Chapter 7: The Reasonable Man
Terrence Obi suggested a hotel bar on Meeting Street.
Neutral ground, he said.
Public enough to be safe, quiet enough to talk.
I called Gerald from the car and told him where I was going.
"Naomi—"
"I know," I said.
"I'm not going to make any agreements.
I just want to hear what he says."
"Take someone with you."
I thought for a moment.
Then I called Raymond.
He met me outside the hotel in fifteen minutes, still in the same jacket from the coffee shop.
I told him to sit at the bar and order something and not look at us unless I looked at him first.
Terrence Obi was already at a corner table when I walked in.
He was in his fifties, well-dressed in a way that was careful rather than showy, with the kind of stillness that came from long practice at being the calmest person in a room.
He stood when I approached and gestured to the chair across from him.
"Ms.
Reeves.
Thank you for coming."
I sat down.
I did not shake his hand.
"You said my brother's situation is more complicated than I understand," I said.
"Explain that."
He smiled slightly.
"Directness.
I appreciate that." He folded his hands on the table.
"Your brother came to me three years ago.
He was looking for investment capital for an expansion of the company.
The terms we agreed on were unconventional.
I won't pretend otherwise.
But Marcus entered into them voluntarily and with full knowledge of what was involved."
"You used my father's company to move money."
"I used a subsidiary account to route certain funds, yes.
Marcus facilitated that.
In exchange, he received a significant personal payment and a guarantee of continued investment in the company's growth."
"That's a crjme."
"That depends on the jurisdiction and the specifics, which are considerably more complex than—"
"It's money laundering," I said.
"Through a company my father built.
That my father did not consent to.
Using authority Marcus obtained through a forged document." I paused.
"That is not complex.
That is a list of charges."
Obi looked at me for a moment.
The smile didn't move.
"Your brother is prepared to cooperate with any investigation," he said.
"He would provide full documentation of every transaction, every instruction he received, every communication.
In exchange for consideration on the forgery charge."
"He wants to trade you for leniency on what he did to my father."
"He wants to survive this," Obi said simply.
"And he believes that offering the larger case is the way to do that."
"And you're here to stop that from happening."
"I'm here to offer you an alternative." He leaned forward slightly.
"The money that moved through that account — none of it harmed your father's company.
The company is healthy.
The employees are safe.
The deal Marcus mentioned to you last night is real and it is good for the business.
If you pursue this aggressively, the investigation will freeze the company's assets, the deal will collapse, and forty people will face uncertainty for months or years while lawyers sort through documents." He paused.
"I am prepared to make you whole.
Your full inheritance, restored, with a premium.
In exchange for a quiet resolution."
I looked at him.
He was good at this.
The voice was reasonable.
The framing was generous.
He had probably sat across from a dozen people in rooms like this and watched them take the number he offered because it was easier than the fight.
"You're bribing me," I said.
"I'm offering a settlement."
"You forged my father's name.
You used his life's work as a financial instrument without his knowledge.
You threatened a twenty-eight-year-old notary into silence." I stood up.
"And you think the thing that will make me go away is money."
Obi's expression didn't change.
But something behind it did.
"Ms.
Reeves." His voice was still smooth, but the warmth was gone.
"You are a lawyer.
You understand that investigations of this nature are long, expensive, and uncertain.
You understand that your brother, if he cooperates, will receive protection that limits what can be proven against others.
You understand that what you have right now is compelling but not complete."
"I have recordings," I said.
"I have documents.
I have a notary with a full statement.
I have a forensic accountant with two years of financial records.
And I have a mother whose signature was obtained under false pretenses, which adds a second forgery count in a second state." I picked up my bag.
"What I don't have is any reason to sit here any longer."
I turned to go.
"Your father owed me money," Obi said behind me.
I stopped.
"Not the company.
Your father personally.
A debt from before the company existed.
From a time you don't know about." His voice was very quiet.
"Marcus found out about it.
That is how this started.
Not with greed.
With an old obligation your father never told you about."
I stood with my back to him.
My father had been honest.
He had been careful.
He had been the kind of man who paid what he owed.
But he had also been young once, before I existed, before the company, before the man I knew.
I turned around.
"If that were true," I said, "my father would have paid it himself.
He would not have let his son forge documents and launder money through his company to settle it."
Obi said nothing.
"You're lying," I said.
"And you're not very good at it."
I walked to the bar and touched Raymond's shoulder.
"We're done," I said.
He stood up without a word and followed me out.
On the sidewalk, he exhaled.
"What did he offer you?"
"Everything," I said.
"Which means he's scared."
My phone was already in my hand.
I dialed the number Carla had given me that morning — the contact at the federal field office she had worked with for years.
It rang twice.
"This is Special Agent Dana Forsythe."
"Agent Forsythe," I said.
"My name is Naomi Reeves.
I'm an attorney in Charleston.
I have recordings, financial records, and a cooperating witness in a money laundering case.
I also have a man named Terrence Obi who just offered me a bribe to make it go away." I paused.
"I'd like to come in this afternoon."
"I can see you at three," she said.
"I'll be there."
I hung up.
Raymond stood beside me on the sidewalk.
"Is it going to be all right?" he said.
I looked down Meeting Street toward the harbor, where the afternoon light was starting to flatten across the water.
May you like
"Ask me again in a week," I said.
But I already knew the answer.
