Chapter 41 — No Material Misrepresentation

_February 26, 1984, Chicago, Illinois_

{psc} "You made her day when you offered to allow her to showcase your condo."

"It's the least I could do, given the rules say I can't pay her."

"No, but she wants to repay you for your offer! You can imagine how!"

I chuckled, "Good to know, but not necessary."

"Of course not, and it wasn't you who suggested it or, worse, demanded it."

"I take it that happens?"

"Seriously, Jonathan? Where do you work?"

"Never mind. Of course it happens."

I excused myself and went up to my room so I could place my weekly call to my mom.

"Hi, Mom!" I said when she answered.

"Hi, Jonathan. Have you heard from Bev at all?"

"No, and I don't expect to."

"She filed a lawsuit against her parents to get Heather back. They were served late on Friday afternoon."

"Wonderful. Right now, I think it's best for Heather if she stays with Jim and Julie, at least until Bev gets her act together. I have no doubt Family Court will do the right thing. But I didn't call to talk about Bev. How is Judge Pierce?"

"You can call him Mitchell outside his courtroom!"

"I hope to never be inside his courtroom!"

Mom laughed, "Good point. We're doing fine, but nobody is printing wedding invitations just yet."

"Just be happy, Mom. That's what matters."

"How are you doing?"

"OK. I had a very good talk with Deanna yesterday, and between her, Bianca, Violet, and Beth, I'm working on getting my feelings in some semblance of order."

"That balm won't work, Jonathan."

"Given I was referring to having deep conversations about life, not what you were implying, I'd say it will."

"Sorry; I shouldn't have said that."

"Apology accepted. And how do YOU know it won't work?"

Mom laughed, "What? You don't trust my extensive experience with relationships?"

"Considering you didn't date from the time you signaled the stork to bring me until after I left home, no!"

"You're a brat!"

"I try," I chuckled.

We chatted for another five minutes, and after we ended the call, I went downstairs to hang out with my housemates until bedtime.

_February 27, 1984, Chicago, Illinois_

My phone rang just before 11:00am on Monday.

"Research, Kane."

"Mr. Kane? Please hold for Thomas Hart."

He was on the line about ten seconds later.

"Good morning, Jonathan."

"Good morning, Mr. Hart. What can I do for you?"

"Are you free for lunch tomorrow?"

"I am."

"Let's meet in my offices at 12:15pm. I'll have lunch brought in."

I considered asking the agenda, but given I had asked Violet to set up meetings with all of my clients, I decided to wait to see what he had to say face-to-face. I was reasonably sure there were no problems, as individual partners and associates were continuing to add to their accounts on a monthly basis, and the pension fund deposit had been received on the 15th.

"I'll see you then," I said.

I ended the call just as a building engineer arrived to install the fasteners in my office so I could hang 'Cherry Blossom' and 'Rising Sun'. He worked quickly, and then Violet and I hung the paintings before joining Bianca for lunch. After we ate, the three of us went to the gym.

During the afternoon, I spent time analyzing the precious metals market, then called in Tony, Steve Mansour from the Commodities team, and Scott Moreland from the FX/Banking team for a discussion.

"The model from the data analytics team predicts gold will fall precipitously. It's rising at the moment. Thoughts?"

"Those models are like Voodoo," Scott said. "Change the input parameters slightly, and you get completely disparate results."

"They've been back-tested and are reasonably accurate," I countered.

"Sure, but that's true of every economic model ever developed in history. They're great at predicting the past, but they're no better than throwing darts at a board for the future. They're like gambling systems that appear to work but are statistically unsound."

"The fundamentals actually support a fairly significant drop," Steve said. "The odds of a rate hike are fairly high, which means a move out of equities and into fixed-income products, especially Treasury instruments. I'm sure you've seen Joel's prediction on fixed income rates for the next twelve months. Gold is rising now, but nothing, and I mean nothing, supports that except Reagan jawboning the Fed."

"That's going no place," Tony said firmly. "In fact, everyone here agrees Volcker is going to tighten, not loosen. Fundamentally, the only way to fight inflation is to choke off borrowing and reduce the amount of money in circulation.

"The idea that inflation results from rising prices is mass delusion on an epic scale. We all know that rising prices are a _result_ of inflation, with too many dollars chasing too few goods. That's a result of an expansion of the money supply through fractional reserve banking. Treasury doesn't need to print money to expand the money supply; they just need to cut interest rates to encourage borrowing and ensure the banks have money to lend.

"For every dollar Treasury prints or the Fed lends, the banks can lend $9 and stay within the reserve requirements. The average person thinks that if a bank had $10,000 in deposits and a 10% reserve, they could lend $9,000, but we all know they can lend $90,000, creating $80,000 out of thin air."

"Listen to the gold bug!" Scott said with a grin.

"You know better than that!" Tony countered. "None of us here supports a gold standard, but that doesn't change the facts about fiat currencies and fractional reserve banking."

"Does anyone think the fundamentals support the current gold price?" I asked.

"No," they all said.

"And everyone agrees Volcker is going to tighten?"

"Yes," they all agreed.

"Target price for December?"

"$950," Tony said.

"$910," Scott said.

"$890," Steve said.

"I'd say Scott's middle number is a good target price for tomorrow's analyst report. And I'll point out that it's right in the middle of the $900-$920 projection from Steve Smith's most recent model."

"Even a blind squirrel finds a nut now and again!" Scott said with a smile.

"Scott," I said, "I know you don't trust the models but don't totally discount them. They are simply one tool in our toolbox. And so far, they've been right more than they've been wrong. Thanks guys. Let's get that revised price target into the morning report."

"You're going to trade now, right?"

"Tomorrow morning, after we publish the report," I said. "I'll sell December gold and silver and cover with December call options. The slide will start once Volcker announces the next set of rate hikes. Thanks, guys."

They left, and I made notes about the moves I'd make on Tuesday morning. Just after the markets closed, Noel Spurgeon came to see the additional paintings.

"Margolis is beside himself," he said. "I told him we hung those paintings in our Research Department."

I laughed, "I can see how that would annoy him! Does he know I work for you?"

"I didn't mention it to him, so if you didn't, I doubt it. Our two firms have a different focus — they're M&A and IPO advisors, and we're active traders. Our paths cross occasionally, but I know him socially, and, as I said, the competition goes back to Wharton."

"Mind if I ask how the competition started?"

"Over a girl. I won, of course, and he's never forgotten that an underclassman beat him."

"What do you want me to do?"

"Let me know when your friend is going to show him the artwork. I'll decide by then. She'll do what you ask, right?"

"So long as it's not detrimental to her, yes. And you know I won't ask her to do anything like that."

"I'll let you know. Any progress on finding opportunities?"

"You'll see it in tomorrow's analyst report, but we're predicting gold to fall about 20% by the end of the year. I'll make my moves after the report is published in the morning."

"Thanks. That'll keep the natives from getting too restless. How sure are you?"

"The models and the analysts all agree within a $60 range — $890 to $950; current price is about $1155."

"What's your number?"

"I agree with the model's low end — $900; we're going with a consensus of $910 for the report."

"You're that confident that Volcker will tighten despite Reagan pressuring him to loosen?"

"I am not uncertain."

"I agree. Interest rates have come down by a third, and housing starts have taken off, which is a sign of an overheating economy and too much money sloshing around."

"That's our analysis as well."

"Keep up the good work, Kane. These two new pieces are very good."

"Unfortunately, her productivity is limited by the mandatory work she has to do for her classes, which isn't in her usual style."

"Dad?" Samantha said, coming into the office. "Cheryl said you were looking at paintings. Can I see?"

"Those two there," he said, pointing to the new paintings. "There are four more in the analyst bullpen. I need to go upstairs. Come back when you're done."

"OK."

He left, and Samantha stood with her hands on her hips, looking at the paintings.

"It's just a bunch of colors," she observed.

"Yes, but the six paintings tell two stories. These two are about my wife, who was Japanese-American. The one on the left is 'Rising Sun', and you can see how the reds, yellows, and oranges radiate from the center, with shades of blue representing the sky and sea. The other one is 'Cherry Blossom' and is meant to evoke memories of Japan."

"Your wife died?"

"Yes."

"Oh. What about the other paintings?"

"They're about the stock market and precious metals market. Let's go see them."

I explained the paintings to an increasingly disinterested eight-year-old, but given she was Noel Spurgeon's daughter, I was going to do my best to keep her happy.

"When's your birthday?" I asked.

"April 14th. I'll be eight."

"Do you know what you want to do when you grow up?"

"Run Spurgeon Capital! Girls can do anything boys can do!"

I couldn't imagine a more earth-shattering event than a woman taking over at Spurgeon. I also couldn't envision Noel Spurgeon ever allowing that.

"I agree with you," I said.

"Dad says you're the hottest new trader here. I agree!"

"Thank you," I said, trying hard not to laugh at the blatant flirting from a not-quite-eight-year-old girl.

"Thanks for showing me the paintings."

"You're welcome."

She left, and I returned to my office to finish out my day. After work, I joined Deanna for dinner at Sixty-Five Chinese.

"I'm taking Natasha to the condo tomorrow afternoon," Deanna said after we sat down with our food, which we'd ordered at the counter.

"Sounds good."

"Can I ask you a hypothetical question?"

"I'd say after yesterday, you absolutely don't need to ask if you can ask."

"Do you think Natasha is attractive?"

"Ask the _real_ question!"

Deanna laughed, "Would you fuck her?"

"She's attractive in a nerdy librarian sort of way."

"She doesn't need the glasses — they have clear lenses. She started wearing them in High School on the theory that 'men seldom make passes at girls who wear glasses'."

"I missed that one."

"It's attributed to Dorothy Parker, a writer and poet from the 1920s through 1960s. Natasha was sick of guys assuming an artist would have sex at the drop of a hat, and she was being hit on by anyone and everyone who saw her art — mostly drawings with colored pencils. The glasses were self-defense."

"Does that actually work?"

"In part by making her look more intelligent, which for a whole class of guys is a turn-off. Think about all those clowns you work with. Do they hire secretaries for their intelligence?"

"No, but every once in a while, they make a mistake and hire someone like Anna. Usually, they're more like Mia – girls with the most exciting mammalian protuberances."

"Nice Zappa quote!" Deanna declared. "I didn't know you were a Zappa fan."

"Jack is. We listened to tapes of _Joe's Garage_ in the car on the way to work back when he moved in. That album was pretty outrageous!"

"That was the point, really. The theme is about censorship and a totalitarian state. Think about the things we hear from politicians about music needing ratings to 'protect' us. Those same idiots would censor the painting of you and Bianca. Back to my question…"

"I'm curious why you're asking."

"You are not that dense!"

"She mentioned it again, which indicated to you that she not only offered but wants to."

"I knew you were intelligent!"

"Yeah, yeah," I chuckled. "But if she's concerned about guys assuming she'll have sex and hitting on her for sex, it doesn't make sen…wait! _She_ is asking, not me, which makes all the difference in the world."

"Well, well, well," Deanna teased. "He has a clue!"

"And she's not saying it directly to me because she knows about Keiko, so she doesn't want to come off as insensitive or as offering a sympathy screw."

"Now, all kidding aside, I'm actually impressed."

"I think the answer is that I still need to work through everything we discussed on Saturday, and at least for the short term, just be with you when we can find the time."

"That makes sense."

We finished our meal then walked to the Art Institute. Claire saw us and asked me to step into her office.

"I decided to change things up slightly," she said. "Will your slacks stay up without the suspenders on your shoulders?"

"If I'm not moving around, they should. Why?"

"I was thinking tonight we'd have you bare-chested and Alexa wearing just her panties standing behind you and slightly to the side with one hand on your chest and one on your stomach. Let's try it with the suspenders hanging down and see if it works."

"OK," I agreed.

"I'll step out; you can hang your suit jacket, shirt, and tie in the closet there. Take off your undershirt if you wear one. You can wear the robe to walk next door if you want, but nobody will file a complaint for a topless man walking down the hall."

"That sounds sexist and discriminatory," I said with a silly smile.

Claire laughed, "It is, but we live in a nation ruled by prudes and nags who have no sense of humor. Have you heard about the parody of Jerry Falwell printed in _Hustler_?"

"The one that implied Falwell had sex with his mom?" I asked. "If so, only from the news report."

"That's the one. Parody is protected by the First Amendment, no matter what the Puritans in government think. Hopefully, Flynt will win, though I expect it'll go to the Supreme Court. I suspect you also know about George Carlin being arrested and the decision that allowed his skits to be played on the radio."

"Vaguely," I replied. "I've heard the skit on cassette."

"Anyway, I'll leave you to change."

She left, closing the door behind her, but about five seconds later, there was a knock, and a few seconds after that, Alexa came in.

"You don't mind, right?" she asked.

"It's not like we're not going to see each other in the studio!"

"True, but some people are reluctant to undress with other people around if it's not about sex."

I shrugged, "It doesn't bother me if it doesn't bother you."

She stripped down to her black bikini panties, and I removed my suit coat, pushed my suspenders from my shoulders, and removed my shirt and t-shirt. I put on my robe while Alexa put on her robe and a pair of slippers, and we left the office. We walked the short distance down the hall and into the studio.

We removed our robes, and Claire directed us into position. Alexa moved close behind me, and I felt her breast push into my back as she put one hand on my chest and the other very low on my stomach.

"Nice muscle tone," she said quietly.

"Thanks."

She tightened her embrace just a bit and slid her left hand down so that her pinky was just barely inside the waist of my slacks. I was surprised that it didn't cause a reaction, but for some reason, it didn't feel like a sexual advance, even though it was meant to imply one.

Two hours later, when the session ended, Alexa and I returned to Claire's office to dress, and then Deanna and I left the building.

"I have a key to Sophie's and Ivy's dorm room," Deanna said. "They'll be out until 11:00pm. Interested?"

"Yes."

_February 28, 1984, Chicago, Illinois_

"Jonathan Kane to see Thomas Hart," I said to the gorgeous blonde receptionist at Hart-Lincoln when I arrived for lunch on Tuesday.

"He's expecting you, Mr. Kane. Chloé will be here in a moment to escort you in."

"Thank you."

"My condolences for your loss."

"Thank you."

She placed a call, and less than a minute later, Chloé, a gorgeous brunette, came to escort me to Mr. Hart's office. It seemed to me that Spurgeon and Hart-Lincoln had similar hiring criteria, as every secretary was drop-dead gorgeous, though Nelson had made the point that there were no shenanigans similar to the ones at Spurgeon.

"Good afternoon, Jonathan," Thomas Hart said when I was shown into his lavish office.

"Good afternoon, Mr. Hart."

"Tom, please."

We shook hands.

"Come sit at the table," he offered. "I have roast beef sandwiches from Jason's Deli."

We moved to a beautiful cherrywood table and sat down. I opened the wrapping of the huge roast beef sandwich, opened the bag of chips, and finally, the bottle of San Pellegrino.

"First," Tom said, "I need to offer my condolences."

"Thank you. I received notice of your generous gift to the Leukemia Society in Keiko's name. I'm very grateful."

"You're welcome. I want to congratulate you on the returns you earned for us last year. The partners are extremely happy."

"Thank you again."

"My main reason for inviting you here is to discuss some high-net-worth individuals we represent and how we'd go about ensuring absolute privacy."

"Spurgeon Capital does not disclose any information, except as required by law, to anyone without written permission from the client. That's why your firm is not listed in my marketing material. To my knowledge, we've never had a leak. Obviously, a trust could be used to shield individual names, though Legal and Compliance would need to see the trust documents. I suspect there are other legal structures you could use, but I don't know enough to comment on that."

"If I were to set up a meeting, who would know?"

"Initially? Just me and possibly my assistant, who I trust implicitly, or I wouldn't have hired her. After that, it depends on the structure and what Compliance and Legal need to know to properly vet the client. May I inquire as to how much we're talking?"

"Around $40,000,000."

That would take my AUM to over $150 million and my annual income north of $300,000, not counting my share of the carried interest or any bonus.

"OK. Have whoever is coördinating on your side contact my administrative assistant, Violet Clemmons. She keeps my calendar, and she'll exercise complete discretion."

"Would you send over four copies of the prospectus and a copy of your audited earnings report?"

"I have five copies in my bag," I said.

I reached into my satchel and handed them to him.

"I see you planned ahead," Thomas Hart observed.

"I wasn't sure of the purpose of the meeting, so I grabbed a few extra copies on my way out. If we do close the deal, I'd like to offer gift certificates for two to Smith & Wollensky for you and each of the individuals."

"Thank you. Now that the business part is out of the way, I have a personal matter I'd like to discuss. Nothing you say from this point on will have any bearing on our business."

There was only one possible topic — Kayleigh. I had to be exceedingly careful how I answered any questions, as I didn't want to violate her privacy, nor did I want to piss off Thomas Hart, despite his assurances.

"I'm not sure how much I can say," I replied.

"I knew you were smart enough to figure out what I was talking about."

"I think the simplest, most straightforward answer is that I'm an atheist, and your granddaughter is a devout Catholic. I don't believe there is sufficient room for compromise, given the requirements of the Catholic Church."

"I'm an atheist as well," Thomas Hart said. "Let me ask you this question – if someone is spouting arrant nonsense about non-existent beings, what exactly is your obligation to lift a finger to further their spinning of fairy tales?"

"I agree with you in principle, but, and this is jumping the gun, there are promises that have to be made."

"Not by you."

"I'm sorry, but that's not my understanding."

"The _Catholic_ spouse has to commit to raising any children in the Catholic Church. The non-Christian spouse simply has to acknowledge that promise. That's it."

"You're sure about that?"

"Positive. My wife is Catholic, my daughter is Catholic, my son-in-law was raised Lutheran, and my granddaughters are Catholic. My son-in-law goes to church twice a year with my daughter and granddaughters, and you can rest assured he doesn't agree with that Roman claptrap."

"There are other concerns," I countered.

"Always. Look, I'm not telling you to ask my granddaughter to marry you, but I am going to bat for her. If you can compromise, so can she. If not, then she has no right to complain or be depressed. I've said my piece, and we'll never discuss this again unless you bring it up. I hear from Nelson you bought a condo in the Hancock Center."

"I did, but I'm not moving yet. I'm having an interior design student from the School of the Art Institute develop a plan to decorate and furnish it."

"Smart move! Someone young, who'll have a similar eye, but also won't charge you the kind of fees interior designers would charge for a remake of a condo in that building."

"I'm curious, but what would a top designer cost?"

"Anywhere from $30 to $100 grand, depending on the designer and what you need."

"Top to bottom, except floors and appliances, for a six-bedroom townhouse style condo."

"Then closer to the high end for a top New York or Chicago designer, and it might be months before they had time for you, or they'd take the engagement and slough off the work on junior designers, so you'd get the same as you are, but also paying through the nose."

"I might be going out on a limb, but isn't that what you do with legal work?"

Thomas Hart laughed, "A good point, though most legal work is actually routine, not creative. You may not know this because Nelson isn't a litigator, but litigators only spend about 5% of their time in trials. Most of it is briefs and what we call 'motions practice', arguing fine points of the law before you even get to the merits of the case. And, in the end, almost everything is settled and doesn't go to trial."

"Is that true for criminal defense, too?"

"More go to trial, but in many cases, we negotiate plea agreements because they provide certainty to both our client and the government. Juries, civil or criminal, are notoriously unpredictable. I've seen what appear to be slam dunk cases for the government result in verdicts of 'not guilty' and clients who were obviously innocent convicted."

"Are you saying innocent people take plea deals?"

"Yes, especially if it ensures no jail or prison time and the government has enough circumstantial evidence to appear credible, or, to be blunt, has witnesses who will hurt them, even though the testimony is, let's call it, inaccurate."

"May I ask a legal question?"

"Given what we discussed earlier that I won't bring up again, I can't see how I could say 'no'."

I explained the situation with Heather, the document I'd signed, and the fact that Bev had filed a custody lawsuit.

"You're right that it's a technical violation, but I don't think there is any significant risk. That's not zero, mind you. Given the circumstances, no prosecutor is going to bring criminal charges against you. You didn't fill out the document, the FBI told Border Patrol you were the father, Bev didn't correct them when she had the opportunity, you had legal guardianship, and you delivered the child to her grandparents. That's a loser case that no US Attorney is going to give two seconds of thought.

"That leaves us with the SEC. First, someone would need to file a complaint or make a referral because there is no way they know anything at all about this. If someone does tell them, they'll notify you, and you bring the letter to me. Show it to nobody else, and I'll make it go away with not even a reprimand."

"I believe you, but you need to know that the SEC has been looking at Spurgeon for _anything_, including a minor technical violation."

"That's true of every firm, believe it or not. And in this case, you didn't make a _material_ misrepresentation. In other words, what you signed had exactly zero impact on the outcome. You had a legal right to take the child into your custody and, as her guardian, the legal right to place her in the care of her grandparents. Therefore, the Border Patrol writing 'father' on the form and you signing it literally had no material effect, and that means there is no violation. You behaved ethically and honestly, broke no laws, and ensured the best interest of the child. I don't normally guarantee outcomes, but in this case, I can safely do it."

"Thanks."

"I'll be in touch about those potential investors."

"I appreciate that."

We shook hands, he walked me to reception, and I headed back to the office. As I walked, I considered what to do about Kayleigh. I didn't think there was any real possibility of finding a way forward with her, but I didn't want to disappoint her grandfather. To satisfy him, all I needed to do was see her once more. That would fulfill his implied request and ensure we had a positive relationship going forward.

When I reached the office, I added the potential new clients to my pipeline report at 10%, which indicated they were referrals, but I hadn't spoken to them directly. I spent the rest of the afternoon doing research, and at 5:00pm, Bianca, Jack, and I headed home. After dinner, I went up to my room and placed a call to Kayleigh.

"Hello?"

"Hi, Kayleigh, it's Jonathan Kane."

"Hi…" she said tentatively.

"I know things at breakfast didn't go so well, but I wondered if you'd like to get together and talk more."

"Did my grandfather put you up to this?"

"Only in the sense that he clarified something where I had a slightly inaccurate understanding. I'm not saying we can overcome our differences, but I'm willing to have another conversation if you are. You don't have to answer now, if you want to think about it."

She was quiet for a moment.

"I'd like that. When?"

"Why don't we meet for coffee on Saturday afternoon? 3:00pm at Maxim's?"

"I'll see you there. I'm really glad you called."

We said 'goodbye', I hung up, then went downstairs to spend time with my housemates.

_February 29, 1984, Chicago, Illinois_

Late on Wednesday afternoon, Scott came to my door.

"Got a sec?"

"Sure."

He came in, shut the door, and sat down.

"What's up?"

"You're a straight shooter, so I'll just ask directly — is the goal of the data analytics team to replace analysts?"

"No. As I mentioned on Monday, they're simply one tool in the toolbox. And I will point out we went with your price target in the report that went out on Tuesday."

"That wasn't throwing me a bone?"

"No. I look at the model, but I don't trust it any more than you do. If it supports our analysis, that helps increase our confidence factor; if it goes against our analysis, then either it or we are wrong, and possibly both are wrong. That means we have to review our analysis, and Bianca and Steve their model. Our goal is to improve our forecasting, but in the end, a trained analyst has to evaluate the output because of what you said – every single financial model breaks down at some point.

"The thing is, the true value of those models, especially the FX models, is the thing you identified as a potential weakness — change the inputs, and you change the results. That property of those models allows us to run a bunch of different scenarios and understand the results much faster than the entire team could do with calculators. It also allows us to run sample portfolios with ease and model various scenarios."

"So you don't think that will ever happen? I mean, analysts replaced with computers?"

"'Never' is a long time, but I don't think you have anything to worry about. Will data analytics become more important? Certainly. Will it replace us? No."

"You're not going to be an analyst for much longer."

"Longer than you might think," I replied. "Noel Spurgeon expressly asked me to stay in this role."

"Even though you'll have three securities licenses by the end of July?"

"Yes. And I agreed. I have your back, Scott. And the computers are not taking over the world just yet."

"Thanks, Jonathan."

"Come see me anytime."

He left, and I returned to my analysis of the current account balances, looking for clues about changes in exchange rates. So much depended on how much the Fed and other central banks tightened. Our models had predictions, but none of us trusted them completely, as I'd just discussed with Scott. Maybe, at some point in the future, the models would be more accurate, but for now, it really was down to research and analysis.

The big news of the day was that Pierre Trudeau had announced his decision to step down as leader of the Liberal Party in Canada, as it appeared the party was going to suffer a crushing defeat by the Progressive Conservatives led by Brian Mulroney. While that was big news in Canada, it really wouldn't affect the US markets in any significant way.

At 5:00pm, I left the office to meet Deanna at Wendy's for dinner, and after we ate, we walked to the Art Institute. Alexa arrived at the same time, and she and I went into Claire's office to strip down to our underwear — navy blue briefs for me and black lace panties for Claire.

"I'll show you mine if you show me yours," Alexa teased.

"Can't wait until Monday?" I asked with a sly smile.

"Never hunted for your Christmas presents early?"

There hadn't been much to hunt for, but I didn't feel a need to tell Alexa my complete history.

"No," I replied. "I take it you did?"

"Yes. My parents were very creative, but Sophie and I were pretty good at finding them."

I put on my robe, and Alexa rolled her eyes and put on hers. The two of us went to the studio, and Claire had us stand so that we were facing each other, with our hands on each other's waists. Alexa took a tiny step forward until her nipples just barely brushed against my chest.

"Monday is going to be interesting," she said quietly.

I simply smiled and held the pose. When the session ended, Deanna let me know Sophie had lent her the key again, but I suggested we just go home, and Deanna agreed without protest.

_March 1, 1984, Chicago, Illinois_

Just after 9:00am on Thursday, my phone rang.

"Research, Kane."

"Jonathan, this is Stefan Chojnicki. Do you have a moment?"

"I do. What can I do for you?"

"Bev's attorney submitted the guardianship document as part of her challenge to Jim and Julie having custody. Will you sign an affidavit along the lines we discussed last week?"

"You mean that as Heather's legal guardian, I determined it was in her best interest to be with her grandparents."

"I do. I'd also like a statement of events from you going back to when Bev left for St. Louis. I don't feel a need to depose you, so an affidavit for that will work as well. Are you using the same attorney?"

"Actually, given the situation, I'd prefer you work through Gwen Meyer, who is a family law specialist here. Well, unless you think I need a criminal defense attorney for any reason."

"I can't imagine what that would be. You were Heather's legal guardian while Bev was being held by the government. I don't think you have anything to worry about with the form you signed because, in the end, it wasn't material to Heather being under your guardianship."

"How do I prepare the statement?"

"Just write out what happened and deliver it to Ms. Meyer. She'll craft it into the proper format and have you sign before a notary under penalty of perjury. I'll cover any fees and charge them back to Jim and Julie."

"It'll be far less of a burden if I pay Ms. Meyer than if they do. I'll cover her fees."

"I'm sure the Newtons will appreciate it. You may be deposed by her lawyer, but you are well within your rights to insist they come to you and cover all your costs. It's my advice you don't come to Ohio until this is resolved, as they could serve you with a subpoena that you would have to honor. Make them try to enforce it in Illinois if they go that route. Your attorney will advise you, but once you've given a sworn statement, the chances that an out-of-state subpoena to appear would be enforced in a civil case are small."

"Actually, I have a question — isn't there a conflict of interest because you were Bev's attorney?"

"Potentially, but Bev signed a waiver with regard to her parents because they were paying. It's possible for her to revoke that waiver, but she hasn't. In addition, Heather was also my client and still is. If Bev or her lawyer were to object, I'd step aside and turn this over to another attorney in our firm who has never worked on the case."

"OK. Let me give you Ms. Meyer's number."

I gave him her address and phone number, and he said he'd call her right away.

_March 2, 1984, Chicago, Illinois_

"Thanks for coming to my office, Ms. Meyer," I said when Violet showed her in late on Friday morning.

"You're welcome. I was in a deposition in the building, so it wasn't out of my way at all. I've reviewed the proposed affidavit from Mr. Chojnicki, and I see no reason for you not to sign it. Do you have the chronology you promised to create last night?"

"I do," I said, handing her six pages I'd written in MacWrite the previous evening.

"What did you use to create these?"

"A program on a Macintosh computer from Apple and an ImageWriter printer."

She scanned them.

"These look to be thorough," she said. "I'll put them in the proper form and have them ready by Monday. I'll fax you copies for review and make any changes or corrections. You'll need to come to my office so you can sign in front of me and my notary because this will be a sworn statement under oath."

"No problem. If we can do it on Tuesday, that would be best."

"Anytime after 11:00am will be fine, and it won't take more than ten minutes. I'll send them overnight to Mr. Chojnicki, and he'll have them Wednesday morning."

"That sounds good. I have my checkbook, so I'll write you a check for the cost, and you can hold any balance as a retainer."

"That's perfect."

I wrote a check for $500 and handed it to her, then walked her to the elevators. I wasn't surprised when both Bianca and Violet were in my office when I returned.

"All good?" Bianca asked.

"I don't know that I'd call it good," I replied. "But everything is going the way Mr. Chojnicki suggested it would. My part is to make sure Heather is safe."

"Bev is going to hate you even more than she already does," Bianca observed.

"Oh, I know, but I have to do what's in Heather's best interest."

They left, and I went back to work. The rest of the day progressed normally, and at 5:00pm, I met Jack, Kristy, and CeCi in the lobby. After dinner in Greektown, we went to see _Blame it on Rio_, a sex comedy about a middle-aged man having a sexual relationship with his friend's seventeen-year-old daughter. It was funny, and seeing Demi Moore topless was worth the price of admission by itself.

After the movie, we made our usual visit to Oberweis for ice cream, then headed home. During the drive, I briefly considered inviting CeCi to spend the night, but in the end, I decided it was better to simply sleep alone.