Power Chapter Fifteen Finals
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The skin on my stump was thin where it had been stretched over the end of the arm to close the wound left by amputation. I could deal with a bit of pressure, but sharp blows would make the skin split easily.
I was certain that was what happened, it had happened before in the gym, but the detective had been an asshole and I was more than happy to milk it a bit. Ms. Duff, in her capacity as my lawyer, had the hospital take photographs of the injury and they gave her copies as well as a copy of my medical report.
The next day, I met with Ms. Duff at her office. A different detective and a stenographer interviewed me in a conference room and took my statement in the presence of my lawyer. When they were done, it was typed up, corrected, retyped and we all signed it as complete. The detective was a consummate professional throughout.
I didn’t hear from Angela for a couple of days, and then it was a quick phone call. She had been warned to stay clear of me until the investigation was complete, and asked me to understand. Her career was important to her, and I assured her that I was completely on her side.
Sophie and the twins tried to get me to stay with them for a while as my back healed and I admit that I was tempted, but Lucy was at my place and Christine had already volunteered to ‘nurse’ me, so I went home.
The papers were full of stories about the attack at the restaurant. It must have been a slow news week. Some of the headlines tried to claim that it was terrorist retaliation while others seemed to think I was anti-muslim since the bombing. Only TMZ posted pictures of Angela and I, preferring to speculate on whether we were lovers or if she was private security, hired during her off-duty hours. Or both.
One unexpected turn of events was that Ms. Duff, identified in the news as my attorney, was contacted by Starlight pictures. They upped their offer to fifteen million for the rights to my story, but I had to sign within sixty days to capitalize on the resurgence of my story in the news.
Ms. Duff’s firm had lawyers that worked with the recording industry, so they were going to look into the contract and advise me on what I could expect if I signed.
The down side of being back in the news were the buzzards, I mean, paparazzi circling again. There were some camped outside of my apartment building and even one who bribed a pizza delivery guy with $100 to let him deliver my pies. When I opened the door, the camera in his hand went off even as he shoved the pizza boxes into my belly and shouted questions at me!
The word came down within a week that the District Attorney was not going to charge me, stating for the press that it would be foolish and that he had real crimes to prosecute. A relief for me, but a bump that kept the story in the news for another week.
Even the talking heads on television got into the act, with some idiot from MSNBC claiming I was another George Zimmerman while the mouthpieces at Fox declared me a hero for standing up to the ‘Islamic Menace’.
I thought they were both idiots.
Angela was cleared and allowed to return to work, and we resumed working out together. I was stuck working my lower body, since upper body workouts could tear the stitches, but it was nice to be back in the gym with her. The heated kiss she gave me the first day back certainly didn’t hurt.
Dinner at her apartment was a smashing success, the magic was still there and I had a wonderful time. We didn’t do much more than a little light necking, but I wasn’t in a hurry. I had long ago decided that women set the pace and I was okay with that.
It’s not like I was lacking in companionship.
Lucy and Christine were waiting with baited breath when I got home, wanting all the juicy details. They were disappointed, but we found ways to overcome that.
Christine had become an almost permanent fixture at the house, sharing a room with Lucy. They had become a real couple and they seemed very happy together. That they still loved me and shared with me was a joy and made it that much more special. I loved both of them and would not have been hurt had they decided to be exclusive. I would have missed the special time we spent loving, but I would not have begrudged them their happiness.
With the stabbing attack all cleared up, I was surprised to hear back from Ms. Duff two weeks later.
“Mr. Weaver...” she said when I answered my cell.
“Ms. Duff, is there any way I can convince you to call me David?” I interrupted.
“If you call me Wendy!” she replied. “The reason I called, David, was to tell you that Starlight Pictures is very eager to sit down with you to discuss this deal. Our firm has read over the contract, discussed the particulars with an associate firm out in LA who deals almost exclusively with the movie industry. At this time, we do not recommend you sign this, it is entirely too one-sided and there are riders that could be used to reduce or even refuse payment. We have suggested changes that we want to discuss with you before we set up a meeting with Starlight, assuming you do want to consider the deal.”
“Wow. Okay, so ... when and where?”
“I like clients like you! Do you have any free time this week?”
“I am all about free time right now. I am unemployed and, it turns out, mostly unemployable unless I want to accept an offer to, um ... act ... in adult films.” I said wryly.
“Ah, the perks of fame.” Wendy laughed. “Great, then tomorrow at nine?”
“I’ll be there.”
The law firm of Markham, Anders and Wilson occupied was in one of the older buildings in what had been, in the city’s heyday, the financial district. While the banks and brokerage firms and moved a few miles west, this area still held a certain cache, and seemed to have become the central hub for the bigger law firms in the state.
The building was in that odd style somewhere between the Gothic and Art Deco periods, but made it work. There were crenellations at the top of the building reminiscent of gargoyles, but one assembled from sheets of rock instead of raw stone. The glass windows, all topped with arches, were gold tinted and the whole place made me want to grab a sketchpad.
I walked in through the front doors about ten minutes before nine and was greeted by a cute young blonde at the reception desk.
“Good morning sir, how I can help you?” She asked pleasantly.
“I have an appointment with Wendy Duff of Markam, Anders and Wilson.”
“Yes of course. The elevators to my left cover from the fifteenth to the thirtieth floors.” she replied with a wave and another smile.
As I stepped around the curved marble counter and towards the elevator, I saw a hulking mountain of a man in the uniform of a security guard. He had to be almost seven feet tall and four hundred pounds. He should be playing for the Bears, not guarding elevators!
I smiled at him and waved as I passed, and got a pleased nod in return, then literally bumped into someone as I turned the corner.
“Ah! Mr. David Weaver? I am Henrik Mohr, US State Department. I would like to have a word with you if I may.”
The man I bumped into was of medium build and about my height. He had thinning blonde hair and those round little glasses that reminded me of Teddy Roosevelt. His pencil thin mustache and impeccable suit made him look like a successful banker.
“Sorry? State Department? What in the world would the State Department want with me?” I asked, then shook my head. “I have an appointment with my attorney upstairs, so I am afraid we will have set up a time to do this later.”
The man’s eyes, previously a slate gray, turned hard though the faint smile never left his face.
“I am afraid that simply will not do, sir. Please, come with me. It will only take a few minutes.” He reached out and laid a hand on my bicep.
“What? No, I told you already, I have a previous engagement.” I said, shaking his hand off. “Whatever you want will have to wait. I hate being late.”
As I turned to reach for the elevator button, he grasped my arm again, this time in a firm grip and turned me towards the door.
“I am afraid I must insist. As I said, this won’t take long.”
The fucker was actually trying to pull me away from the elevators. Now I was pissed.
I deliberately pulled back, causing him to be off balance, then checked him with my shoulder, bouncing him off the wall next to the elevator doors.
He released my arm to catch himself against the wall with both hands, he face now in a snarl as he started to stand, but I wasn’t done.
I pushed into his personal space, keeping him off balance, and snarled. “I may have one arm, but if you touch me again I will break your fucking arm.”
His hand was reaching for something in his jacket when a shadow fell across both of us.
“Mr. Weaver, is this man bothering you?”
I looked up, and up, into the face of the security mountain and smiled.
“He assaulted me and is attempting to keep me from my appointment with my attorney.” I told him. stepping back.
“I see.” his voice rumbled in his chest, sounding more like an avalanche than anything human.
“Sir, unless you have verifiable business with one of the resident firms in this building, I am afraid I am going to have to ask you to vacate the premises.”
I had backed off a step and man mountain and stepped forward, looming over Mohr.
“Now see here, you idiot!” Mohr sputtered, whipping out a leather folio. “I am with the US State Department and you are interfering with official government business.”
The security guard, his name tag reading A. Montgomery, reached down and plucked the folio from the smaller man’s hand. It looked as though Mohr had tried to keep a grip on it, but A. Montgomery snatched it as if he hadn’t even noticed.
I pulled out my phone and called Wendy, wanting her to know what was going on, and why I was going to be late.
“Wendy Duff’s office, how may I help you?”
“David Weaver here. Can you tell Wendy that I might be late? I am being detained in the lobby by some arrogant asshole who claims to be from the State Department.”
“I see, can you hold for a second?” the pleasant voice sounded startled.
“David, Wendy. Stay right there.” Wendy came on the line for just long enough to say that and the line went dead.
Meanwhile, the State Department man, Mohr, was loudly demanding his credentials back and, when he grabbed A. Montgomery’s arm in a fit of pique, the large security guard took offense.
Reaching down, he grasped Mohr’s shoulder and pushed him slowly, but inexorably, against the marble wall next to the elevator.
“Sir, your credentials do not give you leave to assault a private citizen, nor does it give you the right to detain one against his will. I am afraid I will have to hold you here until the police arrive and let them sort this out.” his rumbling voice, sounding faintly amused, made Mohr gape in surprise.
“Let go of me, you moron!” he snarled, struggling feebly against the ham-sized hand that held him against the wall.
A. Montgomery ignored the man and reached to his lapel where a microphone hung, delicately pushing the button with his huge fingers.
“Central, contact dispatch, tell them I have an assault and unlawful detainment.” he spoke into the microphone, but we couldn’t hear a response. When he made a vague gesture towards his ear, then nodded, I realized he had an earpiece.
The elevator dinged as the doors opened and all three of us turned to see Wendy Duff, looking very much the part of the Masai warrior step out. Behind her were two older men, both with forbidding expressions on their faces.
“Andre, what have we got here?” she asked softly, smiling up at A. Montgomery.
“Ms. Duff, I saw this gentleman, whose identification appears to be from the US State Department in Washington DC, attempt to detain Mr. Weaver. I knew about Mr. Weaver’s appointment and was stationed here specifically to insure he was not bothered by...” he paused, looking down at the fuming Mohr, “undesirables like the press or those men from the restaurant. This gentleman also assaulted me, grabbing my arm while I was trying to ascertain his identity.” he said amiably, smiling down at my lawyer. He handed over the ID folio he had taken.
“Now see here! This is has gone far enough. If you people don’t stand down right this instant...” Mohr spluttered, looking indignant.
Wendy ignored him, pulling out her phone and snapping a picture of his ID and of his driver’s license which occupied the other half.
“Mary, Dan Markham, is he in?” One of the older gentlemen who had followed Wendy out of the elevator was speaking on his cell phone and saw me look up. He gave me a wink and a smile, then turned back to his conversation.
“Jack, Dan. Hey, what the hell is going on over at State? I have some officious little wienie here trying to throw his weight around. He was stopped when trying to drag David Weaver from my building against his will. Yes, that David Weaver. Hold one...” He looked up, holding out his hand and Wendy handed over the folio with a smile.
Henrik Mohr looked distinctly uncomfortable, his eyes on the folio as it passed from hand to hand.
“The name is Henrik Moore. About six foot, thinning hair, Roosevelt glasses and a pencil mustache. Very full of himself. Sure, call me back, and thanks Jack.” He disconnected, slipping his phone and Mohr’s ID folio into his pocket.
“You hand that identification back, right this instant. It is property of the federal government and you are interfering with an official, US State Department investigation and interfering with a Federal officer in pursuit of his duty.” Mohr yelled, his face turning red.
“In a moment, Mr. Mohr. Jack Higgins, the president’s Chief of Staff, is my son in law. He promised to verify your identity for me, and he should be...” Mr. Markham broke off at the trilling of his cell phone. He pulled it out and answered.
“Jack, thanks for getting back so ... really? I see. So ... sure, hold one.” he said. He handed the phone to Mohr. Secretary Albright for you, Mr. Mohr.”
Mohr’s face went pale, the blood draining as he reached out a hand.
“Henrick Mohr here, with whom am I speaking?” he said, regaining his bluster.
If possible his face turned even paler and he seemed to stand taller, almost at attention.
“Madam Secretary! Yes Ma’am. No Ma’am! Madam Secretary, I was simply ... I see. Yes Ma’am. Right away, Ma’am” he said, deflating and leaning back against the wall. He pulled the phone away from his ear, peering at the screen for a moment before touching a control.
“Can you hear me, Madam Secretary?”
“Get on with it!” came a demanding voice from the phone’s speaker.
“Yes Ma’am.” he said faintly. Looking up at us, he squared his shoulders.
“Mr. Weaver, Mr. Markham, Ms. Webb and, um, Officer Montgomery, please accept my apologies for this unfortunate incident.” He said, swallowing several times before continuing. “Secretary Albright has instructed me to inform you that I have exceeded my authority and acted in a manner which reflects poorly on the Secretary Albright, the US State Department and the federal government as a whole. If you wish to prefer charges, I have been instructed to remain here, at your convenience.”
“Good, now give the phone back to Markham.” the voice said, sounding annoyed.
Mohr, his face a mask, handed the phone back to the older lawyer who punched a control and brought the handset to his ear.
“Sylvia, I am sorry they pulled you out of the meeting. I just asked Jack to verify this guy was legitimate. Ah, well, we would love to come. I’ll tell Helen, and we can make a weekend of it. Give my love to Stu.” he said, smiling as he disconnected the call.
Looking up at me, he smiled and shook his head. “Mr. Weaver, I hate that we had to meet under these circumstances. How do you wish to proceed? Would you like to press charges against Mr. Mohr?”
I shook my head. “No, I don’t think so. I would prefer to have seen the last of him. Officer Montgomery here will have to decide for himself though, I wouldn’t dream of speaking for him.” I said, grinning at the huge man.
“No problem, Mr. Weaver. I have no desire to push things.” he said. He stepped back and keyed the microphone on his lapel, whispering.
Markham stepped forward and handed over Mohr’s folio. “Mr. Mohr. I was asked to inform you that Secretary Albright would like to see you at your earliest convenience.”
Henrik Mohr, looking much worse for wear, nodded and slid the folio into his pocket. Turning without a word, he slunk off, heading for the entrance.
“Well, shall we take this upstairs?” Mr. Markham said with a smile, waving towards the elevator.
“Mr. Weaver, this is one of my partners and my life-long friend, Wallace Anders.” he said, laying his hand on the other, heretofore silent, man who had followed Wendy to the lobby.
I shook his hand as the doors started to move, catching the security giant’s eye with a nod and a smile just before they closed. He was standing out there with a grin on his face, shaking his head.
“Call me Wally ... everyone else does. Nice to meet you, Mr. Weaver.” the man said with a smile, shaking my hand.
“Please call me David. I have the strangest feeling we will be spending a lot of time together in the near future, so we might as well be friendly.” I said, smiling at the group.
“Well, David. I am afraid that while we did away with that officious idiot below, the State Department really would like to speak with you. A man named Higgins, whom I have been assured is not an idiot, is supposed to contact me to set up a meeting at your convenience.” Markham said, shrugging.
“Any idea what it is about?” I asked, but he just shook his head. The bell dinged and the doors opened signaling our arrival.
Going over the contract the studio had sent over took several hours. The entertainment lawyer, a squat, heavy-set woman named Althea Briggs with a wicked sense of humor and a mind like a steel trap, kept us in stitches as she crossed out section after section of the contract. As she marked up the paper, she told us anecdotes of other celebrities she had worked with and some of the legal scams she had run into in the recording industry.
She took the time to explain why each section was rejected, pointing out the bogus performance metrics, the sketchy payment schedules and the lack of any creative control over the end product as deal killers.
By the time she was done, the contract was mostly a redacted mess. Then she whipped out another contract, one she had written to counter their proposals.
“You won’t get half of what I asked for, but I did it to make a point. They were obviously trying to take advantage and this tells them we know that. While they foam at the mouth over this revision, I want to find out what you really want, David.”
“How bad is it if I say I don’t really know?” I asked, throwing my hand up.
“It’s good! It tells me you are not coming in to this with preconceived notions. I can work with that.”
“I tell you what I don’t want.” I said, leaning forward. “I don’t want them turning this into political fodder for one party or another. I don’t want this being twisted into a message, becoming a platform for anyone. I get that they have to take some creative license, that they have to make it dramatic, it is entertainment, but I want it to be ... real.” I said, watching their expressions.
Wendy and Althea were nodding their heads, taking notes.
“Okay, so we ask for veto rights on the script and any changes made, prior to filming. What about writing the story? If you have never written a script, there is a lot of technical knowledge required so I will assume you are willing to work with an experienced script writer?”
I nodded. It made sense to me.” No problem.”
“Okay, what other problems do you foresee?””Well, they can’t very well do a story about me without including family and friends, right? How do we handle that? Releases? What about compensation? I can’t imagine they would give me any say over the actors, would they?”
“Realistically? No. Choosing the cast would be something you might be able to have input on, but the decision would be with the money men. As far as your family goes, releases are definitely needed and as for compensation, would you be willing to lower your fee if the money goes to them?”
“Without a doubt. I was already going to set up college funds for my nieces, but I would love to get everyone paid.”
“Okay, the timeline proposed is tight. They want a preliminary script in ninety days, a final in one hundred and twenty. They plan on shooting the entire thing by next fall so they can release before the holidays. With a story like yours, timing is everything so releasing the movie as quickly as possible makes sense. Would you be able to devote the time needed?”
“Like I told Wendy, I am not employed right now, so yes. I can take whatever time I need.”
The conversations and preliminary negotiations went on until lunchtime before Wendy called a halt.
“David, I have a couple of other things to discuss, but I thought I would take you to lunch and we can talk while we eat. That way I can expense it and bill you for the time.” Wendy said with a smirk, grinning at me.
“You don’t pull any punches, do you?” I asked, shaking my head, but I had to smile. She was straight forward and no bullshit. I liked that in a person.
Wendy chose a small bistro within walking distance and Andre Montgomery, the giant security man, fell in behind us as we left the building.
“Mr. Montgomery, I didn’t get a chance to thank you for your help this morning.” I said, holding out my hand to the big man.
“No problem at all, Mr. Weaver. I was more than happy to help.” His huge hand dwarfed mine, but he was kind enough to return all my fingers so I was happy.
“I called in Andre and a couple of his brothers to look after us today.” Wendy said, smiling at the man. “I didn’t want a repeat of that dinner a couple of weeks ago.”
“Do you think I really need to hire security? I hate the idea, but ... well, this morning it sure came in handy.” I asked.
“I can recommend a couple of firms to you. One, the one that Andre works for, is big with entertainment types. They like surrounding themselves with really large, dangerous looking men. That comes in handy as a deterrent, but it attracts attention too. The other is more discreet, and is staffed by ex-military, ex-FBI and so on. They are low key, but extremely effective.”
Over lunch she informed me that the Chicago PD were willing to settle out of court for the treatment I received, including medical bills for the injury, but I told her to just drop it if she could get an apology from the detective.
“I am not out to hurt the CPD, or extort money out of them. I just wanted a little pressure on them so I wouldn’t be charged with anything. Besides, that asshole pissed me off.” I said, shrugging.
She just nodded and went on to the next item on the agenda. “The court has ruled that a class action suit against the security company charged with the Chase tower security can go forward, as can the suit against the terrorist group that claimed responsibility.”
“Wait, you can sue terrorists? How do you deliver them a summons, by bomber? Hell, sometimes it seems like even the military can’t find them.”
She grinned and me and shook her head. “The US government, in the wake of 9/11, froze the accounts of more than two hundred individuals and companies whose funding could be shown to directly finance terror activities. The lawsuit would be seeking funds from those accounts. There was, at last count, almost forty billion dollars available. That is after the 9/11 lawsuits are settled, assuming they all win. Twelve billion has already been paid out to the families of victims, to the owners of the buildings and to fund medical care for first responders.”
I thought about that for a couple of minutes. “I don’t want any of it. Not for myself. Let anything that would come to me be disbursed to the families.” I said, the whole idea making me feel ill.
“This could be substantial, David. Are you s...” she trailed off, studying me for a moment, then nodded, making a note in on her tablet.
“Okay, let’s talk about the lawsuit that was filed yesterday by the families of the men who were killed in the restaurant.”
“What? How the fuck...” I started to say, getting angry. Wendy held up her hand and I stopped.
“It was to be expected, and we will get it thrown out. It is a harassment technique designed to make you angry, to cost you money and you can be sure they will have leaked it to the press to try and make you look bad.”
“I wonder if it is too late to find a nice, quiet, deserted island and just quit?” I mused, pushing my plate away. I had lost my appetite.
When we had finished eating and were drinking coffee, just chatting about nothing in particular, Wendy’s phone rang. Glancing at the screen, she raised an eyebrow and took the call.
“Hi Daniel.” she answered. “Sure, we just finished lunch. Let me ask him.”
“The State Department guy called, said he can be at our offices by two. That okay with you?” she asked.
I glanced at my watch. It was almost one-thirty now, so we had time. I nodded to her.
“Okay, no problem. We will be back in plenty of time.”
“Mr. Weavers, Jason Nabors. Look, about Henrik, he is very effective at what he does but he was the wrong person for this task so, on behalf the State Department and Secretary Albright, let me apologize for the way things went this morning.”
Nabors was tall and fit, had movie start looks and an overly bright smile that just screamed insincerity and never reached his eyes. My first impression of him was that he was shooting for a spot in Congress with an eye on the presidency someday.
“It’s Weaver, not Weavers. So, who sent Mr. Mohr, and why was he sent in the first place?” I asked.
His smile seemed to freeze for a second. “Ah, well, we have been informed that there are several production companies eager to film a movie about your experience in the unfortunate incident at the Chase tower earlier this year.”
Was this guy for real? I looked over at Wendy, who was rolling her eyes and then over at Mr. Markham who was sitting back and shaking his head. I watched him pull out his phone.
“So, you found out about a movie concerning ... how did you put it? Oh yes, the unfortunate incident at the Chase tower. And what is the State Department’s interest in this hypothetical movie?” I asked, trying to keep from screaming at this idiot.
Mr. Markham waved his hand at me and made a circular motion, which I understood to mean, keep him talking. I noticed that his phone was on the table now and he was grinning.
“Well, there are delicate negotiations underway in the middle east, negotiations which are vital to our national security, you understand. We feel that a movie that fanned the flames of anti-Islamic rhetoric here in the US and abroad could only hurt our position. We are hoping to prevail on you, as a patriotic American, to hold off, to delay getting involved with these production companies. In a couple of years, when things calm down, you can revisit the idea.” Nabors said, oozing sincerity.
“I see. And these negotiations, what are they about? Why would a movie that depicts real events cause problems?”
“Well, the issues being discussed are, of course, highly classified, but I assure you, they are in the best interests of the entire nation. As for the movie, we are actively trying to combat the rising tide of anti-Islamic fervor in this country. This kind of blind hatred can only lead to more attacks, don’t you see?”
“And you want me to forego making this movie. I would assume that would also cover the offers I received for several book deals? You do realize that these offers, the books and movies, are for substantial amounts of money?”
“I don’t think you can put a price on patriotism, Mr. Weaver. In fact, your attitude about this whole thing is disturbing. It would be a shame if the IRS...”
He broke off as his phone rang. He pulled it out of his jacket pocket and looked at it like it had grown a head. “I am sorry, I left orders to never be interrupted when I am in an important meeting. I think I should take this, if you will excuse me?” He said, walking out the door of the conference room and letting it close behind him.
I turned to Wendy, furious, but before I could open my mouth, Mr. Markham was waving his hands to get my attention, pointing to the phone. He gestured for us to move closer, so Wendy and I gathered around the far end of the table.
“Yes, Madam Secretary, I was in a meeting with him when you called.”
“And how is it progressing, Jason? Did you apologize for sending that idiot Mohr?” we hear Secretary Albright ask.
“Of course. I know Henrik and I am sure this Weaver character overreacted, but I’ll smooth it over. Weaver is a naïf, and I think I have convinced him to kill the movie.” Nabors said, sounding smug.
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