J. Robert Phillips one of the senior partners at the law firm Brooks, Snead and Dawson stood in the doorway of my office and delivered an odd message with a hint of nervousness in his voice.



"Steve, a Mr. Rafael Lamontagne will be contacting you for some assistance on setting up a new business structure. Please do your best for him, and keep an open mind," he explained, while his eyes struggled to maintain contact with mine.



"Sure Mr. Phillips. Anything special I should know about the situation?" I asked, as my curiosity was piqued.



"It's probably best if you meet with him first. Afterwards, we can discuss the situation," he replied.



"Fair enough," I answered, nodding my head as Mr. Phillips quickly disappear.



Several days went by, and with my workload keeping me busy, I had all but forgotten about the strange request when my secretary called to inform me that a Mr. Lamontagne was holding for me. I asked her to put him through and in a few seconds I was speaking to the man.



"I was told you would help me set up a new business," he blurted out immediately, skipping over introductions and pleasantries.



From his accent and language, I guessed that Mr. Lamontagne was likely marginally educated and black.



"Yes Mr. Lamontagne, I was informed by one of our senior partners that you would be phoning and I should assist," I answered, acknowledging his statement.



"Good, good. How do you want to get started then?" he asked.



"Well Mr. Lamontagne perhaps it would be productive if we met and discussed what you were trying to accomplish," I suggested.



"That would be fine. Can you be here tomorrow?" he demanded more than asked.



"I'm free after 2:00 PM tomorrow afternoon if that works for you," I replied.



"That's good for me too. Make it at 3:00 PM. You know where to go?" he answered, seemingly in a hurry to end the conversation.



"No, I'm sorry I don't. Can you give me the address?" I asked.



"North Larkspur Road. Go to the blue door and knock," he explained.



I repeated the address and instructions to make sure I had it right and once Mr. Lamontagne acknowledged they were correct the phone call ended. I looked up the address and learned that it was in a rundown industrial part of town. Odd clients were nothing new in my work as a lawyer, but one that would cause Mr. Phillips discomfort aroused my interest.



The firm of Brooks, Snead and Dawson was considered top tier in the city, with an outstanding reputation. It was also a very difficult place to land a job and even more difficult to make it to partner. I was in my third year with the firm and considered "on track", but the opportunity to work directly with a senior partner was rare, so I was hoping that it might differentiate me and help my advancement.



The following day, I walked out of the office at exactly two-thirty and minutes later I was pointing my X5 towards the southern environs of the city. The area was even seedier than I had expected, with many empty buildings, and graffiti was evident on almost every object in sight. Arriving right on time, having made only one wrong turn, I saw the blue door at the end of what was at some point, a strip shopping center. After knocking, I had to wait almost a minute before the door was opened slowly by an obese black woman who gave me a quick once over.



"You the lawyer?" she spat out.



"Yes ma'am, I'm here to see Mr. Lamontagne. We have an appointment at 3:00 PM," I explained.



"He's in there," she said, pointing towards a half open door before moving slowly back to a rusty metal desk against the wall.



"Mr. Lamontagne?" I asked, as I poked my head through the door.



"Yeah, come in," he replied.



Mr. Lamontagne was sitting behind another metal desk and didn't bother to stand as I entered. Glancing quickly around, I could see the room was sparsely furnished, denoting functionality rather than comfort.



"Steve Clendenning," I said, as I put my hand out in greeting, and he shook it perfunctorily then pointed towards a folding chair.



Seeing him, I confirmed my initial suspicions that he was black. He appeared to be in his early forties, with a slender build and tightly cut hair with just a few flecks of gray. He was wearing a blood red long sleeve shirt with the top three buttons undone and several gold chains were nestled in the opening. In addition, he had a large diamond stud in his right ear and a facial expression that made me think that he very rarely smiled. In total, he almost seemed a caricature of someone that lived on the fringes of society. Since the initial conversation with Mr. Phillips, I had been curious as to the nature and circumstances of Mr. Lamontagne, and had knocked some ideas around in my head as to what I was dealing with, so I was eager to learn the reality.



"Well sir. How can I help you?" I asked, hoping it was a simple request.



"How long you been a lawyer?" he replied, catching me completely off guard.



"Three years," I replied.



"Married? Kids?" he continued in his rough accent.



"Married, but no kids," I answered, wondering where he was going.



"I always like to know something about the people I'm doing business with. It helps to understand how they think, what they might do," he explained, causing a shiver of nervousness to run through me.



"Seems reasonable," I answered, not knowing what else to say.



"Tilde! Bring us some beers," he shouted out the door.



I could hear Tilde moving around and soon she appeared with two bottles that were ice cold.



"Nothing better than cold beer on a hot day," he stated while smiling faintly, and I nodded in agreement as the large woman withdrew.



"So, what you want to know about me? You're a smart lawyer boy. You gotta be wondering," he asked, with a penetrating stare.



"Well, I uh guess I'll learn about you from what you have in mind for the firm to help you with," I stammered.



"Yeah, I guess you likely will. Has your boss explained anything?" he asked.



"No sir. He said we would talk after you and I met," I answered.



"Hmmm...I see then. Well, best get started," he replied, looking a bit annoyed.



"I'm a business man Steve. I provide services for the folks in the community. Not all these services are considered proper by the more uptight people, so I have to keep a low profile. Then, there are those that want to compete with me in business and want to take me out. I have to deal with those too you see. Are you following me?" he asked, returning to his hard stare even while sipping his beer.



"To some extent Mr. Lamontagne, but can you be more specific," I asked, as I pulled out a note pad.



"No writing. You keep it in your head. Now your boss told me that if I tell you stuff you don't have to tell anyone else. That legally you don't," he said as his eyes narrowed.



"Yes sir, that's right. As your attorney, you are protected by what's called privilege. Our conversations are confidential," I explained.



"Good...good. Well son, what I want you to help me with has to do with change," he said.



"Change?" I replied.



"Yes, I want to change my business from what I'm doing now that upsets certain folks to one that is respectable. You see I've been doing this for a while but there ain't too many like me that have. They all seem to go to jail or end up dead. I don't like those things so you need to help me make some changes," he explained.



"I see," I said, feeling my mouth getting dry despite the beer.



"What kind of business do you want to get into?" I asked, putting off the discussion on what his current activities might entail.



"Investments, real estate," he replied, smiling.



For a fleeting moment, I thought that this must be some elaborate joke set up by the firm, as it was all too bizarre to be real, but inside I knew Mr. Lamontagne was very serious.



"Well Mr. Lamontagne, I can establish a company for you that will allow for the holding of the assets you described. However, these are usually tied to a tax strategy as well. Do you have a tax professional that can assist?" I asked, like I would any new client.



"Steve, no one else needs to know. Your boss said you were good enough to handle it all," he replied.



"Well I've had some experience, but I'm not the best," I told him.



"It will have to do," he replied quickly.



"And the capital, the money for the new business, I mean what are we talking about?" I asked, nervously.



There was a long silence. He looked at me for some, then at the wall and for a while I thought maybe he was having second thoughts and this would all go away.



"Do you realize I can be violent when I need be?" he asked, as he turned back to me.



"I don't have knowledge of that Mr. Lamontagne, and have no desire to see you turn violent," I replied.



"I have over $9 million hidden and more is coming in from my businesses every day. I want to start the legit business and get it going then let the other go," he told me.



"Or sell it," I offered.



"Boy, I like how you think," he said, letting go with a big laugh that suddenly eased the tension in the room.



"Mr. Lamontagne, that much money popping up in a new business might attract attention. You will need to take it slow," I said, realizing as I spoke that I was aiding in a tax felony.



"Yeah, yeah...I thought that was probably the case," he replied.



At that point, I decided I had learned enough and needed to discuss things with Mr. Phillips.



"Mr. Lamontagne, I will start the paperwork on the investment company. You will need to think if you want a corporate structure, officers of the company other than yourself, and what to call it. Let me spend a few days on it then we can talk again," I said, starting to rise.



"That's fine. Just remember one thing, Steve," he said, finishing the last of his beer.



"Sir?" I replied.



"Don't ever fuck with me," he answered while fixing on me with a gaze that made the hair on my neck stand.



The following afternoon, I sat in a chair in Mr. Phillip's plush office overlooking the city from the 36th floor. The distinguished man, that I guessed was around fifty, was trying hard to show an outward calm, but I could tell he felt nervous and awkward.



"Steve, sometimes in this profession we learn things and have to do things that are unseemly. I know that when one learns this, realizes it for the first time, that we might call into question or own ethics, our own morality. That makes things very hard, but unfortunately the world isn't always black and white. There are many shades of gray out there, sometimes darker than we would like to see, to acknowledge, and to have to address. Do you understand what I'm saying?" he asked, averting his eyes as his right-hand fidgeting with a paperweight.



"I think so, at least I'm trying. What I don't understand is why the firm wants to deal with Mr. Lamontagne, why it would risk its reputation on a man that is involved in his activities," I replied, sincerely.



"A very good question, Steve. Let me try to explain. Our gentleman in question has operations, businesses that are at times used or frequented let's say by certain leaders in the community. He, from that standpoint, could be called a well-connected individual. Let's also say that over time Mr. Lamontagne has assisted or sometimes come to the rescue of individuals who have had difficulties. These community leaders now feel it would be in everyone's best interest for Mr. Lamontagne to quietly achieve his goal of transitioning to legitimacy," he explained, with his strength seeming to grow as the words came from his mouth.



"I see," I answered, not knowing what else to say.



"You can be assured that you will have the backing, indirectly, of some extremely powerful people," he continued.



"Mr. Phillips, why me?" I asked, nervous about the answer.



"Another good question. Let's say that those of us involved felt of the associates at the firm with the appropriate experience you were the least judgmental," he answered.



"Is that a good thing?" I countered.



"In this endeavor, it is and it will not be forgotten," he replied.



"I'll try my best Mr. Phillips," I said to him.



"Steve, between you and me. Most partners in the firm are carrying scars. It makes us something of kindred spirits," he said, as he shook my hand.



It was an awkward exchange, as I expected, but it was also enlightening. It gave me a glimpse, although a tiny one, as to how politics and relationships played out in the real world. I wondered who the people were, most likely men, which were beholding to Mr. Lamontagne.



My wife Allie noticed something was off when I got home that evening. I had not told her about meeting Mr. Lamontagne for several reasons. First, until discussing the matter with Mr. Phillips, I wasn't sure my involvement would continue, so there was no need to explain the sordid story. Second, I wasn't sure how she would react. She's not the sanctimonious type, but this was at best on the ragged edge of ethics.



"Honey, did you start a new case? You have a distant look," she challenged me within ten minutes of walking in the door.



"Damn, is it that obvious?" I replied.



"Yes, what's going on?" she asked with a look of concern.



"Let's have dinner first and we can discuss it over this wine I brought home," I suggested.



Allie and I met in law school and got married during our third year. We were in the same class and both of us graduated, but she decided after six months of work that being a lawyer was stressful, demanding, and completely unrewarding. She promptly quit, which caused her parents to cry foul over the money they had spent, and took a job in a non-profit organization helping low income families. She now got to balance a rewarding job with keeping a home, and left the long hours and stress to me.



Other than losing over fifty percent of her income, everything else for her was a huge upside. Her outlook on life was fantastic, and she had time to take care of herself. Allie is a very beautiful woman. Relatively tall at 5'8" and slender, weighing just 126 lbs., her best feature is her long smooth legs that end in a tight, shapely rear. She has jet black hair and full lips along with perky B-cup breasts. There seemed to always be a smile on her face, and she has an impish charm that carries over to the bedroom.



"Spill it counselor," she said to me, after the dishes were in the washer, and we were sitting on the couch with our wine glasses full.



Where to start, I thought to myself, but rather than beating around the bush, I gave her the events in chronological order through the meeting with Mr. Phillips. She was mostly quiet throughout the description stopping me only to clarify a few items.



"Well, what do you think?" I asked when I had finished.



"You're going to go to jail," she replied.



"What? Why?" I asked.



"Well let's see...money laundering, tax evasion. Honey your aiding and abetting in the commitment of felonies. Phillips and the firm are setting you up to be the fall guy if anything happens," she answered, telling me things I knew were true, but didn't want to hear.



"Well I know I am going to have to walk a fine line," I offered as a feeble response.



"That line doesn't't exist," she replied.



"Phillip's implied that most of the partners have had to do similar things in the past," I retorted.



"Let's assume that's true. They were lucky. They didn't get caught. You might get lucky, but if you aren't it will not end well," she explained, and I remembered why she was on the winning debate team in school.



"I'm screwed," I said, looking into my glass of wine.



"Perhaps, but any outcome is better than going to jail," she said as she took my arm.



"If I don't go through with it, I might as well leave the firm," I told her.



"I know," she said as she snuggled against me.



Monday morning, I went in to the office intending to decline to represent Mr. Lamontagne. As I got on the elevator, I was joined by Barton Gillespie another of the senior partners who was in his sixties. After the twentieth floor, we were alone in the car as it ascended.



"Steve, I understand you are going to help the city with a little problem we have. I hope you know how important this is and how much your efforts are appreciated," he told me softly.



"Yes, well...uhhh thank you Mr. Gillespie," I answered, unsure of what else to say.



I went home that night expecting Allie to yell and scream at me for being a gutless loser or worse, to walk out the door not wanting to risk her good name with my potential downfall. She read me like a book as soon as I walked in the door, but instead of going ballistic, she sat me down to talk.



"You didn't decline, did you?" she asked calmly.



I told her about Mr. Gillespie and the words of encouragement. How I loved my job and didn't want to leave. I think she realized how much I longed to be a partner in the firm, so she accepted my answer without attempting to argue me out of it.



"Okay, well then you are going to be ultra-careful. I mean extremely careful. To the point of rehearsing your words for any discussion. I'm not going to lose you to this bullshit," she stated, using a curse word for maybe the third time since I'd known her.



We spent the rest of the night reviewing various areas where I might have legal risks, and the best way to position myself to have a defense against any criminal prosecution. The next day, I went into the office and finished the paperwork I needed to prepare for a second meeting with Mr. Lamontagne. It took eleven phone calls to his office number before Tilde finally answered the phone at 3:47 PM in the afternoon. She told me he wasn't in, but would call back, although it wasn't until after 5:00 PM that he finally did.



"Mr. Lamontagne I have the documents ready for your review. When would you have time to meet?" I asked.



"Be here in an hour," he replied.



"Well sir. It's pretty late today. Can we do it sometime tomorrow?" I countered.



"Today is better," he shot back.



"Okay, well I see. Then, I'll see you in an hour," I replied, angry with myself for caving in to his power trick.



An hour later, I knocked on the blue door and Tilde let me in as she left. There were two beers opened on his desk and we went through the documents and filled in the missing information as we sipped them. It didn't take long to finish and I started collecting the papers to leave.



"Why don't you come with me to look at some of my businesses," he demanded, more than asked.



"Well, my wife is expecting me home," I replied, hoping to get out of it easily.



"Call her and tell her you'll be late," he answered dismissively.



"Mr. Lamontagne this is a troubling area for me because I risk losing my license if I see illegal activity taking place," I explained, trying to appeal to his softer side.



The look on his face was not what I was expecting at all. Rather than anger, it was almost pity.



"Steve, you don't get it do you. You still don't get it," he replied, starting to laugh.



"How do you think I stay in business so long?" he asked.



"I don't know sir," I replied.



"Two ways. First, be low key and don't create messes. I'm the best in the city at keeping out of the spotlight. Second, keep everyone happy. I'm talking police, city council, church folk, all of them. You go to one of my places, the cops will be watching over things quietly. Let's just say the mayor has been a guest before and others too. Your biggest risk is pissing me off and me complaining to your boss," he said, now fully laughing at my expense.



I called Allie and explained that I would be late. She sensed where I was, but didn't get upset or push me. Instead, she just asked that I be careful.



Mr. Lamontagne told me to drive around to the back of the building, and when I got there he had pulled a black Escalade from the building and pointed at me to put my car in its place. Then, as I got into his vehicle, he hit a button on the console and the overhead door came down sealing my car safely inside.

