“Legal Writing”. The professor was Dr. Hannaford. Both were dry and boring.
His roommate gave him a joint one night while he was struggling with writing a brief for the class. Jake discovered it created this most magnificent mellow feeling. One joint and he could write a masterpiece! It certainly eased the pain caused by the monotony of sitting in class every day and listening to the prof’s lectures. One joint and he was firmly convinced that his other classes could benefit from a little ‘pharmaceutical security’, as he liked to call it.
Over the course of three years in law school, he graduated to harder drugs to generate the same brand of success experienced with marijuana. Eventually he had difficulty separating the reality of what the drugs did ‘for’ him with what they did ‘to’ him. Slowly, his deteriorating disturbed mind justified the chemicals and he came to depend on them more and more. During third year Law Jake was introduced to the power of cocaine, only to exude confidence. He WAS confident, at least in his mind.
Managing to graduate with honors, due more to his energy and willingness to work long, hard hours, not to his intellectual ability, the drugs helped him through school and to get a job.
In an ironic twist this artificial confidence led him to an interview with one of the leading law firms in Indianapolis: Arbuckle, Hawkins, and Weller. His arrogant, brash attitude was perceived as ambition; his good looks appealed to the ladies. The firm had read his resume, and to them, Jake looked good on paper as well.
Taking the job, he watched his clientele grow. Partners, thrilled with his success, congratulated each other on their wise decision to hire him. Jake’s sense of power and aggressiveness depended on his ability to maintain confidence, and he found himself turning to cocaine more and more frequently to bolster this illusion.
About a year ago, mumblings started, “What’s up with Jake? Have you noticed how often he’s absent?”
He could hear them and he saw the furtive glances directed his way. He observed how people would go out of their way to avoid him in the hall, on the street, or any place he might be. This only increased his disdain for those around him. The cocaine was what mattered now, and it became more difficult to come up with cash to feed the addiction.
So, he had created the scheme to siphon funds from his senior clients, convincing them to relinquish control of their bank accounts so he could pay their bills, smiling now as he remembered how easy it had been. Most of them didn’t have relatives or were estranged from their families, more than happy to let Jake take care of their finances. They assumed that their nice young lawyer was very concerned and helpful and never questioned or checked their bank statements with anyone but him.
He began stealing from the accounts with every intention of paying them back but, sinking deeper into looting and drug addiction, he felt there was no way out of the chasm he had created.
Turning his gaze to the handgun, was this the solution? Was this the only way out?
“Life or death, which should I choose?”
He knew criminal charges would probably be filed against him. He convinced Logan Massey to give him a day to try to come up with the money, begged her to let him have the next twenty-four hours to explain to his law firm what had happened and resign, saving them any embarrassment. Of course, he would be disbarred, his life a shambles. Jake knew he couldn’t come up with the money. All of his friends and family had long since distanced themselves from him, owing to his unpredictability. Maybe they didn’t know what he had done but they surely wouldn’t come to his rescue when they found out!
As he stood and walked around the desk, running fingers through his hair, again he studied the gun. No one in the law firm will help me…friends... “What friends!” Long ago he had isolated himself, putting up so many emotional barriers that others were reluctant to reach out.
Jake let out a stifled futile sob, coming from deep within his throat as he contemplated the future. “What future! I have no future.”
Reaching out, he inhaled that one last line of coke on the sheet of white paper, grabbed the handle of the gun, and carefully placed the barrel in his mouth. Tears streaming down his face, mixing with sweat, Jake pulled back the hammer and squeezed.
The last thought that raced through his mind, as the bullet entered his mouth and exploded his head in a sea of bloody foam, was of Logan Massey…her fault…not mine.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Logan sat in Bill’s office, head down, hands rigidly clasped together on her lap; her lips trembled. Fighting back tears, she thought about the terrible news Bill had just told her.
He came over and rested his hand on her shoulder. “Don’t blame yourself for this, Logan. According to the police, Jake Turner was a drug addict. They found remnants of a line of cocaine on his desk.”
“I know, but…” trailing off.
“It was only a matter of time. He had been stealing money for about two years and was bound to get caught.”
“I had no idea he would ...kill himself,” she whispered, a catch in her throat.
He gently squeezed her shoulder and repeated, “It was not your fault.”
Raising her head, looking at him, she took a long time before saying anything. “I can’t get it out of my mind.” She shivered and wrapped her arms around her chest.
A few minutes ago Bill Jensen was told that Jake Turner had committed suicide shortly after Logan and Scott Harris had gone to his office. The police called him with the news. They told him they had found out from the secretary that Jake had had an appointment with bank personnel at his office last night. They also found some of his clients’ bank statements on his desk.
The secretary discovered the body when she arrived for work. It wasn’t a pretty sight--blood and brains were splattered all over the walls. She stood in the middle of the room, screaming hysterically until several people came running.
Poor woman, Bill thought. According to the police, she had to be sedated and was still in shock. All of this, he didn’t share with Logan. It was enough to see the guilt written all over her face.
“Why don’t you take some time off? I’ll take care of contacting the customers and their families.”
“No, this is my responsibility,” she protested.
“Logan, please. This investigation will require a lot of time and work and it’ll be here when you get back.” She began to object but he put up his hands and interrupted her, “You need some time off. Scott can take care of it.” Noticing her disappointment, he knew she wanted to work her way through the remorse even though it wasn’t her fault and couldn’t have been prevented.
“I’ve got another idea,” he suggested. “I’ll call the families and start the initial investigation. You can continue when you come back. You haven’t had a vacation in forever and this will help clear your mind.”
She wanted to argue because she really felt it was her job to handle the audit with Scott. But Bill put up his hands again, “Logan, I have the final say in this.”
She stared at the floor for a long time, grieving over the tragedy.
“Go”,
