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.