“All right, that’s it,” he said out loud. Pulling out his phone for a Google search, he typed in “Patrick McCarthy.” He needed a lawyer, expense be damned, and with Grady recommending him, Patrick seemed like a good risk to take, especially with him being part of the community.
To his surprise, the lawyer answered on the second ring, making Brian wonder if that was a positive or a negative sign. He’d fully expected having to talk with either a secretary or leave a message. For a moment, Brian was caught off guard, but that changed as soon as he introduced himself.
“I know you,” Patrick said. “Wasn’t your father chief of police?”
“He was,” Brian confirmed. “Commander of the 34th Precinct.”
“I know your sister as well. We were in the same grade. What can I do for you?”
“Well, I’m being sued for almost two hundred thousand dollars by MMH Inwood,” Brian said. He liked the sound of Patrick’s voice, as it conveyed a sense of confidence.
“That, unfortunately, is a familiar story.”
“Really?” Brian was still a bit surprised to hear that. “Have you handled many such cases?”
“Quite a few,” Patrick said. “Especially lately with the pandemic. Have you been served?”
“Just this morning, by Grady Quillen.”
“Then we have thirty days to respond,” Patrick said. “When would you like to get together?”
“As soon as possible.” Knowing himself as a man of action, Brian needed to be active to keep from being overwhelmed by Emma’s passing and worry about losing the house.
“I could see you as early as tomorrow. Would that work for you?”
“Absolutely,” Brian said. “The earlier the better.”
“I could be here at the office at seven-thirty. Is that too early for you?”
“That would be fine,” Brian said. He thought the chances he’d be able to sleep very much that night were slim.
“I’ll see you then,” Patrick confirmed. “Bring your service papers, of course. And also a mask. I require it in my office.”
“No problem,” Brian said. He liked hearing that Patrick was sticking to appropriate Covid-19 pandemic rules.
“My office is at 5030 Broadway,” Patrick said. “I don’t have a secretary, so when you get here in the morning, call me, and I’ll come down and let you in.”
“I look forward to meeting you,” Brian said before disconnecting.
Chapter 17
September 1
As he had expected, Brian found sleep almost impossible that night. Even with the sleep medication, which he felt guilty taking since it had been prescribed for Emma, he spent most of the night wandering the house with his mind in turmoil. On multiple occasions he found himself looking in on Juliette. Each time he found her asleep, holding on to Bunny and looking peaceful. He was impressed the child seemed to have weathered the news with more equanimity than he had anticipated, which relieved him to a degree. He gave full credit to the grandmothers, both of whom had spent the rest of the day and evening with her. They’d even taken her out for a walk in her beloved Isham Park and then on to the Church of the Good Shepherd to light a devotional candle for Emma. When Aimée had told Brian of the plan, he’d rolled his eyes at the idea of resorting to ritual with a four-year-old, yet the episode seemed to have soothed Juliette considerably, making him wonder if he should rethink the role of religion in his and Juliette’s life. There was absolutely no doubt in his mind that what was holding him together at the moment was his responsibility to his daughter to make sure she could navigate this emotional sea of losing her mother.
By seven a.m., with Juliette and Camila still sleeping, Brian prepared to leave the house. He wrote a note for Camila and texted Aimée to let her know where he was. He then collected the papers Grady had served him from the home office.
One of the many beauties of living in Inwood was how close everything was. Because the neighborhood was only a little more than a square mile, with a third of it forest-covered parkland, everything was within walking distance, in particular the commercial establishments along Broadway. Brian’s route took him down the West 215th Street double stairway, a unique Inwood landmark that played a fond role in his childhood.
When he reached Patrick McCarthy’s building, which was one of the few multistoried modern commercial structures in Inwood, he followed Patrick’s directions and called to be let in. As he did so, he briefly questioned what it might mean if the lawyer wasn’t successful enough to have a secretary, but he let the thought go when he saw Patrick get off the elevator and approach. He was impressive-looking and younger than Brian expected. He was tall, maybe even close to Charles Kelley’s height.
“Welcome,” Patrick said as he opened the door. His voice in person was more confident sounding than it had been on the phone.
As Brian passed by the man on his way inside, he did feel an immediate if minor bond. Like him, Patrick had dark, almost black hair with blue eyes.
“I appreciate you being willing to come in person despite the pandemic,” Patrick said as they walked back to the elevator. “I think it is important for us to literally see eye to eye if we are going to work together. Besides, I need the papers you were served, which I see you have brought.” Brian handed them over as they got into the elevator.
As they rode up to the fourth floor, Patrick leafed through the papers while Brian gave a capsule history of Emma’s illness, hospitalization, and then death the day before. That news took Patrick by surprise. “I’m so sorry,” he said with real empathy. “You are being sued for several hundred thousand dollars and you’ve lost your wife. What a terrible combination.”
“I lost my wife and my business partner,” he added.
“I’m in awe that you are able to function so soon after your loss.”
“I suppose I’m still in denial, if I’m being honest,” Brian said. “I’m also a very active person. It’s always been difficult for me to sit around under any circumstances.”
Inside Patrick’s office, which was singularly spartan, Brian sat in one of two metal folding chairs while Patrick lowered himself into in an aged desk chair behind a metal desk. The only other furniture was a small bookcase and a file cabinet. The décor was hardly suggestive of a lucrative practice. The only hint of it being the twenty-first century was an iMac, keyboard, and mouse on the desk.
“Well, I will answer the complaint, and we will get a court date,” Patrick offered as he aligned the court papers by tapping them on the desk before carefully laying them down in front of himself. Looking directly at Brian, he said, “I have to be up front with you. We’ve got an uphill battle here.”
“When Grady served me, and, by the way, he gave you a good recommendation, he said you had tried to help his neighbor Nolan O’Reilly, but that things hadn’t worked out.”
“That’s an understatement, but we tried our best.”
“That’s not a very good advertisement,” Brian said, hoping for some reassurance that his situation would be different.
“I can understand why you might feel that way. As I said, it is an uphill battle, and I’ll tell you why. Judges are, more often than not, forced to rule in the hospital’s favor because services have been rendered and everyone had been forced under duress of the admission process to sign a form that they will be responsible for the bill. Plus, the hospitals can charge whatever they damn well please without telling the patient or the family anything beforehand.”
“I can attest to that,” Brian said with a short, mirthless laugh. “But I would like to know if my case is significantly different than the O’Reillys’, since there’d been a summary judgment involved in theirs.”