He nervously clicked the bottom of his pen. “Look, I’m going to level with you. My dad is going to cut off my balls if I don’t get this money back. He told me not to give those guys a penny, and I didn’t listen. He doesn’t even know yet that the money’s gone. Last I heard, they were telling me to go after the original backers in Dubai. He’s gonna kill me.”
I was still trying to wrap my head around $20 million.
I promised Sterling I’d have a draft of the complaint to Leo as soon as I could.
I picked up a salad on my way back to the office and started going over my notes from the meeting. Leo was right: There was no way to file a complaint for breach of contract that would pass muster. We’d been taught in the first year of law school that lawyers have an obligation to only file lawsuits where the facts meet the standard of pleading; otherwise, you get sanctioned, maybe even disbarred. Unless we uncovered some more helpful facts, we weren’t getting close.
I wished Charlie was back so I could complain about the cards being stacked against me on my first assignment for Leo Hirschman. No one could draft a compelling complaint for this client, let alone someone with zero experience.
I lost track of time as I plodded through page after page of sentences that I knew would be ripped apart by the other side’s lawyers. The office felt cold and empty.
“How is it one a.m.?” I muttered. But I was wired. The city was sleepier than I was.
My office line rang, jolting me back to reality.
“Knew I’d find you there,” Charlie said. I smiled and wondered how he knew that I needed a friendly voice.
“You’re manifesting my reality when you call me this late.”
“I don’t know what that means.”
“It means the universe knows you’re going to call, and it makes sure I’m sitting here waiting for the phone to ring.”
Charlie clicked his tongue. “I don’t think you need me to manifest your workaholic lifestyle. Pretty sure you do that all on your own. Anyway, I’d bet a lot of money that whatever’s keeping you at the office this late is better than what I’ve been doing all day.”
“How many pickup trucks did you see today?”
“Let me just paint the whole picture. I landed in some bumfuck town, then drove three hours to some even more Podunk town, where I spent the day in awarehousetrying to find FOIA documents in a filing cabinet that was built when Teddy Roosevelt was president. Then I carriedonebox back to my car and drove thirty minutes to make copies. You can guess what happened next. Meanwhile, you’re going to barbecues in Malibu. I’d ask, ‘Where did I go wrong?’ but I don’t think I can handle the answer right now.”
I smiled at the image of Charlie stuck somewhere in Middle America. “What’s FOY-UH?”
“Freedom of Information Act. Someone mentioned it once during orientation—it’s like the best and worst tool to request government docs. Tax filings and all that stuff. They literally respond with everything under the sun, and you have to wade through the mountains of paper they generously send to find the one thing you actually need.”
“Sounds like an environmental crisis.”
“No shit.”
“Well, thanks for the pick-me-up. I know you don’t believe me, but I needed it.”
“Figured you missed me.”
I nodded silently. “You’d think I’d love having this view to myself, but the truth is, it’s starting to feel a little creepy. Especially late at night.”
Charlie groaned. “Fuck, how is it only Wednesday? My flight back isn’t till tomorrow night. We’re due for a proper catch-up. I want to hear all about LA and this new case and whatever new yoga class you found.”
I hung up and stared at my screen, imagining Charlie in a Midwestern warehouse wading through bureaucratic sludge.FOIA.The acronym felt burned on my brain.
I needed a break from the complaint, so I opened my research document and read through the notes I’d taken on the four movies Sterling invested in. Curious, I typed “Tokyo Summer movie” into Google and clicked the “News” tab. A few reviews popped up at the top of the page. One headline caught my eye: “New Indie Production Shoots NYC’s Chinatown to Pass for Tokyo.” I read the first line of the article: “While New York State may be more tax-credit friendly than Japan, the producers are being crucified for assuming Americans are that stupid ...”
I sighed. Sterling couldn’t have gotten involved with a less legitimate group.
And then it hit me.
I swiveled behind me to the bookshelf where I kept three textbooks and all the books on entertainment law I had bought before law school. I grabbedThe Bizby Schuyler Moore and scanned the table of contents for the tax-credits chapter. It was only a couple of pages long but enough of a refresher to know what I needed to find out.
I grabbed my phone and excitedly texted Charlie.You’re a freaking genius.
Chapter Seventeen
