The Greatest Lie Part 12

"I’m sorry Tran, I can’t make that call for you. It would be unethical."

"Gimme his number, I call the lawyer myself."

As we left, Tran fumed, "Your lawyer friend Mark is no good."

"He’s only a law student, not a lawyer, and he’s worried that if you demand money before you testify, it will look like you are a paid liar. Why are you so scared of going to court? If they won’t pay, then you’ll have to sue! You’ll have to go to court then"

"I already went to court."

"What for?"

"I got caught hooking on Hennepin. I was eighteen. I got public indecency. My lawyer was no good, made me take plea."

"Was it in juvie or regular court?"

"Hennepin County. It was a real court. I was in county jail. It was horrible: the guards, the other prisoners." Tears streamed down her face.

"This is different. It’s just to get money, not about jail."

"I don’t want to go to court. Help me talk to the Church’s lawyer."

I called and made for an appointment at the law firm of Maestre and Fenton.

Tran and I dressed in our most businesslike clothes and took a bus to an imposing marble tower on South Sixth. We glided up fifty floors in a mahogany paneled elevator to a mahogany paneled lobby, where the elegant hush was punctuated only by the ping of constantly arriving elevators and the constant murmur of the receptionist. The place reeked of intimidating wealth and power.

After a wait that was almost, but not quite, insulting, a smooth talking, handsome lawyer approached: Eric Olson. "I’m sorry for the delay, but we are just crazy this morning. Come right this way."

He led us down a brightly lit corridor, lined with secretarial stations on one side and bright, windowed offices on the other. Everyone was bustling about efficiently. People in cubicles were cradling phones as they clicked away on their computer keyboards. Others studied stacks of paper.