good job, I thought.”
“Has Dad read it?”
“Oh yes. We’ve been discussing it in the kitchen.”
“Is he upset?”
She patted his knee and said, “No, Theo. Your father and I are both proud. It’s just that, let’s say, we’re concerned that you’re in the middle of a fight that perhaps should not include kids.”
“Oh really, Mom? What about the kids who go to school and play soccer out there? The kids who’ll be forced to breathe the diesel fumes? What about the kids like Hardie, whose family will lose its property and other kids who’ll lose their homes?”
Mrs. Boone took a sip from her cup and smiled at Theo. He was right, and she knew it. Still, he didn’t understand how brutal the game of politics could be when the stakes were so high. “I didn’t stop by to argue, Theo. Let’s just say that your father and I are very protective.”
“I know that, believe me I do.”
There was a long pause as they stared at the floor. After he took a long sip, Theo said, “Mom, the public hearing is next Tuesday. I really want to be there. Is that gonna be okay with you and Dad?”
“Certainly, Theo. I’ll be there, too. I’m opposed to the bypass and I want the commissioners to know it.”
“Awesome, Mom. What about Dad?”
“He’ll probably skip it. He doesn’t like long meetings, you know?”
“Sure.”
She left, and Theo followed her downstairs with Judge. He went through his morning ritual quicker than ever—shower, teeth, braces, clothes, and breakfast.
He couldn’t wait to get to school.
Chapter 26
Late at night, with his bedroom door locked, Theo opened his laptop and began typing the letter. It was a letter he’d been thinking about for days, and though he seriously doubted he would ever mail it, he wanted to write it anyway.
Dear Mitchell Stak:
I have in my possession some papers that clearly show your son-in-law, Stu Malzone, owns 20 percent of a company called Parkin Land Trust. Joe Ford and two other men own the rest of the company. I also have a copy of a legal document called an option, which gives PLT the right to buy two hundred acres from Mr. Walt Beeson near Sweeney Road if the bypass is approved by the commissioners of Stratten County. Looking at these papers, it is very clear your son-in-law stands to make a lot of money from the bypass. This is a gross conflict of interest on your part. I have no way of knowing what Joe Ford has promised you, if anything, but I’m sure the newspaper reporters will have a lot of fun digging through your trash. Here’s the deal: If you vote to approve the bypass next Tuesday night, then I will hand over these papers to Mr. Norris Flay with the Strattenburg Gazette. If you vote against the bypass, then the slimy deal between Joe Ford and your son-in-law will never be mentioned, at least not by me.
Sincerely,
A Concerned Voter
After a lot of research, Theo had learned that it was not against the law to send an anonymous letter. Anyone can use the US mail to send a letter or a package to anyone else without identifying themselves. And, as long as the anonymous letter is not threatening, then the person who sends it cannot be charged with a crime. Assuming, of course, that the person is ever discovered.
Was it against the law to threaten someone? Theo had struggled with this issue for hours. To commit a crime, a person making a threat must have the clear intention and the ability to carry it out. For example, if A threatens to kill B, but says so in a way that is harmless, then there is no criminal act. Likewise, if A threatens to kill B, and really means it, but is a quadriplegic stuck in a wheelchair, then he lacks the ability to carry out his threat. However, if A is dead serious and has the ability to make good on his threat, then the threat becomes a criminal act.
Such arguments were why Theo loved the law.
In the case of Mitchell Stak, though, Theo’s threat of public exposure could not be considered a criminal act even if he were serious and could follow through. Why? Because exposing corruption is far different from killing someone. Exposing corruption is not illegal; murder, of course, still is.
Theo read the letter again and it made him even more nervous. He felt like David staring up at Goliath. Mr. Stak was a powerful politician who’d served on the County Commission for fifteen years, since before Theo was born. Who did Theo think he was, trying to intimidate such a man?
On the other hand, Theo would not get caught, at least not in theory. If he in fact mailed the letter, he would do so in such a way that no one would ever know where it came from. That’s the purpose of anonymous mail, right? The sender gets to hide behind a wall of secrecy. He would use rubber gloves and not lick the stamp. Everything would be typed, nothing handwritten, and he would print the letter at school, where it couldn’t be traced. He would deposit it in a remote postal box, far from security cameras. He was certain he could pull this off.
Still, it did not feel right. It seemed kind of cowardly. There should be a better way to confront a crooked politician than by sneaking around firing off unsigned letters. But after three days of nonstop, hyperactive thinking and scheming, Theo had no other plan.
He turned off his computer, turned off the light, situated Judge at the foot of his bed, and tried to go to sleep. His eyes would not close.
The letter was a bluff and nothing more. It wasn’t a real threat because Theo could never reveal what he knew. He could never show Norris Flay or anyone else the papers now stuck away in a batch of retired files deep in the storage boxes at Boone & Boone. Theo knew the rules. Ike had made them even clearer. When it came to a client’s secrets, nothing left the law office.
So why not send the letter? What was the harm? It wasn’t a crime. The Joe Ford files would be protected. Mr. Stak would read the letter, know immediately that whoever wrote it knew the truth, and at that point he might be terrified of being exposed. The anonymous letter stood a good chance of bullying Mr. Stak into voting against the bypass.
Was this right or wrong? Theo flipped and flopped for an hour as Judge glared at him in the darkness. Then he thought of something else: Wouldn’t the letter reveal Joe Ford’s business to Mr. Stak? Yes, it certainly would. But then, Mr. Stak already knew about the shady land deal, right? So the letter wouldn’t reveal anything that Mr. Stak didn’t already know. Would this be a violation of a client’s secrets? “Maybe,” Theo said aloud. “And maybe not.”
The knot in his stomach was back, and he needed to use the bathroom. At midnight he was sitting in his bed, in the darkness, hunched over his laptop pecking away with some new ideas for the public hearing next Tuesday night. For the moment, the letter was forgotten.
* * *
He slept little, and at 6:30 got up and splashed water on his face. He turned on his laptop, and, as was his habit these days, went straight to YouTube. The bypass video had over 31,000 hits. Theo watched it again, a wide grin on his face. He then went to the Gazette and found another front-page story by Norris Flay. Evidently, Mr. Flay had ventured over to Jackson Elementary again and found a story about a teacher with a lot to say. Her name was Ms. Rooney, and she and her third-grade class had begun wearing yellow surgical masks as a sign of protest. This had quickly spread throughout the third grade, and the fourth, and there was a beautiful color photo of about fifty kids posing on the playground, all with the masks.
The yellow masks, a brilliant idea.
Below the photo there was another story about the bypass. The governor had passed through Strattenburg the day before to rally the troops and push for the project. He had spoken at a Business Forum luncheon and given his usual spiel about how much the area needed the bypass. There was a photo of him mugging for the camera with two of the county commissioners—Mitchell Stak and Lucas Grimes. He called both men “bold leaders” unafraid to make tough decisions.
Staring into the eyes of Mitchell Stak, Theo decided to mail his letter.
He waited until Friday afternoon. He had scoped out a mail drop-off box on a
street corner near Gil’s Bike Shop, a place he knew well. It was a typical large, blue metal US Postal Service box with a heavy pull-down slot at the top. As far as Theo could tell, there were no nosy video cameras on any of the nearby buildings.
He had three letters, all identical. The letters themselves were on plain white sheets of copy paper like a million found in every law office. The language had changed little since the original draft. The envelopes were plain white, too, but the wording was different. The return address was from a person who did not exist, a Mr. Toby Clemons, 667 Gorewood Street, Strattenburg. There was no such name in the phone book and no such street in town. Theo decided to use a return address to make the mailing look more authentic. One envelope was addressed to Mr. Stak at his home; another to his hardware store; and the third to the Office of the County Commissioners.
The mail was picked up at 6:00 p.m. each afternoon. At 4:10 Friday, Theo approached the drop box with the three letters in his backpack. He was a nervous wreck. Though he couldn’t pinpoint exactly why, he felt as though he was in the middle of a serious criminal act. For almost a week, he had debated this back and forth, up and down, pros and cons, inside and out, and he had made his decision. What he was doing wasn’t wrong. Maybe it didn’t feel completely right, but it could not get him in trouble. And, most importantly, it might just kill the bypass, and save the Quinn family farm, and keep polluted air away from kids, and so on. Theo was convinced he was right.
Well, he’d been convinced at school, and at the office, and as he rode his bike over to the mailbox, but when he stopped and pulled the letters from his backpack, a voice told him not to do it. “Don’t mail the letters. It’s wrong and you know it. You’re using secret information that you have no right to use. If you were a real lawyer, as opposed to a kid lawyer, you would be violating rules of ethics and could get into serious trouble. Don’t do it, Theo.”
His heart was pounding and his feet were heavy, and Theo knew he should listen to his conscience. The fact that something is not clearly wrong doesn’t mean it’s right. Ike had once told him that in court great lawyers always trust their gut. Right now, Theo’s gut was turning flips.
He shoved the letters into his backpack and hurried away. After half a block, he felt much better. He was breathing, smiling, pedaling furiously, and his backpack weighed far less with the letters still buried inside.
Chapter 27
The last time Theo had been so excited before an event had been the opening day of the Pete Duffy murder trial. Then, his friend Judge Gantry had given Mr. Mount’s class permission to sit in the balcony of his grand courtroom. The crowd had been standing room only—it was, after all, Strattenburg’s biggest murder trial in decades—and Theo and his classmates were lucky to be there.
This, though, was far different. The public hearing was to begin at 8:00 p.m., and two hours before then groups were gathering outside the County Office Building. Near the large front doors, a line was forming of those wanting the best seats. Dozens of protestors with signs walked back and forth on the sidewalk near the street; it seemed as if all were opposed to the bypass. Two television crews were setting up.
When Theo arrived on his bike at 6:30, he met Hardie, Woody, Chase, and April, and they got themselves organized. They found a spot near a monument close to the front of the building, and began handing out yellow surgical masks to anyone who would take one. Hardie’s father had bought a truckload and was there to help. In fact, the entire Quinn family showed up early.
There was a new wrinkle to their protests. April had the idea to include a yellow bandanna with the word TOXIC printed in bold black letters across the center. It was another brilliant move. She and her mother had found the material, and a screen printer donated their services. When properly attired, with yellow surgical mask and matching yellow TOXIC bandanna, each kid looked like a pint-sized terrorist. They soon attracted a crowd as every kid, and quite a few adults, pushed forward to get a free mask and bandanna. One of the TV crews took notice and began filming.
By 7:00 p.m., the small plaza in front of the building was swarming with hundreds of people, many of them kids adorned in yellow from the neck up. Traffic on Main Street was bumper-to-bumper and not moving. The doors finally opened and the crowd began to squeeze inside.
For public meetings, the commissioners met in a large auditorium with high ceilings and tall windows and rows and rows of cushioned seating. Down at the front of the room, the commissioners sat in five huge leather chairs with nameplates and microphones before them on a long table. A small army of aides and assistants were grouped behind them.
When Theo finally managed to get into the room around 7:30, all seats were taken and people were lining up along the walls. He found a spot to stand near the back, and as he took in the surroundings he was astonished at the sea of yellow. Hundreds of kids were there, and every one of them had a mask and a bandanna. Many of their parents did, too.
An administrator of some sort asked the crowd to be quiet. The commission was considering another matter and would appreciate some courtesy. Theo looked down, far away, dead center, and studied the frowning face of Mr. Mitchell Stak. He was the chairman, so he sat in the middle. All five, all white men, looked troubled.
The balcony was opened and soon filled. A fire marshal announced the room had reached its legal capacity and no one else could be admitted. Far across the room, Theo saw his mother. She, of course, could not recognize him because most of his face was covered in yellow and he had the word TOXIC across his forehead, the same as several hundred other kids in the auditorium. Theo waved to her but she did not see him. Mr. Boone was not present.
The commissioners adjourned for a break and disappeared. The crowd bristled with nervous chatter and anticipation. It seemed as though the opponents outnumbered those in favor by at least ten to one, and it was difficult to believe the commissioners would have the guts to go against such a mob. Within a few minutes, the five commissioners returned, took their seats, and stared at the packed house. They were not looking forward to the next three hours.
Mr. Stak pulled his microphone close and said, “Good evening and thanks for coming. It’s always refreshing to see our citizens involved in the issues of the day. We want to hear from you and hope we have enough time. According to our rules of order, we will conduct this public hearing in an orderly and civilized fashion. There will be no cheering, applauding, booing, hissing, or yelling. No form of public protest, other than what is available here at the podium. We will begin with the formal presentation of this project, commonly known as the Red Creek Bypass, and this will be done by various representatives from the State Highway Department. We, the commissioners, will have the chance to ask questions and lead a discussion. Following that, and time permitting, we will hear from our concerned citizens.”
A group of men in dark suits stood up and circled the podium. A spokesman from the highway department introduced himself and began reading a long and boring introduction to the project. Ten minutes in, the crowd seemed to deflate as it became obvious this formal presentation might take forever. The first spokesman handed off to the second, an expert in traffic studies, and he soon buried them in a sea of numbers.
Adults struggle to pay attention to wearisome material. Kids have no chance. Theo was tired of breathing through the mask and absolutely numb with boredom. An adult behind him said, and not too softly, “They’re trying to bore us to death so we’ll go home. It’s an old trick.”
Another responded with, “Yes, that and starting at eight p.m. Should’ve started earlier.”
There was quite a lot of mumbling throughout the auditorium. Kids fidgeted and left for the bathroom. When the third spokesman said, in a dull voice that never seemed to go up or down, “Now, the second traffic study is shorter than the first, and I’d like to go through it carefully,” a wave of groaning went through the crowd. Occasionally, one of the commissioners would ask a question to break things up, but for the most part the spokesmen an
d experts for the state rambled on as if they might talk for hours. Nine p.m. came and went, with no end in sight. Maps and models were flashed onto large screens near the front of the room, the same stuff that had been in the newspaper and online for weeks. Nothing new.
The crowd was growing restless, but no one left. As bedtime approached for many of the kids, their parents seemed determined to stay. So what if they lost some sleep? This was far more important.
Tempers flared when Mr. Chuck Cerroni, the only commissioner to publicly condemn the bypass, began to argue with the highway department experts. This upset Mr. Lucas Grimes, a big supporter of the project, and the two commissioners engaged in several rounds of sniping at each other. Their anger and drama livened up the evening, but only for a few moments. When they finally settled down, yet another spokesman took the podium and began his part of the program.
It was almost 10:00 p.m. when the formal presentation finally ran out of gas. Mr. Stak leaned into his mike and said, “Thank you, gentlemen, for a very informative summary of the project. Now, we decided yesterday to allow one spokesman for the opposition to present a fifteen-minute rebuttal. I believe Mr. Sebastian Ryan of the Stratten Environmental Council will do that at this time.”
The crowd, having survived two hours of misery, suddenly came to life. As Sebastian walked to the podium, a ripple of fresh energy went through the auditorium. He adjusted the mike and said, “Thank you, Mr. Stak, and thanks to the commission for allowing us to be heard.” He paused, then dramatically, and loudly, said, “To put it frankly, gentlemen, this bypass is a rotten idea.”
The room exploded with applause and cheering as hundreds of opponents finally had the chance to be heard. The crowd yelled and clapped with a burst of energy that startled almost everyone, most especially the five commissioners. Mr. Stak raised a hand and calmly waited for the racket to die down. He said, “Okay, that’s enough of that. Please restrain yourselves. If you can’t be quiet, then we’ll ask you to leave.” He was pleasant, wise no doubt from years of experience.
The crowd slowly settled down, but there was little doubt it was ready to rumble. Bored adults were no longer bored. Sleepy kids were wide awake. They listened intently as Sebastian Ryan began a point-by-point criticism of the bypass.
Every word he said made perfect sense, at least to Theo, who was thoroughly captivated with Sebastian at the podium. He was smart, calm, and with a beard and slightly longer hair was clearly the coolest speaker so far, in Theo’s opinion. Sebastian was a lawyer who stayed away from courtrooms; instead, he fought to protect the environment. Theo had never thought about doing that kind of work, but at the moment he wanted to be like Sebastian. Though Theo felt a little ashamed to think such thoughts, he sort of envied Sebastian as the center of attention.
But not everyone was impressed. Mr. Lucas Grimes and another commissioner, Mr. Buddy Klasko, began firing questions at Sebastian. Everyone knew Mr. Grimes was in favor of the bypass, and as the evening progressed it had become clear that Mr. Klasko was too. Add the vote of Mr. Stak, the loudest supporter, and the bypass had three out of five, or a majority. A victory.
After half an hour of haggling and bickering, Sebastian Ryan began to lose his cool, and with good reason. Mr. Grimes and Mr. Klasko became even more aggressive in challenging every minor point. Mr. Cerroni, an opponent, tried to help Sebastian, and at times it seemed as if all five commissioners were arguing and pointing fingers. The crowd reacted badly with mumblings and groans and even a few boos that followed silly questions and comments.
Sebastian had been at the podium for almost an hour when things changed dramatically. During a brief lull in the arguing, a large and rather rough-looking man of about forty stood in the center of the auditorium and yelled, “Are you guys afraid to vote?” His sharp words cut through the heavy air and echoed around the auditorium. The crowd loved it and reacted with cheers and jeers. From somewhere in the rear a chant began, “We want a vote! We want a vote!” This spread instantly to all corners and within seconds hundreds of people were on their feet yelling as loudly as possible: “We want a vote! We want a vote!”
Theo was screaming it too and could not remember having so much fun.
Sebastian wisely sat down during this demonstration. Chairman Stak wisely let the crowd have its voice. After a minute or so, with the windows rattling, he slowly raised his hand and smiled. “Thank you,” he said. “Please. Yes. Thank you. Now please be seated.” The chanting stopped. Shuffling and grumbling, the people reluctantly sat down, or those who had seats did so. Theo and dozens of others had been standing for almost three hours.
Mr. Stak said, “Please, no more outbursts. Our rules of order require that we vote tonight, so please be patient.” Near silence in the auditorium. Mr. Stak picked up a sheet of paper, frowned at it, then said, “Now, according to this sign-up sheet, there are ninety-one people who wish to speak.”
Many in the crowd exhaled. It was 11:05.
Mr. Stak continued, “Normally, when we have such a large crowd, we limit the speeches to three minutes each. Ninety-one speeches times three is about two hundred and seventy minutes, or four and a half hours. Not sure any of us want to say here that long.”
Mr. Grimes interrupted by saying, “We can also change the rules if we want, right?”
“We have the power, yes.”
“Then I suggest we limit the number of speakers.”
This caused another argument among the commissioners, and for ten minutes they haggled about how to save time. Finally, Mr. Sam McGray, the oldest commissioner and the one who had said the least, suggested a limit of five speakers at five minutes each. That would guarantee the meeting would be over by midnight, and it would allow enough different voices to be heard. He said what everyone knew—that many of the speakers would say the same thing. The other four finally agreed and the rules were changed on the spot. Mr. Stak urged those who wanted to speak to huddle quickly with their friends and colleagues and decide who would say what. This caused some chaos and burned some more clock.
It was almost 11:30 when the first speaker stepped to the podium. He was a well-dressed gentleman from a business group and really wanted the bypass. Nothing he said was new; the congestion on Battle Street was choking traffic; Highway 75 was crucial to the rest of the state; economic growth depended on the bypass; and so on. Hardie’s father spoke next, and, on behalf of the landowners sitting in the path of the new four-lane, delivered a lecture on the abuses of eminent domain. As a minister, he was accustomed to preaching, and he was very effective. A local plumbing contractor spoke in favor of the project because he employed eight crews with eight trucks and was frustrated with the slow traffic around town.
Theo was listening intently when he realized that Sebastian Ryan was beside him. Sebastian whispered, “Theo, take off your mask for a minute.” Theo did so and said, “What’s up?”
Sebastian, leaning down, unusually nervous, said, “Look, Theo, we think it’s a great idea for you to speak on behalf of all these kids.”
Theo’s jaw dropped as a bolt of raw fear shot up and down his spine. He couldn’t say a word. Sebastian continued, “You’ll be the last speaker, and when you walk down to the podium we’ll get all the kids to follow you. It’ll be a mob staring at the commissioners. You gotta do it, Theo.”
“No way,” Theo managed to say. His mouth was already dry.
“Sure, you can do it. We heard a rumor that the commissioners and a lot of other people want to see the kids who made the video. You’re the man, Theo.”