“Good…good…how ’bout you, big guy?” Brad asked jovially. He had good reason to be in a good humor. He’d built up a law practice from scratch to a firm with fourteen senior partners and scads of junior attorneys, legal assistants, interns, and what not. Kyle didn’t think Brad knew anymore how many people worked for him.
“I’m doing pretty good,” Kyle said. “Not as well as some…but better than others.” Brad chuckled. Kyle had never tried hard to accumulate a hoard of money, but he owned the Fox TV franchise in town, a radio station, and had an option on two more TV stations outside the metropolitan area. Okay…most of the money had come from the trust fund his late father had set up, but he hadn’t lost any of that seed money. In fact, he was doing quite well in a low-key sort of way.
Brad had done better, but both were happy with their accomplishments and, more importantly, they remained close friends since they’d met in elementary school. Kyle wasn’t Brad’s biggest client, but he was the most valued.
Their association had been strengthened when Kyle became the blocking fullback running interference for Brad playing running back. That had been a long time ago–back in junior high and then in high school. They’d been a good team then; they still were. Each knew secrets about the other no one else was aware of.
“We need to get together for a good feed,” Brad remarked. “What say you and Peggy come over for a little barbeque Sunday…how ’bout that, son?” Kyle hesitated
“Well…that might not be for the best,” Kyle said slowly. “I’m having to call you because there’s…well, something about Peggy that I need to discuss with you.” Brad instantly changed gears and readied himself to work through a problem with his friend.
“Damn, I’m sorry to hear that,” Brad said briskly. “What can I do for you, Number 42?” That had been Kyle’s jersey number. Brad had worn 22. Brad was reminding Kyle of their many years of close friendship. It was a comfort.
“Well…it’s not to the stage where I have to hire you to represent me in divorce court…not yet,” Kyle said. “But I was hoping I ask for a favor from you, if you don’t mind.”
“Name it,” Brad answered. He said nothing else.
“You are on good terms with old Jake Bruckmeister, right?” Kyle asked. Bruckmeister and Son was the accounting firm Peggy worked for as a senior analyst.
“Sure,” Brad returned quickly. “He was one of Dad’s closest friends before he died. One of his granddaughters is a clerk in my office during summer breaks from law school.”
“Well, I was wondering if you could call him and relay a concern I have…that the morality clauses in his firm’s employee contracts are not being…uh…enforced as rigorously as they could be.” Kyle was speaking carefully. He’d rehearsed the words in his mind. He hoped they were coming out the way he wanted them to.
“If you could say, for instance, that I had some reliable information that…uh Mrs. Peggy Whitely and one of the guys going with her to the Chicago conference are thinking of hooking up…and you could say that would…mmmmmnnn…let’s say call the company’s policies into question…well, the effectiveness of those morality clauses. They really should be prohibiting such a thing…”