Mack, page 13
I quickly notice these thoughts are out of the ordinary for me. Like, I understand and accept all these things, but I’m not usually this cynical or nihilistic. I can’t be, or else I’d never deliver results for my clients. I must believe in my work, the work so many of us do. There must be a purpose, that eventually we win through policy changes of some kind, that the free market can coexist along with what’s right and decent, appropriate protections, regulations, and social safety nets.
I know what’s casting the shadow of doubt over my entire belief system. It’s so painfully obvious.
I am sick of the Mack Mitchells of the world getting their way. Constantly winning.
Maybe you’re just sick of him.
No, it’s all of them, he’s just the worst offender at this time, for personal reasons.
I can’t believe I fell for it; him taking things beyond the professional, into personal territory, just to score a victory. He’s playing with me, toying with my emotions, and I thought it was real for a split second. I’m so stupid. He was probably going to attempt to get me to drop the Winslow case, or make some kind of stupid deal. I know that’s what he was after. It would’ve never happened, but I’m sure that was his calculation.
That would explain why he suddenly forgot to call. Why he suddenly disappeared off the face of the planet, right when things got real.
He promised me, and I waited up all damn night for him. If it was just a casual, hey, I’ll give you a call tomorrow night if I can, I’d have blown it off. No biggie. But the way he said it, was like it was as definite as the rotation of the earth or gravity. Like he’d crawl through broken glass to call me.
I want to hate his guts so bad right now, and I still can’t. I’m upset about the phone call, absolutely.
The rest of my thesis falls apart, though. I just know it can’t be true. Why would he do all that, knowing it wasn’t likely to work? He’s a smart man. Why would he reveal himself in front of me, be so vulnerable? I’m a walking bullshit meter by trade. I know when someone isn’t genuine. Either he deserves an Oscar, or it was real.
What changed?
Doesn’t matter. It’s been more than two days. You’re done with him. Focus.
Yep, he’s had more than enough time to call.
I force myself back into the present, where Olivia offers me something to drink. Apparently, my brain moves so damn fast, connecting all these thoughts, I only spaced out for a second or two.
My brain is amazing and helps a ton, but sometimes it sucks too.
“Water, please.” I accept a cold bottle from the break room refrigerator and notice a corkboard spanning half the length of one wall, covered in photos. I walk over to it. “What’s this?” There are photos of families, couples, and single people. Everyone smiles ear-to-ear in each photo. Most of them are in front of similar-looking modest homes.
Olivia joins me, wearing a proud smile. “This is the happy wall. These are people we’ve been able to get into low-cost housing units in Corktown.”
“Oh yeah.” I cock my head slightly to the side and take in all the photos in more detail. “You guys finished that development what, six or eight months ago?”
She looks pleased. “You follow our work?”
“Yes and no. I try my best to keep up. You know how busy it can get, though.”
“Of course. Well, now you see for yourself why our organization exists. It’s the people. And especially the kids. It’s so amazing to see their faces when they get a yard and a home.”
It is pretty incredible, looking at their faces.
“Most of them lived in projects, Section Eight. You know how it is. Owning a home was a dream they never thought they could have. Watching an eight-year-old little girl step into her bedroom for the first time, a room that’s totally hers… The feeling is indescribable. And I don’t have to tell you that real estate is the number one way most working-class people build wealth, so we’re trying to do our part to help.”
“Absolutely. This is incredible.” Hell, her just talking about it socks me in the chest a little. Even though I don’t have time to help her organization, I’m grateful to her. She just helped light a fire inside me that hadn’t been burning as bright.
It reminds me who all is affected by this fight. Not just people trying not to lose their house, but people trying to gain that dream too.
She leads me back to her office.
“Look, I don’t want to waste any more of your time here…”
She grins. “Just come on back.”
I shrug and follow her in. “What exactly are you asking of me?”
“We run into NIMBYs constantly when it comes time to break ground.”
I wrinkle my nose. “Yeah, they’re always a problem.” It’s hilarious how they say the same thing over and over to the point they have their own acronym. I always envision it as some old man, shaking a fist at the sky, yelling, “Not in my backyard!”
She blows out an exasperated sigh. “Tell me about it. Same ridiculous propaganda to scare everyone in the area. Crime will go up. Property values will go down, if you let these people in your neighborhood. It’s ridiculous. They can never point to any research for this attitude, it’s just been drilled into their tiny…” She holds a hand up, stopping herself. “Sorry, preaching to the choir. I’m quite certain you know the numbers and reality of the situation.”
“I do, but please, feel free to let loose.” I grin, feeling a little better for the first time today. It’s nice to meet a kindred spirit for the first time.
She laughs, nodding. “They can’t stand the thought of poor people living in a half-decent area with a little dignity. These are hard-working people who all have steady employment, and they bust their asses doing jobs in society most don’t want anything to do with. They don’t deserve to be treated like second-class citizens. Their jobs are important too. The world couldn’t function without them.” She waves a flippant hand. “That’s just the start. Then there’s the occasional contractor who thinks they can get away with making fraudulent charges or breaching contracts like we won’t notice, because we’re seen as an understaffed nonprofit. We have to stay vigilant twenty-four seven.”
I nod along with her. “I get it. Someone is always looking to take advantage.”
She points a finger at me. “That’s where you’d come in, if we worked together. It’s why we need you. Someone quick on their feet, knows the law, and isn’t afraid to hit back.”
I nod slowly, taking notes on a legal pad. “It honestly sounds a lot like what I already do, it’s just trying to get people into homes instead of keeping them there. First National bank is trying to evict a number of our clients right now. We think they’re trying to clear an area to raze for commercial development, and they don’t want to pay people fair market value.” I can’t help but think of Mack sitting at the opposing counsel’s table before Judge Lincoln. “They make me use every tool in the book against them. Forbearance, threats of bankruptcy, stringing things out forever until the legal bills are too much to bear, run them ragged with paperwork. Some people qualify for HAMP, too, so I’m trying to facilitate that.” I shake my head. “These people would have no idea how to do this on their own, and no lawyer or firm in town has the balls to go against First National. Hell, even if someone did convince them, First National would create a conflict of interest somehow. They’ve probably used every major practice in town. And they know this. Any regulations are all for show, political purposes only.”
She makes a pained expression, then a devilish smirk. “I get it. First National, nothing but a bunch of assholes.”
I smile. “Indeed. You know all too well. They would love to wipe our organization off the planet if they could. Yours too, I’m sure. We’re basically the single roadblock standing between them and the people we represent.”
She looks me up and down. “Good for you, taking them on. Something tells me we could work well together—if you have the time, that is.”
I shake my head. “I’m flattered, truly. But, I’m sorry, I don’t.”
The sadness on her face is apparent the second I say it.
“But I know several people at my organization who may have time. They’re all fantastic. They’ll love what you’re doing. I’m sure you could get at least a few to commit.”
Her expression changes immediately. “That’s excellent. Thank you. I’d be willing to talk to anyone. We’re swamped here.”
My phone buzzes again. I forgot it vibrated when I first walked in.
“You can get that.” Olivia grins like she can hear my phone going off.
I’m sure she can, it’s loud as hell.
She shrugs. “Emergencies don’t follow a schedule.”
“They most certainly do not. I apologize.”
She waves me off like I’m being ridiculous as I step out of her office and into the hall.
As I pull the phone out, I see it’s Janet calling. She knows my calendar better than anyone and she wouldn’t interrupt this if it weren’t important.
Before I have a chance to say a word, her rapid breathing right into the phone tells me something is very wrong.
“What happened?”
“Sorry! So sorry, it’s just insane. I don’t know what to make of this, but I felt you needed to know immediately.” Her voice is shaky, uneven.
What the hell? “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine. I got a call. This man, he sounded beyond frantic. I mean, I don’t even know how to describe him.”
“What’d he say? Is he a client?”
“No, he said he needs our help. Begged for it, right now. He knows someone we’ve helped, but he didn’t give me their name. Apparently, they referred him.” She takes a couple of deep breaths before continuing. “He says he has a mortgage with First National and he’s fallen behind. They’ve filed paperwork that he’s ignored, because he didn’t know what to do. His friend gave him our card, but he’s been having panic attacks and couldn’t bring himself to call us.” She inhales a huge breath. “But today, armed men in what he describes as military uniforms, showed up at his front door.”
“He said what? Armed military? That makes no sense.” He has to be exaggerating.
“He was hysterical. Begging me to help. Maybe he mistook the sheriff for military, or saw guns on their hips, but they’re evicting him, and he has nowhere to go. He acted like he was going to go down fighting, in a gun battle if he had to. Said he has nothing to lose and nobody’s taking his home from him.”
“When was this?”
“Maybe fifteen minutes ago.”
“Send me an address, I’ll go right now.”
“Is that—”
“Address! Now!”
“Okay, I’m on it. Call me as soon as you know what’s going on. And for crying out loud, be careful. Do not break the law!”
“Will do.”
“Wait, what was the ‘will do’ an answer—”
I hang up before she has a chance to finish.
My mind spins a million miles an hour. This sounds so far-fetched, but people exaggerate stories, especially when it seems like it’s the end of the world. The worst thing this man could do to try to keep his house is pull a damn gun on the sheriff, though. I just hope I can get there in time.
First National is ridiculous, but even this sounds like a step further than they’re capable of. I need to find the guy and assess the situation, calm him down. There’s no way in hell they sent the National Guard or military, but could they have hired one of those private military contractor companies to enforce a court order?
Only the sheriff has the authority to evict people. It sounds outrageous in my mind, but I wouldn’t put it past them. They love to intimidate people, and I could totally see them paying cash and sending armed men to intimidate someone, off the books. Now, I’ve heard it all. I bet Mack’s firm probably gave them this damn idea.
A text comes through.
Janet: He called again. Backed down like I urged him, did what they said, and left with his dogs. It’s like he moved from anger to depression. I’m really worried about him. If you can meet him in the next thirty minutes, he’ll wait at Campus Martius. In front of the Soldiers’ and Sailors’ monument. He’s going to look for a place to stay if you can’t, but he sounded awful. Wouldn’t give me a phone number. Please, be careful.
He’s paranoid, I’m sure, but it’s not like I can really blame him. At least I know what to look for: a terrified man with dogs, and I should be able to make it there in less than thirty minutes.
My thumbs fly over my screen.
Me: Be right there, and please be on stand-by, ready to respond to your phone if needed.
Janet: Absolutely. BE CAREFUL!
I know she’s worried sick, but this is part of the job we signed up for.
I step back inside Olivia’s office.
She looks worried and shakes her head. “Sorry, overheard some of what was said.”
“It sounds bad. I’m sorry to cut this short.”
“No worries. Get out of here, and I appreciate you helping us out with more names and faces.”
“No problem. I’ll be in touch after I put this fire out.” I race out of the office.
The whole way to the park, I just get more pissed off. They just ran this man out of his house like it was nothing. Something he worked his entire life for, his most valuable possession.
I know there’s probably more to the story, but I don’t care. I never give First National the benefit of the doubt on anything, because they’re evil. There’s no rationalizing it any other way.
How dare they? And how dare Mack try to act righteous while doing the bidding for people like this? Fuck him.
I’m glad he disappeared and didn’t get to kiss me. He’s a piece of shit for backing these assholes. The bank or developers could afford to buy these houses back easily. They can afford to let the small percentage of people who struggle at times miss a payment or two.
They just don’t want to. It would mean accepting a little bit off the top of their billion-dollar profits. And if nobody makes them show compassion, they won’t. Because like I said before—they’re evil.
When I pull into a space at the park downtown, I hop out and take off toward the statue. It’s a clear, beautiful night, and the place is packed.
Shit.
I trot, weaving my way through the crowd, my eyes fixed on the towering monument up ahead. There will be a man with dogs somewhere nearby. I’m sure he’ll be distraught, probably pacing, shaky hands. I’ve seen people in these situations before, and that’s usually how it goes.
I wish I had a description. I might as well look for a needle in a haystack since there are so many people milling around, so many overlapping conversations. I feel awful he has to sit there and wait on me to find him, all alone.
I glance at my phone, thinking maybe Janet sent me new info, or he’s been in touch.
Nothing.
I keep the phone clutched in my palm, just in case I need to make some kind of emergency call. Unstable people are just that—unstable. I should be an ally, but sometimes they’ll lash out at anyone, and they have every right to feel that way.
I make it to the statue and stare up at the monument built in honor of Detroit soldiers killed in the Civil War. The statue is more than a hundred and fifty years old and it still takes my breath away when I see it, but I force myself to crane my head around, looking for the distraught old man.
There are so many people. I don’t know what I was thinking.
This will be impossible.
Then, it happens.
I feel it.
Something changes. It spreads through my body like a sixth sense. The feeling of being watched—someone from a crowd focused on you and only you.
There’s a presence here.
Right before I even see him, everything starts to click. I don’t know if I’ve ever felt so many emotions boil up inside me at once, but I want to scream. I want to claw my way out of my skin. How could I be so stupid?
At the same time, my heart practically erupts in my chest. It’s beating so hard and so fast, I think I may pass out.
It’s the same thing, every single time around him.
Everything slows down, like the world’s in slow motion.
Him.
The bane of my existence.
Mack Mitchell.
He stands right smack in front of the monument, smirking right at me, like this is all a game. Like I amuse him. Like everyone and everything in the world are just chess pieces for him to move around the board until they’re right how he wants them.
I know it’s bullshit immediately, the whole story. He called Janet. Fabricated it out of thin air.
For some reason, I can’t back down. I should just turn and leave, and yet I don’t. I start right toward him. He had time to call and make up this ridiculous story, but didn’t have time to call me?
I’m not really sure what I’m going to do. I don’t know if I’ll push him, hit him, yell at him, kill him—I have no idea. My feet just move like my body is possessed by some outside force.
“Counselor.” The word rolls off his tongue like he doesn’t have a care in the world as I approach. Like nothing has changed since that moment he made a promise then walked away down my hall for a work emergency.
His voice sounds ridiculously hot, and yet all I have is this urge to wrap my fingers around his gorgeous neck and do my best to choke him until he passes out.
He’s not in a suit and looks even better than usual. I have no idea how, but he does.
He takes a step toward me, like he wants us to meet in the middle, and his hands glide into a pair of charcoal gray slacks, the sleeves of his light-blue dress shirt are rolled up to the elbow. “Took long enough.” He smirks right at me.
“Did you make that call to Janet?” I glare right at him, waiting on a verbal confirmation so I can tear into him.
I can tell he’s trying not to laugh, like it’s all a big joke. He finally shrugs. “Needed an elaborate way to see you. It was the best I had. You wouldn’t have met me if I didn’t.”
When I find my voice, I whisper-growl, “Is this funny to you?”
