Chapter 1

"Oh what a tangled web we weave,
"When first we practice to deceive."

-- Sir Walter Scott

Droit Du Seigneur, French for the lord's right, is popularly used to describe an alleged legal right allowing the lord of an estate to take the virginity of the estate's virgins.

Eight months after Early Conroy had walked out onto that patio, he sat in an upscale Portland restaurant on a Friday evening. He was going to dine with a man he had been making miserable for several months.

The strains of the breakup of his marriage had soured Early on his firm.

In the middle of his crisis with Susan, on the next day after the confrontation, they called and insisted that he fly off on another troubleshooting task. He had told them he had serious family problems and could not leave.

They had pressured him, suggesting there was a Vice Presidency for the man who saved their bacon. He said that was not as important to him as his marriage, shaky though it might be. They had thrown in the name of Fred Alvarez, supposedly his chief rival. If Early would not go, Freddy would, and would reap the rewards for success.

Despite the seriousness of his personal crisis, Early had unable to resist laughing out loud. He had been on the phone talking to the CEO of his firm at the time.

Then he got serious. "Carleton, you go ahead and send Freddy Alvarez, with my blessing. Maybe Freddy will amaze us all and rise to the occasion. If he does, make him your VP. Maybe he will rise to the challenge of that level, too. Maybe miracles will happen. Maybe the Peter Principle doesn't apply to your firm.

"And maybe the Great Fucking Pumpkin will come on Halloween and reward all the good little boys and girls. But I'll tell you what, Carleton, whatever wonders do happen, I won't be there. All these petty pressure tactics sicken me.

"Watch for my next and last email, just to put it in writing. I hereby resign. Give my best to Freddy!"

He had indeed resigned, and was the Marketing Director and chief troubleshooter for another firm now: Tate Systems, Inc. Tate's direct and most prominent competitor was Morrison Electronics; he had chosen to go with Tate for that very reason.

He had become such a gadfly that Mr. Roland Morrison, President of Morrison Electronics was meeting him. Early had outmaneuvered Morrison Electronics and had been poaching clients left and right to the point that Roland Morrison, their president, desperately wanted to get Early Conroy out of the competition by hiring him away.

Early had been working toward that end for almost seven months. He expected that Roland Morrison was planning to use this dinner to make him an offer.

He didn't think that it was going to work out the way quite the way that Morrison did. Oh yes, he would consider jumping over to Morrison, for a price. But would Roland Morrison be willing to pay the high price that Early had in mind?

Morrison came in, apologizing for his tardiness. He was a bit wary and tentative as he sized up Early Conroy. Early, on the other hand was relaxed. He knew a great deal about Morrison Electronics and Roland Morrison. He also knew a great deal about Geraldine Morrison, Roland's attractive wife.

Geraldine Morrison, the attorney.

Geraldine Morrison, Susan Conroy's mentor at the law firm of Jenson, Sharone, and Anderson.

The two men shook hands and went about the business of ordering and eating a meal. They were careful to stay away from the reason for the meeting as they ate, so they made small talk about local politics and sports teams and the unusually dry weather.

After they ate, Mr. Morrison waited for the dishes to be cleared and then got to the point.

"Let's not beat around the bush, Conroy. Since you've been with Tate, you've been killing us. We have always had our problems, and you have feasted on them. You've been bird-dogging damned near every single one of our clients and underbidding us.

"Frankly, you have hurt us. I've had to lay off staff and am thinking about closing up one facility. I've finally come to the realization that the only way I can get you to stop bleeding us dry is to hire you away from Tate and bring you onto my team. I need you to help me improve where we are weak.

"Unless you have some special tie to Tate, I assume that you are motivated by ambition like anyone else. I want to make you my VP for Marketing and Business Development. You'd be my Number Two man. Let me know your price.

"I just can't afford to have you against me any more. You'll put me out of business.

Early took a sip of his wine.

"Roland, I'll be happy to discuss your offer and the things that I think I can bring to Morrison."

He pulled an envelope from his jacket and slid it across the table to the older men. "This spells out what I want in the way of compensation and authority. I don't think there's anything in there that will surprise you or put you off.

"However, my price includes something that is not in this envelope. It's a simple thing, really."

Roland mentally braced himself.

"I want you to listen to a story. I want your word that you will hear me out all the way through to the end and that you will not interrupt."

Roland was mystified, but willing to do almost anything to hire Early Conroy. He gave his word and settled back in his chair.

The first part of Early's story was The Troubador's How High a Price?

The second part went like this:

Early Conroy walked to the edge of the patio, out to where he could just see the waters of Lake Washington through the trees. His mind was racing at 10,000 rpm, or so it seemed.

Before he walked out, he had been grasping at straws, trying to come to grips with the crisis that Susan had brought home. He had been thinking and talking off the top of his head. Susan was a sobbing unresponsive mess, unable or unwilling to answer him or explain herself in any way that made sense. So he had taken the lead.

As a troubleshooter and negotiator, that was the way he worked when a situation was fluid and difficult: come up with workarounds, stopgaps, get things organized, get things moving. Action, any action is better than inaction. Any plan, however sketchy is better than no plan. Afterward, there would be time for course corrections and longer-term solutions.

He had just told Susan that they could face this problem together, in this house, as long as she was willing to work with him. That they could try to reopen communication. That they would sleep apart for now. He had automatically treated it as if it were a business problem.

Now, not ten minutes later, he was having second thoughts.

This was not a company that had a cash-flow shortfall, or a distribution glitch, or a public relations problem. This was his marriage ... their marriage, and Susan had dealt it a catastrophic blow. Their entire relationship had been based on faith and trust. She had broken that faith and given up any claim to his trust.

And she didn't seem to have the slightest understanding of what she had done. A brilliant intuitive woman and yet all of her feeble explanations and repeated protestations of love rang hollow and phony.

One of the last things he had said to her was;

"Somehow, if we work hard at it, we may be able to get through this; if we both want to make it work. At the moment I wonder if you do."

And that last was the crux of it.

He had ended by saying, "Susan, I love you." And that was true.

But nothing, not even his love for her, was infinite. And each lie that she had effortlessly thrown in his face these past several days had chipped away at that love in some small, incremental way. The crushing sexual betrayal in her actions and evasions had broken away large chunks.

And he could only wonder how many other lies and betrayals there might be; ones that he had not yet caught her in. Having to consider that they might exist eroded his love even more.

He was no lawyer, but he recalled that lawyers often told juries they were entitled to apply an old legal principle to any witness: falsis in unum, falsis in omnibus — false in one thing, false in all things. If jurors determined that a witness was untruthful in one material statement, they were justified in dismissing the witness's entire testimony.

Susan had been false in so many things.

He felt deeply dishonored and shocked by Susan's deceptions and betrayals, and even more distressed that she did not seem to understand what she had done. She had wronged him and lied to him and torn a huge hole in their marriage. And she didn't seem to comprehend that.

She had given her body to another man, freely, and all she could say to explain herself was that it didn't mean anything, that it had nothing to do with Early, or their marriage. Worse yet, she'd said that it was something that she had felt that she had to do.

She had felt that she had to spread her legs for another man? And could not give him a coherent reason for such a betrayal?

How could they possibly get through this crisis if she would not acknowledge that what she had done was inherently wrong?

She seemed completely blinded to the enormity of her mistake. Oh, just now she was overwhelmed at having been caught out and pressed for explanations that she did not have. Right now she was wounded and sobbing, and all fallen apart. But as far as he could tell she didn't think that she had done anything wrong. She had not said she was sorry or shown the slightest remorse.

He knew Susan. Or he thought that he knew her. Obviously not as well as he had once thought, but well enough to know that she would pull herself together. She would regroup.

She was, after all, a lawyer, ambitious, and highly competitive. In the face of adversity, she would do whatever it took to overcome all obstacles.

She had once told him that her goal at Jenson, Sharone, and Anderson was to be the youngest women to ever make partner.

She had a formidable reputation as a courtroom and boardroom warrior, and that part of her would emerge. And if she could not defend herself, she would go on the offensive. And in that mode, she would concede nothing, apologize for nothing, and delay, distract, avoid.

It was a brilliant mode for a litigator and counsel. It would be a devastatingly bad choice of action for her, at this time, in this crisis. Early was not a jury to be swayed. He was her husband and had been wronged. And until he understood the why of it, and knew that she understood how badly she had wronged him, they were finished. Until he knew that she felt sincere remorse, he would never accept being a cuckold. He would turn his back on everything that they had shared and walk away.

And so far he had seen no understanding of her offense and no remorse. All he had seen was an unreal belief that what she had done was somehow right.

He had been obliquely watching her through the undraped window. After some time, he saw her begin to get control of herself and try to get a handle on her situation. She went to the kitchen and blotted her face with wet paper toweling. Then she walked around inside their house, pulling back the rest of the drapes and curtains, opening up the inside of the house to the strong just-past-noon sunlight.

Then she sat down again and looked out at him, squinting against the light. He imagined her trying to see what he was doing or possibly divine what he was thinking. There were no more tears now, merely a look of purpose.

He knew she was beginning to change herself into her litigator mode; he could see it in the set of her face. He knew her mind would be going over every word that had been exchanged between them from 9:20 PM on Thursday evening up to now.

From 9:20 PM Thursday on, because that was when he would first have known she was lying. She would be looking at everything said, every fact, looking for loopholes in what he knew or what she thought he knew. Looking for any angle of defense, any edge.

Early's transitional glasses had long since darkened from the light and he knew she could not see his eyes. He was sitting at an angle as if he were looking out toward the lake, but his eyes were sideways, fixed on her. His heart was sinking as she sat, planning her next move.

Susan, Susan, Susan, he despaired; your next move has to be to admit you were wrong. We can get into the how's and why's of it after that, but you have to concede that you have wronged me and jeopardized us.

And he knew; hope fading, that Susan would not do that.

And another small piece of his love slowly chipped off and fell away.

She picked up the cordless phone. Then she darted a sudden glance outside, realizing that he might be watching her. She got up and walked into the dining room and out of his sight.

Early got up and went to the patio phone. It was shielded against the elements and off to the side, out of sight of the big picture windows. If Susan were to walk back into the living room, she would not be able to see him.

He picked it up and didn't hear a dial tone or dialing, which meant that she had not yet pushed the PHONE on button. He could envision Susan taking a moment, thinking, planning what she had to say to whomever she was about to call. Probably John Stickner, her recent lover.

Still, whatever had delayed her was a break for him. He quickly unscrewed the mouthpiece and ripped the small microphone from its soldered connections. She and her confidante, whoever it would be, would hear no noises. He took out his cell phone. It was an expensive high end models and he had chosen it for features that most phones did not yet have.

At last, he heard her come on the line and the rapid-fire beeped notes of a speed-dial number. Early switched his cell phone to Record Memo Mode and held it against the earpiece. It would record about 8 or 9 minutes of audio.

The phone rang a couple of times.

Then it picked up and a man said, "Susan? Did you leave something beh..."

Susan's voice overrode the man's. "John! Stop talking! Listen to me! We are in deep trouble. My marriage is going up in flames and I'm about to lose the only man that I have ever loved."

Early heard a gasping sound from the other end. He had always wondered what one of those sounded like. Now he knew.

"Early was here when I came home this morning. He's been home since Thursday."

"WHAT? SHIT! You said he..."

"SHUT UP and listen, John. He knows. Or is pretty certain. He was here Thursday night and last night. You heard those phone conversations we had, where I bullshitted about cleaning up the kitchen, and complained about having to sleep in the big old cold lonely bed?

"Well he was here, looking at that kitchen and later sleeping in that bed. He listened to me lie and lie and lie in two calls over two days and never let on that he knew they were lies. God, when he said something offhand about knowing how lonely such a big bed could be, I thought there was something odd in his tone, but I didn't pick up on it. You were licking my nipple and I was distracted.

"The damage was done by then, only I didn't know it. The last thing he said last night was that he HAD loved me more than his own life. I should have heard that past tense and reacted to it, but you were sliding your cock in me just then and I wasn't thinking clearly."

There was dead silence.

Early could barely keep his knees from collapsing. He could not have spoken if he had ten microphones before his lips. He wondered how his heart could keep on beating after what he had just heard. But it did.

John said, "Susan, I don't understand. If he's that quick, how could he not have said something if he knew you were lying? I'd have been screaming accusations."

"John, Early is a negotiator. He troubleshoots problems for his company. Almost every day he sits across the table from people who lie with a straight face and he reads their lies in their faces and their voices. He doesn't react. He has trained himself not to react. He builds his case and ties up their lies in a bundle and later makes them swallow it. He's ruthless behind that pleasant smiling face."

"Christ! I thought we were being so careful, Susan. What did he say when you came in this morning?"

"That he knew I was lying about being home those nights and that he didn't think that the bed I was in Thursday and Friday night was all that lonely. Then he asked me to explain myself.

"John, I was stunned. This was my worst nightmare. All could do was keep babbling that I loved him and only him and that what I had done had nothing to do with him or us or how much I loved him. I said it was just something I had to do.

"I said that I had to repay you and that what I did was something that I felt I owed you and that you deserved for helping me with Melrose. I knew how weak and stupid it sounded even as I said it, but I simply wasn't prepared. I couldn't tell him it was advance payment for ... you know."

"Christ!" John groaned.

"He asked me to explain how betraying him and our marriage and cuckolding him had nothing to do with him and didn't affect us."

There was more silence.

"Susan, this is very important. Did you outright admit that we had sex? The fucking and oral and anal and all that?"

"No, not specifically. But I didn't deny it when he assumed that I had. In his own words, he called it betraying him and cuckolding him. I repeated that I did what I did to repay you for what you did for me. It's hard to think that he wouldn't take that as an admission that we had sex."

John was muttering something indecipherable. Then: "Does he know who you were with?

"I said the name John. I'm certain that I never said your last name. But Thursday night when he was wondering why he couldn't get me at the office that day, I said I was tied up with you during the day. I know I said "John Stickner" then. Today he asked me exactly what I felt I owed Stickner that warranted breaking my wedding vows."

"Shit. I thought he might not be able to connect it to me."

"Why? What difference does it make?"

"Jesus, Susan. I've seen Early. He's got that friendly sunny smile look on his face, but anyone who looks closer can see he's intense down underneath. He's a dangerous man. And now he knows I'm the man who cuckolded him. That's what you said he called it: 'Cuckolding.' That's a very old fashioned word and it reeks of retaliation.

"Susan, is he violent?"

"How the fuck would I know, John? I know he has a box full of military medals and ribbons in his dresser, but I don't know what he did to get them.

"I've never seen him really angry in our whole time together. But before this whole thing started, I'd never cheated on him, either. That's how he'll see this — cheating. If there's anything that might make him violent, it's betrayal. And he doesn't even know about Tim, yet. That'll be twice I've betrayed him as he will see it. I don't know what he will do."

"God," John said, "I have to get the other partners in on this; we need a plan to deal with him."

There was silence except for Susan's ragged breathing.

"Listen, Susan, you say he's a negotiator. Maybe he will be open to negotiation on this. No matter how personal it feels, ultimately this is Civil Law 101. You get hurt; the law uses money to make you whole. Every hurt can be salved or smoothed out somewhat with enough money. It's what Tort Law works with.

"Maybe if we can get him to sit down and talk to us, maybe we can work something out, maybe reason with him."

"What, sit down with the two of us? The two fucking adulterers? Are you insane John?"

"No, no, I mean with the whole partnership. Boardroom setting. Neutral ground. Tim and Geraldine and the others with serious game faces on. Cooler heads. As long as he doesn't find out about you and Tim."

"I don't know, John. I could see how furious he was getting as I tried to explain and rationalize. He holds it in with me; I don't think he would ever hurt me. But he is going to get angrier and angrier as he chews on this."

"Jesus, Susan, this has to be the worst thing that's ever faced the partners. I have to get them involved.