The Exchange: After The Firm

No one was left but Giovanna. Of course she was the prize, and there would be nothing simple about her destiny.

Mitch, Jack Ruch, and Cory Gallant endured another conference call with Darian at Crueggal. If he told them anything that wasn’t obvious or that they didn’t already know, it was not noted. After the call ended, and Mitch was certain there were no hot mikes or unflipped switches, he asked Jack, “And how much are we paying these guys?”

“A lot.”

“That was another wasted half hour.”

“Not exactly. Bill it to Lannak.”

Mitch looked at Cory and asked, “You still believe in these guys? They’ve produced nothing so far.”

“They’ll come through, Mitch. I think.”

“What’s our next move?”

“We don’t have one. We wait. Until we hear from Giovanna or the bad boys holding her, there’s nothing we can do here.”

Jack asked Mitch, “What’s the latest from the arbitration court?”

“Not much. Nothing really. It’s waiting too. The case is on hold as long as she’s a hostage. Remember, it doesn’t take much to inspire the court to find ways to delay itself.”

“And Luca?”

“I talk to him every day. Some are better than others but he’s hanging on.”

“Okay. Time’s up. Let’s chat again in the morning.”

On May 4, Riley Casey arrived at his office at his usual time of 8:30 A.M. He was the managing partner of Scully’s London office and had been with the firm for almost three decades. Eleven years earlier, he had drawn the short straw and interviewed a young American lawyer in town looking for a job. A law degree from Harvard barely got him in the door. A nimble mind, quick wit, and good looks got him the job, and Mitch joined Scully as a thirty-year-old associate.

Six years after that, Riley hired Giovanna Sandroni, and, like most of the men in the office, had a secret crush on her. Secret but quite professional and, of course, unspoken. Riley was a happily married man who kept his pants on; otherwise, he would have already made a fool of himself. Having hired her, at Luca’s quiet behest, he was watching with great pride as she developed into a fine lawyer, one who would probably run the entire firm one day.

Before he could have a drink of his morning coffee, his secretary entered without a word and handed over her cell phone. On the screen, the message read: “Unknown Caller. Tell Riley to check spam.”

He looked at the screen, looked at her. Something wasn’t right, and given the suffocating pressure around the office since Giovanna’s abduction, every little aberration was treated cautiously. He motioned for her to walk around to his side of his desk. They looked at his large desktop computer. He went to spam, then clicked on an email from an unknown sender that had landed eleven minutes earlier. Both recoiled in disbelief.

On the screen was a large black-and-white photo of Giovanna, sitting in a chair, wearing a black robe and a black hijab that covered everything but her face. She was neither smiling nor frowning. She was holding a newspaper, the morning edition of Ta Nea, “The News” in Greek, and the largest daily in the country. Riley enlarged it and the date became readable — May 4, 2005. That very morning. The lead story was a farmers’ strike and there was a photo of a row of tractors blocking a highway. Nothing about Giovanna, at least not on the front page above the fold.

Riley said, “You call tech and I’ll call security.”

Cory knew Mitch was an early riser, so he let him sleep until five-thirty before calling. Seconds later, Mitch was in the kitchen. First, he punched the ON button for the coffeepot, then he quickly opened his laptop. His first thought was, At least she’s alive.

Cory said, “The Greek newspaper is validated, everything is as it seems. It’s sold in Tripoli, but you have to know where to look. They picked up a copy of today’s edition early this morning, took the photo, and sent it to London. As far as we can tell, it was not sent anywhere else.”

“And no message from the sender?”

“Not a word.”

Mitch took a drink of coffee and tried to clear his head.

Cory asked, “You think you should tell Luca?”

“Yes. I’ll call Roberto.”

The following morning, the news out of Athens was far more ominous. At 3:47 A.M., according to the alarm system, a bomb blew up in the mail room of the offices of Scully & Pershing, in the central business section of the city. Since no one was at work at that hour, there were no injuries. The bomb maker included incendiary combustibles designed not to knock down walls, but rather to spread fire, and an impressive one raced through the suite. With only four lawyers in Athens, it was one of Scully’s smallest outposts, and their offices were engulfed and destroyed before the firemen arrived. The flames spread along the third floor as smoke poured out of the building from broken windows. Two hours after the alarm went off, the fire was contained and put out. By sunrise, the firemen were rolling up their hoses and retreating, though the cleanup would take days.