The Legal Letter
1862 Words
9:00 AM.
Eleanor’s office.
No windows.
Just law books and a plant that was somehow still alive.
On her desk: 12 envelopes.
Heavy paper. Ashford Foundation letterhead.
My signature on every one.
“These go out today,” she said.
“What are they?”
“Demand letters,” she said. “Repayment.30 days. Or we sue.”
I picked one up.
Dr. Hale. Texas. $5M.
“Boat guy,” I said.
“Boat guy,” Eleanor confirmed.
She looked at me.
“Can you handle what comes next?”
“What comes next.”
“Angry phone calls. Threats. Lawyers.”
“Yes,” I said.
“Good,” she said. “Because they’re going to call you. Not me. Not Lucien. You.”
I nodded.
“Send them.”
---
My Office.
Lucien was already there.
On the floor.
File open.
Highlighter in his mouth.
“You look like a lawyer,” I said.
“I was a lawyer for 10 minutes,” he said. “Hated it.”
He spit the highlighter out.
“Letters go out today?”
“Yes.”
“Can I help?”
“You already did,” I said. “You told me who to send them to.”
He stopped.
“I’m sorry you have to be the bad guy.”
“I’m not the bad guy,” I said. “They are.”
“I know,” he said. “Doesn’t mean it’s easy.”
He stood.
Came around the desk.
“Can I hold your hand while you do it?”
“Yes.”
So he did.
While I signed.
All 12.
Maya Carter.
Committee Chair, Grant Oversight.
---
11:30 AM. First Call.
Unknown number.
I answered on speaker.
“Dr. Carter?”
“Yes.”
“This is Dr. Armitage. From Ohio.”
“I know.”
“You can’t do this,” he said. “That money was a gift.”
“No,” I said. “It was a grant. With terms.You broke them.”
“We needed those bleachers,” he said.
“The grant was for archives,” I said.
“Listen, Lucien always—”
“Lucien doesn’t sign anymore,” I said. “I do.”
Silence.
Then he hung up.
Lucien exhaled.
“You were good.”
“I was factual,” I said.
---
1:00 PM. Lunch.
We ate at my desk.
Sandwiches.
No talking.
Phone buzzed.
Eleanor.:Hale’s lawyer called.Wants to settle. Wants to talk to you.
Me: Fine. 3 PM.
Lucien saw it.
“Hale,” he said.
“Yes.”
“Can I be there?”
“No,” I said. “This is mine.”
“Okay,” he said. “Can I wait outside?”
“Yes.”
---
3:00 PM. The Call.
Conference room.
Just me.
Phone in the middle of the table.
It rang.
I answered.
“Dr. Carter. This is Marcus Hale, Attorney for Dr. James Hale.”
“Okay.”
“My client is prepared to return 60% of the funds. Over 5 years. No admission of wrongdoing.”
I leaned back.
“No.”
“Excuse me?”
“No,” I said. “100%. In 90 days. Or we sue for fraud and go to the press.”
He laughed.
“You don’t want to do that.
It’ll look bad for the foundation.”
“It’ll look worse for him,” I said. “He bought a boat.”
“You can’t prove—”
“I have the receipts,” I said. “From the marina. And photos. And his Instagram.”
Silence.
“I’ll call you back,” he said.
Hung up.
My hands were shaking.
I didn’t show it.
---
3:10 PM. Hallway.
Lucien was pacing.
Saw me.
Stopped.
“Well?”
“They’ll call back,” I said.
“And?”
“And we’ll take 100% or we sue.”
He pulled me into him.
“Can I kiss you?”
“Now?”
“Yes.”
“Yes.”
He did.
Quick.
In the hallway.
Like he needed to.
“Proud of you,” he said.
“Don’t,” I said.
“Don’t what.”
“Don’t make it a thing. I just did my job.”
“That’s what makes it a thing,” he said.
---
5:00 PM. The Email.
From: m.hale@halelaw.com
Subject: Settlement
Dr. Carter,
My client will return 100% of funds within 90 days. No lawsuit. No press. Please confirm.
I forwarded it to Eleanor.
She replied in 2 minutes.
Accepted. Good work.
I closed my laptop.
Lucien was watching me.
“We won the first one,” I said.
“I know,” he said.
---
7:30 PM. Home.
Takeout again.
On the floor.
File open.
But we weren’t working.
Not yet.
“Can I ask you something?” Lucien said.
“What.”
“Are you scared of them?”
“Who.”
“Them. The frauds. The lawyers.”
“No,” I said. “I’m scared of messing up the ones
who actually need the money.”
“That’s why you won’t,” he said.
He reached over.
Took my hand.
“I never thought anyone would care this much
about fixing my mess.”
“I do,” I said.
“I know,” he said.
---
8:00 AM.
3 voicemails.
All angry.
All from lawyers.
1 email.
From Dr. Singh in California.
I can’t pay it all. Can we do a payment plan?I’m sorry.
I called him.
Not his lawyer. Him.
“Dr. Singh.”
“Dr. Carter.”
“Talk to me.”
“I made a mistake,” he said. “I was behind on the mortgage. I thought I’d pay it back before anyone noticed.”
“You didn’t,” I said.
“No,” he said. “I’m sorry.”
I was quiet.
“Can you pay 50% in 90 days?”
“Yes.”
“And the rest in a year?”
“Yes.”
“Okay,” I said. “But you’re banned from future grants.
And you write a letter to the board.
Explaining what you did.”
“Yes,” he said. “Thank you.”
I hung up.
Lucien was watching.
“What?”
“Mercy,” I said.
“With teeth,” he said.
---
11:00 AM. Eleanor’s Office.
She had the newspaper.
Business section.
Small article.
Ashford Foundation Launches Audit of Prior Grants,
New oversight committee led by Dr. Maya Carter.
No names.
No fraud details.
Yet.
“Good,” Eleanor said. “Controlled. Lets them know we’re serious without burning everything down.”
She looked at me.
“Whitmore is calling people. Saying you’re a puppet.”
“Let him,” I said.
“Can you handle it?”
“Yes,” I said.
---
2:00 PM. The Threat.
Certified mail.
From Dr. Hale’s lawyer.
Cease and desist.
Defamation.
We will sue.
I read it twice.
Set it down.
Called Eleanor.
She read it over the phone.
“Standard,” she said. “Ignore it.
We have the receipts.”
“Okay,” I said.
Lucien was in my office when I got back.
Saw the letter on my desk.
Picked it up.
Read it.
His jaw tightened.
“Can I—”
“No,” I said. “You can’t fight it for me.”
“I know,” he said. “Doesn’t mean I don’t want to.”
He set it down.
“Can I make you dinner tonight?”
“Yes,” I said.
“Good,” he said. “You need real food.”
---
6:00 PM. His Place.
First time I’d been there.
Not the foundation.
His place.
Small.
Clean.
Books everywhere.
No photos.
He was cooking.
Pasta.
Simple.
I sat at the counter.
Watched him.
“Can I help?”
“You’re helping by sitting,” he said.
We ate at the table.
No file.
No phone.
He reached across the table.
Took my hand.
“What.”
“I’m scared too,” he said.
“Of what.”
“Of losing you to this. To the anger. To the work.”
“You won’t,” I said.
“How do you know.”
“Because you’re here,” I said. “And I’m here. And we’re doing it together.”
He nodded.
“Okay,” he said.
---
9:00 PM. Back at my apartment.
File on the table.
But we didn’t open it.
We sat on the couch.
He was reading.
I was leaning on him.
Phone buzzed.
Unknown number.
I ignored it.
It buzzed again.
Text.
Dr. Carter. This is Hale.
We can talk. Without lawyers.
I showed Lucien.
He read it.
“Your call,” he said.
I typed back.Tomorrow. 10 AM. My office.
No lawyers.
Sent.
Lucien set his book down.
“Can I stay tonight?”
“You always stay.”
“I know,” he said. “Can I stay in bed?”
“Yes,” I said.
---
Day 200. 10:00 AM. My Office.
Dr. Hale.
No lawyer.
Just him.
Older. Tired.
He sat.
Didn’t look at me.
“I messed up,” he said.
“I know,” I said.
“I have the money,” he said. “Most of it.
I sold the boat.”
“Good,” I said.
“I’m sorry,” he said.
“Don’t be sorry to me,” I said. “Be sorry to the
researchers who didn’t get funding because of you.”
He nodded.
“I will,” he said.
“I’ll have the transfer by Friday,” he said.
“Okay,” I said. “And the letter to the board.”
“Yes,” he said.
He stood.
“Can I ask you something?”
“What.”
“Why are you doing this?”
“Because someone has to,” I said.
He nodded.
Left.
Lucien came in 30 seconds later.
“How’d it go?”
“He’s paying,” I said.
“All of it?”
“All of it.”
Lucien exhaled.
“Can I hug you?”
“Yes.”
He did.
Long.
---
12:00 PM. Eleanor.
She called.
“Hale paid.”
“I know,” I said.
“Two more lawyers called,” she said. “Want to settle.”
“Good,” I said.
“You’re good at this,” she said.
“I’m just doing it,” I said.
“That’s what good looks like,” she said.
---
7:00 PM. Home.
File closed.
For now.
Lucien was making tea.
I was on the floor.
Back against the couch.
He handed me tea.
Sat next to me.
“Can I tell you something?”
“What.”
“I think we’re going to be okay.”
“Yeah,” I said. “I think so too.”
He leaned his head on mine.
“Can I kiss you?”
“You always ask.”
“I like asking,” he said.
“Okay,” I said.
He did.
Slow.
Like we had time.
Like the threats didn’t matter.
Because tonight, they didn’t.
- Writer
