If Tom wanted to become a partner, he'd better start dressing like one.
The trip to the thirty-seventh floor was a journey to another world. Tom's floor was a beehive of activity with lawyers and support staff crammed into every available inch of space. Phone conversations spilled out from scores of cubicles. Humming copy machines spit out reams of paper. People walked fast, talked fast, and worked frantically because every tenth of an hour was billable time. On the floor above them, the senior partners operated from spacious offices with individual secretaries. Millions of dollars were discussed as casually as thousands.
Tom passed the office formerly occupied by his boss, Brett Bollinger. Tom liked Brett's cherry desk. When he moved to the thirty-seventh floor, he'd keep it. The beige carpet, on the other hand, would have to go. Something with a pattern would be nice. Clarice had a good eye for decorating.
McGraw's office was a corner suite with its own reception area. The senior partner's assistant was a very attractive young woman about Tom's age. When she was hired, Tom thought about asking her out; however, the risk was too great. If she didn't like him, it might cause her to make a sour comment to McGraw. His future at the firm couldn't be subject to the whim of a woman.
"Hey, Marie," Tom said when he entered the secretary's office. "Is he available? I know I'm a minute or two early."
The dark-haired secretary removed her headset and leaned forward with a glistening white smile.
"Go in. He's waiting for you. But don't run off when you're finished. I have a question for you."
"Sure," Tom said as he opened the door.
McGraw's desk was positioned where the exterior glass walls came together. The balding, medium-built attorney was turned sideways and staring at his computer screen. Through one glass wall Tom could see the gold-plated dome of the state capitol.
"Come in," McGraw growled in his deep voice.
"Hello, Tom," another man said.
Olson Crowther, the partner in charge of the corporate and real estate division of the firm, was sitting in a leather wing chair to the right of McGraw's desk. Crowther, a former JAG officer, sported a high and tight haircut. He stood and shook Tom's hand. Seeing two of the principal partners in the same room caused a rush of excitement mixed with anxiety to wash over Tom.
"Have a seat," McGraw said, pointing to a leather side chair in front of his desk. "We're waiting on Joe Barnes to join us on a conference call. He just got back from Spain and is working from home today. Marie should have him on the line shortly."
"Okay," Tom said, his mouth dry.
McGraw turned his attention back to his computer.
"Sorry about your father," Crowther said. "Did you receive the card I sent?"
"Yes, sir. Thanks."
"Did the police determine what happened?"
"No one knows for sure. They were fishing from a small boat on a private pond. It wasn't more than fifteen feet deep."
"Life jackets?"
"No. The authorities think the boat capsized. My father was a decent swimmer. Maybe he tried to help the other man and failed."
"Real shame," McGraw grunted.
Tom cleared his throat. "Speaking of my father, I need to spend a week or so in Bethel shutting down his law practice. There isn't much to it. After that's done, I can totally devote myself to my responsibilities here. Now that Brett's gone, I'd like the opportunity to—"
Marie's voice came over the intercom. "Mr. Barnes on line 803."
McGraw pushed a button. "Joe, are you there?"
"Yeah, but I'm still battling jet lag. The older I get, the harder it is to bounce back from these overseas trips. And in two weeks I'm off again to New Zealand. Do you remember the river where we caught those monster trout?"
"Yes."
"I'm set up with the same guide."
The fact that Joe Barnes, the founder of the firm, was on the phone meant only one thing. Tom's hands began to sweat.
"Wish I were going with you," McGraw said. "Olson and I are here with Tom Crane."
"Have you told him what happened with Crutchfield Financial?"
"No," McGraw answered.
Barnes spoke. "Tom, we've lost Crutchfield to King and Spalding."
Tom raised his eyebrows in surprise. Crutchfield Financial was one of the firm's largest clients. Its senior management didn't hesitate to file lawsuits to enforce their will and rarely settled claims until the eve of trial. Tom racked his brain for any way the litigation group might have contributed to losing the client. Nothing came to mind.
"Uh, that's too bad," he said.
"Aaron Crutchfield would have stayed with us," Barnes replied, "but there's been a power shift on the board of directors since Aaron retired, and the new chairman has strong connections with King and Spalding."
Tom licked his lips. "Are they going to pull all their litigation files?"
"Yes," McGraw answered. "Rumors have been flying for several months. That's one reason Brett took the general counsel job with Fairfield Group. As general counsel, he'll be able to keep Fairfield from bolting."
It was the perfect time for Tom to drop his bombshell about the call from Arthur Pelham. He clenched his teeth. Arthur's specific instructions to keep quiet about hiring the firm kept the news bottled up in Tom's throat.
"Our business from Linden Securities has been picking up," Tom said, bringing up a second-tier source of business. "Mark and I were working on a major lawsuit this morning. That should take care of some of the slack caused—"
"No, it won't," McGraw interrupted. "I talked with Bruce Cathay in Macon yesterday. There's overt fraud in that case. It's going to be a damage-control situation."
"Forged signatures on the disclosure documents?" Tom asked, shocked that his suspicions might be true.
"You talked with him too." McGraw nodded. "They fired the woman involved, and the insurance company on the fidelity bond is going to assume responsibility for defense of the case. They'll have their own counsel. The bottom line is we're going to have to make another cut in my litigation group, and you're it."
Tom's mouth dropped open. "I'm being fired?"
"No, no," Barnes replied from the speakerphone. "It's a staffing consolidation move."
Barnes's euphemism didn't change the result.
"When?" Tom asked numbly.
"Effective the end of the day," Barnes replied. "The firm will give you a good reference and pay a month's severance in addition to your accrued vacation and personal leave time. You've worked hard, and this was a difficult decision. That's why I wanted to be part of the conversation. I hope you appreciate that."
"Yes, sir," Tom mumbled.
"Very well. I'm going to grab a nap to knock back this jet lag," Barnes said. "You gentlemen finish without me."
The phone clicked off. Tom didn't move.
"There's not much else to discuss," McGraw said. "Bring Mark up to speed on any cases you've been handling solo this afternoon. He and I will reassign them."
"Is he going to make partner?" Tom blurted out.
"That wouldn't be appropriate for us to discuss with you, would it?" Crowther replied with a tight smile. "You heard Joe. We appreciate the work you've done, and I'm confident you'll find a good place to land. In the meantime, you can take all the time you need to settle your father's affairs without feeling rushed. My father was a small-town CPA, and it took twice as long to administer his estate than I thought."
"I'll send out a firm-wide memo about the change in your status within an hour," McGraw added. "Nothing negative about you."
Crowther stood and extended his hand to Tom. "Best of luck to you, son. You've been well trained and can take that with you wherever you go."
McGraw turned toward his computer screen. The meeting over, Tom stumbled from the office. He passed Marie's desk, faintly hearing her call his name as he dashed down the hall. Olson Crowther had made Tom's tenure at the firm sound like an advanced class at a canine obedience school. The dog part of the comparison was right. Tom felt like a loyal pet dropped from a car in the middle of the city and left to fend for itself.
The hustle and bustle of activity on the thirty-sixth floor now had a discordant tone. The first person Tom saw was a middle-aged paralegal who spent half her time working on Crutchfield files. His firing wouldn't be the only fallout crashing down from the thirty- seventh floor. He resisted the urge to grab the woman and suggest she clock out early so she could take her ten-year-old son to Chastain Park and play catch with a Frisbee. Tom avoided making eye contact with anyone until he reached his office and shut the door. Plopping down in his chair, he swiveled to the side and looked out the window. Stone Mountain hadn't moved; Tom's world had crumbled like a dried clump of red clay.
(Continues...)
Excerpted from water's Edge by ROBERT WHITLOW Copyright © 2011 by Robert Whitlow. Excerpted by permission of Thomas Nelson. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
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