"This is a most unusual case you have, Mrs. Phillips. In fact, I don't think I've ever seen such a case before. I am not sure that I am the best lawyer to represent you."
The blonde woman sitting before C. Bigelow's desk gripped her purse tightly as she spoke.
"I know it's very unusual, Mr. Bigelow. And I know you've never handled a case like this before. But my . . . research. . . indicates that your peers haven't either. Your unusual background in both criminal and matrimonial law makes me believe you are the right lawyer to represent me. That and your reputation for absolute discretion, on which I am relying. "
"You can rely on my discretion, Mrs. Phillips. Absolutely and without question." He crossed his large hands on his desktop and looked seriously at the distraught woman. "Before I agree to take this case – " he held up a hand as she sat up and started to speak – "and I haven't agreed to do that, you understand." She nodded. He glanced at her purse, mildly surprised to see she hadn't torn it apart yet. "Be aware that you may not like my advice. You would be paying me for my expertise. Not to agree with you. Do you understand?"
She nodded. "Yes, completely."
"Very well. Let me review the facts as I know them." She nodded again.
"And Mrs. Phillips?" She looked up at his serious tone.
"I need the truth from you, however embarrassing or unpleasant it might be." He frowned at her expression. "The truth. All of it. I assure you, I am neither an innocent nor a fool. If I choose to represent you, I have to know everything. And I mean everything."
She looked down for a moment before answering. "Alright, Mr. Bigelow. Everything. But it's not pretty."
"No one consults a lawyer about pretty things, Mrs. Phillips. Now, let's get down to business. James Santana is suing you for spousal support, even though you and he were never married. Correct?"
"Yes. We are not married."
"But you have lived together as man and wife for some time now. Is that also correct?"
She looked directly at him, almost daring him to comment. "Yes. That is true."
He faced her direct gaze for a moment. "Good. Telling me the truth now means there won't be any surprises in court later. Now. He claims that you and he have had a meretricious relationship. In the law, that means your relationship has been marital in nature, but not on paper. In layman's terms, your relationship was equivalent to marriage, and therefore, he claims he is entitled to the rights and benefits of a husband, including division of assets. Am I correct when I saw that he brought no assets to this relationship, and that all the money was yours?"
"Yes. My late husband was a wealthy man and left me very well-off. And no, Jim had no assets at all."
"In fact. . . just a moment while I look at this . . . in fact, Mr. Santana is a felon, having served seven years for armed robbery. Apparently not a very successful thief, since he was, in effect, destitute when you entered into a relationship with him. Is that also correct?"
"Yes, it is. I was what I suppose would be called vulnerable. I knew his history, but he was very charming and . . . well, what can I tell you? I thought I was in love."
"And this is the 'discretion' part, am I right?" She nodded again. "His lawyer says that Mr. Santana is without funds and, as a convicted criminal, unlikely to find gainful employment, and that his only way to earn a gainful living is to sell his story to the newspapers. He apparently believes that his former association with the Devil's Hole Gang, especially Hannibal Heyes and Kid Curry, would make his story very attractive to the sensation-seeking press. Is that what was communicated to you?"
"Yes, Mr. Cameron. Jim likes to think of himself as more than the petty criminal he is. He claims he not only led the Devil's Hole Gang, but recruited Hannibal Heyes and mentored him."
"So, if you agree to an 'equitable division of property', Santana will go away and never bother you again. But, if you refuse his proposal, he will be forced sell his story to the press, thereby creating a scandal from which your reputation will never recover. This meretricious relationship will either cost you your reputation, or quite a lot of money. You'd like to keep both but lose him. Is that right?"
"Mr. Bigelow, I knew you would understand. Put simply, yes. I want him to go away, at the smallest possible cost to me. This is extortion. Ideally, I would like to keep both my money and my reputation, and get him out of my life as quickly and painlessly as possible."
"Thank you for your honesty, Mrs. Phillips. Now I will speak to you honestly. I do not see how you can do both. Yes, it could be defined as extortion. You could possibly make out a criminal complaint against him. But if you do, the entire story will come out in court. Your reputation would be ruined, utterly and forever. He would sell his story, and you would lose everything."
She began to cry, soundlessly. He was used to waiting out that sort of scene.
"Is he telling the truth when he says he met you at Devil's Hole? And that you hired Hannibal Heyes to bring you there, all so that you could take revenge on a former lover?"
"I . . . Does any of that really matter?"
"No, I suppose not. Not after you've cohabited with a felon for years."
"That's very harsh, Mr. Bigelow."
"I'm very sorry if your feelings are hurt, ma'am. It's my job to present the facts to you, without regard to feelings. And the fact is, unless somebody shoots him, you will have to pay him to make him go away."
She stood up suddenly, surprising him. He pushed the leather chair back and stood as well.
"I thank you so much, Mr. Bigelow, for your time and your advice. I will consider everything you have said and get back to you."
"Mrs. Phillips. Please think about what I've said. I strongly urge you to take action before it is too late."
"Oh I will, Mr. Bigelow, I will. And please, don't be concerned. You never know when a miracle will happen." Smiling brightly, she closed the door quietly behind her.
Bigelow sat down again, slowly. That remark about miracles bothered him. He thought to himself, you don't suppose she meant. . . nah. . . . couldn't happen. He shook his head to clear it. A society woman like that probably hasn't even touched a gun in her whole life.