The Deposit Slip

4





It was nearing midnight when Jared entered his townhouse following his visit to Clay’s office, briefing book in his hand. He tossed it onto the couch on his way to the kitchen.

The refrigerator held a Mountain Dew and a Red Bull. He grabbed the Red Bull and trudged wearily back into the living room.

The answering machine on the coffee table flashed with a single message. It was Jessie, asking how things had gone at Clay’s office. He weighed calling her back, at least to hear a friendly voice. But it was very late. His eyes were sore and his head felt like it was stuffed with cotton.

Jared took a long gulp of the caffeine drink. His eyes were drawn to his monthly bills, stacked on the end table, ready to be paid. He picked up the top ones: MasterCard, just two hundred dollars under the credit limit; the cable bill, Final Notice across the letterhead; American Express; Xcel power.

The Olney check would’ve helped. Maybe another six months of grinding and things would be different now that the Wheeler case was done—especially if he could coax more litigation out of his referral sources and maintain the long hours to work the cases. Tired as he was, he couldn’t afford to take a break now.

Jared set the bills down and wearily reached for the binder. Time to see what Clay was making such a fuss about.

The binder slipped from his hand and hit the floor, opening with a dull thud. A legal-sized sheet of paper unfolded at his feet.

It was an oversized photocopy. The enlarged pixels were blurry and the color washed out, but the language and lettering were legible.

It looked like a deposit slip with the name “Ashley State Bank” in cursive lettering just below the upper edge. In its center were three lines of mechanical machine-print lettering. The first gave a date, three years and eight months ago—February 10, 2008. The second line was an eight-digit account number. The third line read:

Deposit: $10,315,400.00

Jared sat up, a rush of adrenaline rousing him. He opened the binder, removed the copy, and held it up to the light. There were no more marks visible on the slip. He returned to the binder with increased interest. The next page was entitled “Erin M. Larson, as Personal Representative for the Estate of Paul Larson v. Ashley State Bank,” followed by a short four-page case summary. Jared forced down another deep drink of the Red Bull and settled onto the couch to read.

Paul Larson was a farmer with property midway between Ashley and Mission Falls, Minnesota. . . . The farm had been in the Larson family for four generations. . . . In good years the land yielded enough for the next year’s crop and an occasional trip to Florida. In bad ones, only debt. . .”

After five minutes, Jared reached the end. This was too short. He looked at the pockets inside the binder cover, but there was nothing more. He read the report through again, focusing especially on Erin’s discovery of the deposit slip at the Mission Falls Bank and Ashley State Bank’s repeated denials that the slip was genuine.

Where were the details? The case was filed over five months ago. Why was Mort Goering withdrawing from the case? What about legal analysis of the claim?

Clay would never have accepted this summary when Jared worked with him at Paisley. Either his standards were slipping or the point of this binder was to focus Jared on the size of the claim.

A ten-million-dollar case, with documentary proof, and a bank defendant with deep pockets. If that was Clay’s strategy, it was working.

Jared began to feel jittery. He stood to stretch and pace.

How did ten million dollars get into the hands of a farmer from Ashley, Minnesota? Was the money illegal? Did the bank still have it?

He looked at the deposit slip again. Was the slip even real?

It was up in Ashley; that was a downside. But a ten-million-dollar case.

The phone rattled and Jared jumped. Caller ID showed it was Jessie’s cell.

“Jessie?”

“Yes. You’re still awake.”

“Yeah. So are you. Pretty late to be calling.” The clock over the mantel showed 1:15 a.m.

“I couldn’t sleep. With your track record the last few months, I figured you’d be up too. So what did Clay have to say?”

“He’s got a referral. A big one.”

“Contingent fee or hourly rate?”

“Contingent fee, I imagine.”

“Why’s he referring away a big case?”

Jared explained about the Paisley agreement and described the case—including the urgency. The phone went quiet.

“Jessie?”

“Yeah, here. Just thinking.”

“What is it?”

“Well, I thought a week ago you swore you wouldn’t dive into another case like this right away.”

These weren’t the words he wanted to hear right now. “I know. But I thought you wanted me to start working my way out of the hole.”

“I do. But another contingent fee case? The ones that only pay in the end? If you win? Remember? And all that expense for a large new case. On top of that, you’ve been working long hours already. For a long time.”

It wasn’t what he wanted to hear. “Clay offered a loan for expenses.”

“I thought Clay was pretty tight,” Jessie said, her voice registering surprise.

“Yeah, well, he is expecting a referral fee.”

Silence. “So you’re going to take the case?”

“I don’t know. I think I’ll go up tomorrow to meet the client; talk with her former counsel. Get more facts.”

“There are some other clients in the office who’ve been waiting awhile because of the Olney work.”

“I’ll take some files with me, work on them over the weekend, or in the motel if I stay.”

“I’ve never known you having a case in Ashley before,” Jessie went on. “First referral from up there?”

“First one worth considering,” he lied. “Phone Goering tomorrow and set a time for me to call him. I’ll try to speak with him on the road.”

She said she would, and they ended the call.

Jessie’s reservations left Jared cold. She was right, but it dampened his excitement. He looked around the room with fading eyes. A half-empty box of Korean food stood near the lamp—it’d been there since Monday. The office financials were stacked knee deep next to the mantel. The pictures he planned to hang still sat in boxes from the move eighteen months ago. He barely noticed anymore. Then his eyes returned to the stack of bills.

Yeah, it probably was too soon. The past few months were like metal grinding metal: the financial strain, the long hours—it felt like he was wearing away pieces of himself that would never return. Still, cases like these, Clay would remind him, don’t come along when it was convenient.

Jared suddenly felt like dropping. The Red Bull was losing its grip, or couldn’t keep pace with his exhaustion. He turned out the lights and stumbled upstairs to bed.





She hung up the phone.

When Clay telephoned this afternoon, Jessie tried to pry out of him his reason for calling. Clay put her off with that silky southern voice. She never was charmed by Clay like Jared and others were at Paisley.

Jessie assumed any referral would be a tough case—one that Clay wouldn’t want to keep. Jared always thought he could find a way to win, whatever cards were dealt him. He was good enough that he usually could squeeze a good result out of a tough case. But losing the Wheeler trial had shown what could happen when the risk was too big.

She had to force him to take a break. The office cash flow had reached the point where Jessie didn’t even bring all of the office bills in to Jared each morning with the mail. And the exhaustion had started showing on his face and voice since the Wheeler trial finished a few months ago.

Jessie buried the notion of dialing Jared again. He hadn’t taken the case yet. She could still stop this freight train before it got out of control.