The Twelfth Card

Chapter Forty-Three

“That’s what William Ashberry was willing to kill for,” Rhyme explained. “To keep the theft of Charles’s property a secret. If anybody found out and his heirs made a claim, it would be the end of the real estate division and might even drive the entire Sanford Bank into bankruptcy.”

“Oh, well, now, this’s absurd,” the lawyer across the table from them blustered. The two legal opponents were equally tall and ski

“We have no claim to the construction,” Goades said, as if this were clear. “We only want title to the land, and the rents that’ve been paid with respect to it.”

“For a hundred and forty years?”

“It’s not our problem that that’s when Sanford robbed Charles.”

“But most of the land’s been sold off,” Hanson said. “The bank only owns the two apartment buildings on this block and this mansion.”

“Well, naturally we’ll be instituting an accounting action to trace the proceeds of the property your bank illegally sold.”

“But we’ve been disposing of parcels for over a hundred years.”

Goades spoke to the tabletop. “I’ll say again: your problem, not ours.”

“No,” Cole snapped. “Forget it.”

“Ms. Settle is actually being quite restrained in her damage claim. There’s a good argument to be made for the fact that without her ancestor’s property, your bank would have gone under altogether in the eighteen sixties and that she’s entitled to all of your worldwide earnings. But we’re not seeking that. She doesn’t want the present shareholders of the bank to suffer too much.”

“Damn generous,” the lawyer muttered.

“It was her decision. I was in favor of closing you down.”

Cole leaned forward. “Listen, why don’t you take a reality pill here? You have no case. For one thing, the statute of limitations has run. You’ll be kicked out of court on motion.”

“Have you ever noticed,” Rhyme asked, unable to resist, “how people always lead with their weakest argument?…Sorry, forgive the footnote.”

“As for the statute,” Goades said, “we can make a solid argument that it’s been tolled and we’re entitled to bring the suit under principles of equity.”

The lawyer had explained to Rhyme that in some cases the time limit on bringing a lawsuit could be “tolled” – extended – if the defendant covers up a crime so that the victims don’t know it occurred, or when they aren’t able to sue, like when the courts and prosecutors were acting in collusion with the wrongdoer, which had happened in the Singleton case. Goades reiterated this now.

“But whatever Hiram Sanford did,” the other lawyer pointed out, “it had nothing to do with my client – the present bank.”

“We’ve traced ownership of the bank all the way back to the original Hiram Sanford Bank and Trust Limited, which was the entity that took title to the Singleton farm. Sanford used the bank as a cover. Unfortunately…for you, that is.” Goades said this as cheerfully as an unsmiling man could.

Cole wasn’t giving up. “Well, what proof do you have that the property would’ve been passed down through the family? This Charles Singleton could’ve sold it for five hundred dollars in 1870 and squandered the money away.”

“We have evidence that he intended to keep the farm in his family.” Rhyme turned to Geneva. “What did Charles say?”

The girl didn’t need to look at any notes. “In a letter to his wife he told her he never wanted to sell the farm. He said, ‘I wish the land to pass intact to our son and his issue; professions and trades ebb and flow, the financial markets are fickle, but the earth is God’s great constant – and our farm will ultimately bring to our family respectability in the eyes of those who do not respect us now. It will be our children’s salvation, and that of the generations that will follow.’”

Enjoying his role as cheerleader, Rhyme said, “Just think of how a jury’ll react to that. Not a dry eye.”

Cole leaned forward angrily toward Goades. “Oh, I know what’s going on here. You’re making it sound like she’s a victim. But this’s just blackmail. Like all the rest of the slavery reparations bullshit, right? I’m sorry Charles Singleton was a slave. I’m sorry he or his father, or whoever, was brought here against his will.” Cole waved his arm, as if shooing away a bee, and glanced at Geneva. “Well, young lady, that was a long, long time ago. My great-grandfather died of black lung. You don’t see me suing West Virginia Coal and Shale, looking for some easy money. You people have to get over it. Just get on with your lives. If you spent as much time – ”

“Hold up,” Hanson snapped. Both he and his assistant glared at the lawyer.

Cole licked his lips and then sat back. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it the way it sounded. I said ‘you people’ but I didn’t mean…” He was looking at Wesley Goades.

But it was Geneva who spoke. “Mr. Cole, I feel the same way. Like, I really believe in what Frederick Douglass said. ‘People might not get all they work for in this world, but they must certainly work for all they get.’ I don’t want any easy money.”

The lawyer eyed her uncertainly. He looked down after a moment. Geneva did not. She continued, “You know, I’ve been talking to my father about Charles. I found out some things about him. Like, his grandfather was kidnapped by slavers and taken away from his family in Yorubaland and sent to Virginia. Charles’s father died when he was forty-two because his master thought it’d be cheaper to buy a new, younger slave than to treat him for pneumonia. I found out that Charles’s mother was sold to a plantation in Georgia when Charles was twelve and he never saw her again. But, you know what?” she asked calmly. “I’m not asking for a pe

Cole murmured another apology but his legal genes wouldn’t let him abdicate his client’s cause. He glanced at Hanson then continued, “I appreciate what you’re saying and we’ll offer a settlement based on Mr. Ashberry’s actions. But as for the claim to the property? We can’t go there. We don’t even know that you have legal standing to bring the suit. What proof do you have that you’re really Charles Singleton’s descendant?”

Lincoln Rhyme eased his finger across the touchpad and steered his chair imposingly close to the table. “Isn’t it about time somebody here asked why I tagged along?”

Silence.

“I don’t get out very much, as you can imagine. So what do you think brought me all these long blocks west?”

“ Lincoln,” chided Thom.

“All right, all right, I’ll get to the point. Exhibit A.”

“What exhibit?” Cole asked.

“I’m being facetious. The letter.” He glanced at Geneva. She opened her own backpack and took out a folder. She slipped a photocopy onto the desk.

The Sanford side of the table looked it over.

“One of Singleton’s letters?” Hanson asked.

“Nice handwriting,” Rhyme observed. “That was important back then. Not like nowadays, all this typing and careless jotting…All right, sorry – no more digressions. Here’s the point: I had a colleague, fellow named Parker Kincaid, down in D.C., compare that handwriting to all the existing samples of Charles Singleton’s exemplars, including legal documents in archives down in Virginia. Parker’s former FBI – he’s the handwriting expert the experts go to when they have a questioned document. He’s executed an affidavit stating that this’s identical to the known samples of Singleton’s handwriting.”

“Okay,” Cole conceded, “it’s his letter. So?”