The Exchange: After The Firm

“Had to leave? Hell, they were trying to kill me down there. People were dying, Willie, and the whole firm went to prison. Along with their clients.”

“They all deserved prison, didn’t they?”

“I suppose, but I got the blame.”

“And they’re all gone now, Mitch. Scattered.”

Mitch returned to his chair and smiled at his friend. “Just curious, Willie. Do people around here talk about me and what happened in Memphis?”

“No, it’s never mentioned. We know the story but no one has the time to gossip about it. You did the right thing, got away, and started over. You’re one of our stars, Mitch, and that’s all that matters at Scully.”

“I don’t want to go back to Memphis.”

“You need the hours. You’re kinda light this year.”

“I’ll catch up. Why can’t you find me some nice little foundation in need of pro bono counsel? Maybe an outfit that feeds hungry kids or delivers clean water to Haiti?”

“You’d be miserable. You prefer action, drama, the ticking clock.”

“Been there, done that.”

“Please. I’m asking for a favor. There’s really no one else. And there’s an excellent chance you won’t get in the prison door.”

“I really don’t want to go back to Memphis.”

“Man up. There’s a direct flight tomorrow at one-thirty out of LaGuardia. Amos is expecting you. If nothing else, you’ll enjoy his company.”

Mitch smiled in defeat. As he stood, he mumbled, “Okay, okay,” and headed to the door. “You know, I think I do remember some Kearnys in Dane County.”

“Attaboy. Go visit Tad. You’re right. He might be a distant cousin.”

“Not distant enough.”

Chapter 2

Most Scully partners, along with many of their rivals in Big Law, as well as countless money runners on Wall Street, scurried from the tall buildings around 6 P.M. and hopped into black sedans driven by professionals. The more important hedge fund stars sat in the spacious rear seats of long European cars they actually owned and were driven by chauffeurs on their payroll. The truly essential masters of the universe had fled the city altogether and lived and worked quietly in Connecticut.

Though he could afford a car service Mitch took the subway, one of his many concessions to frugality and his humble past. He caught the 6:10 train at South Ferry, found a seat on a crowded bench, and, as always, buried his face behind a newspaper. Eye contact was to be avoided. The car was packed with other well-heeled professionals headed north, none of whom had any interest in chatting. There was nothing wrong with riding the subway. It was quick, easy, cheap, and, for the most part, safe. The rub was that the other passengers were, in some fashion, Wall Streeters, and as such were either making plenty of money or on the verge of it. Private sedans were almost within reach. Their subway days were almost over.

Mitch had no time for such nonsense. He flipped through the newspaper, patiently squeezed even closer to other passengers as the car took on more riders, and allowed his mind to drift away to Memphis. He had never said he would never return. Between him and Abby, that promise did not have to be expressed. Getting away from the place had been so frightening that they could not imagine going back for any reason. However, the more he thought about it, the more intrigued he became. It was a quick trip that would probably lead nowhere. He was doing Willie a huge favor, one that would undoubtedly lead to a nice payback.

After twenty-two minutes, he emerged from underground at the Columbus Circle station and began the daily walk to his apartment. It was a splendid April evening, with pleasant skies and temperature, one of those postcard moments when half the city’s population seemed to be outdoors. Mitch, though, hurried home.

Their building was on Sixty-Ninth Street at Columbus Avenue, in the heart of the Upper West Side. Mitch spoke to the doorman, collected the daily mail, and rode the elevator to the fourteenth floor. Clark opened the door and reached up for a hug. At the age of eight, he was still a little boy and unashamed to show his father some affection. Carter, his twin, was slightly more mature and already outgrowing the rituals of physical contact with his father. Mitch would have hugged and kissed Abby and asked about her day, but she had guests in the kitchen. A delicious aroma filled the apartment. Some serious food was being prepared and dinner would be another delight.