Winner Take All

by T. Davis Bunn

  “ ’Bout as bad as you could get, I suppose. Least it was when he started up. Things is improving a little now.”

  “Because of Mr. Steadman’s company?”

  “That and some other things.”

  “But it is safe to say that when Mr. Steadman began his factory, there was no other industry around him.”

  “Wasn’t nothing but ruin and woe down that way. Mr. Dale, he got himself an old school from the city and some money to fix things up. Us early workers used to call it the schoolhouse mill. Some still do, I ’spect. Mr. Dale fixed it up real nice. Took two old falling-down houses and made them his offices. Them places stuck out like new pennies when he was done.”

  “The court has heard a lot of criticism from other people about Mr. Steadman. Could you tell us any reason you might know for local officials to speak ill about my client?”

  “Objection!” Hamper Caisse could scarcely keep from launching himself around the table. “Your honor, this line of questioning needs to be nipped in the bud. Mr. Glenwood is asking this gentleman to make suppositions about people with whom he has had no contact whatsoever.”

  “You started us down this road, Mr. Caisse. I’m going to allow Mr. Glenwood to carry us along a little further. Overruled.”

  “Thank you, your honor.” Marcus turned back to the elderly gentleman. “Can you please tell the court—”

  “I heard you the first time. And there ain’t more than a thousand reasons I can imagine. My guess is, most of them folks either run companies themselves or have kin that do. And ain’t a one of them that pays their hourly workers a cent more than they have to.”

  “Objection! There is no possible way this man could have conducted a proper survey of the local business community.”

  “Overruled. Proceed.”

  “You say Mr. Steadman overpaid his workers?”

  “Nosir. I’m saying he paid a fair wage. ’Bout the time he started up, there was this study they did over to Duke, where Mr. Steadman did his schooling. Said the living wage for a family of four was nine dollars and thirty cents an hour. Less than that, and somebody’s gonna have to work more than fifty hours a week or go without something. So Mr. Steadman set that as his minimum wage. Even the janitors got that.”

  “How can you be certain this was an exception to the local rule?”

  The man’s shoulders humped in a silent laugh. “On account of how we got almost ten thousand folks ’round there looking for work.”

  “Objection, your honor, this is clearly a wild exaggeration, and proves just how lame this man’s testimony is.”

  “On the contrary, your honor, I have documents which not only corroborate Mr. Pierce’s assertions, but reveal that they underestimate the number of applicants.” Marcus marched back to his table and accepted the document Steadman had ready for him. “In the first eleven months of operation, the company received eleven thousand, four hundred applications.”

  Caisse did not back down. “The witness himself said there was a great deal of poverty and unemployment in the area, your honor.”

  Marcus continued to read from the document he had asked Steadman to bring with him that morning. “Over half these applicants, your honor, were gainfully employed at the time of their application.”

  The judge repressed a smile. “Lame, did you say, Mr. Caisse?”

  “Your honor—”

  “Overruled.”

  Marcus returned his attention to the witness. “Dale Steadman fired you, did he not?”

  “That’s right.”

  “For coming to work intoxicated. But later he took you back.”

  “That he did. Docked my pay and demoted me, but a year after that he made me foreman.”

  “Are there any signs he still promotes these types of changes within his companies?”

  “Absolutely. Soon as Mr. Dale got his new position, he started working to make them same things policy right through the whole New Horizons company.”

  Hamper flailed in his seat. “Your honor, this is just ridiculous. How on earth could that man possibly be party to confidential corporate policy?”

  Marcus asked, “Would you care to respond, Mr. Pierce?”

  “Got me a nephew working as assistant manager over to the schoolhouse mill. A son is accountant to the New Horizons Wilmington import warehouse.”

  When Hamper had subsided into bitter silence, Marcus continued, “Just one more question, Mr. Pierce. Was there anything else which you can identify that would give the local business community reason to dislike my client?”

  “Surely can. Back then, most doctors didn’t want to show their face down that side of town. So Mr. Dale set himself up a company clinic. First factory in Wilmington to do anything of the kind.”

  “These medical services were available to all factory employees?”

  “Them and their families.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Pierce.”

  But as Marcus was turning toward Hamper Caisse, the foreman added, “Something you said, sir, it needs correcting. The local business people, they didn’t dislike Mr. Dale.”

  “But you just said—”

  “They despised him. They spit on the ground where he walked. I seen it happen.”

  Marcus found himself gripped by how those sightless eyes held steady upon him. “No further questions, your honor.”

  “Mr. Caisse, your witness.”

  Hamper Caisse bounded from his chair. “What was Mr. Steadman’s response to this supposed attitude?”

  The foreman’s sightless eyes remained fastened upon Dale. “He didn’t say. Not to me. But I suppose he felt pretty much the same way ’bout them.”

  “Wouldn’t it be fairer to say that it was Mr. Steadman’s dislike for the local authorities that has colored what you’ve said on the stand? Better still, wouldn’t you say this was in fact your own attitude which you have just described for the court?”

  “I don’t know what you’re going on about.”

  “No. Of course not.” He rustled the pages on his desk to emphasize the point. “You claimed Mr. Steadman had a temper.”

  “ ’Cause he did.”

  “So you have seen the defendant in a rage.”

  Another silent laugh. “Not more than two, three times a day.”

  “Describe what that was like, please.”

  “Like a bomb going off.”

  “Like a bomb,” Caisse repeated. “What could cause him to react like this?”

  “Anybody giving him less than their best, that’s what. He paid top dollar and expected the same in return.”

  “Did he ever attack his employees?”

  “With words. Never his fists.”

  “But you’re saying he berated his workers.”

  “He laid into some of them. Yessir.”

  “He cursed them.”

  “He could use some bad words.”

  “He attacked them with his fists.”

  “I never said that. And he never did it.”

  “Not that you saw, in any case. But such a man, with his violent past and his propensity to fly off in unbridled tantrums, isn’t it safe to say that he could have become physically violent when not in your sight?”

  “What you’re claiming just never happened.”

  “No further questions.”

  The judge turned to the witness. “You may step down.”

  “Mr. Dale, he was a good—”

  “Please step down, sir.”

  Angrily the gentleman rose to his feet, muttering, “This ain’t right.”

  As the young woman led him away, the foreman called over, “God bless you, Mr. Dale.”

  Judge Sears waited until the old man departed to ask, “Do I have all the pertinent evidence to hand at this point?”

  Hamper had remained on his feet. “I wish to draw your honor’s attention back to what we discussed on Friday. There has been a drastic change to the agreement which he himself drew up with his wife.” Hamper extracted his copy of the custo
dy agreement, and waved it for effect. “He wrote it out himself, seated at the dining table with his soon-to-be ex-wife.”

  Marcus suggested, “You want to add it was done in his own blood? That would heighten your drama.”

  “That will do, Mr. Glenwood.”

  “Your honor, I have discussed this at length with my client. He claims never to have seen this document before.”

  Hamper was ready for that. “We have his signature on a notarized agreement.” He waved the sheaf of papers once more. “Is he claiming he was blind drunk then as well?”

  Marcus knew this was the direction Hamper would take, as he would have done himself. But the statement needed to go on record. “Not only that, but an agreement which was not even mentioned in the initial proceedings can’t possibly be considered either binding on this court or enforceable.”

  “Not true, your honor,” Hamper responded. “The records will show that there never was a formal custody hearing, merely an uncontested divorce granted in chambers. Anyone in their right mind would know the mother wouldn’t dream of such a thing unless there was something like this arrangement on the side.”

  “Where are your signed affidavits of sworn testimony from this woman?” Marcus shot back. “Better still, where is your client?”

  “Unclog your ears, counsel. If you’d been listening, I’ve already covered that matter. Furthermore, your honor, there is the unresolved issue of jurisdiction. The child is in Germany. This court has no right to make any order binding upon the government of Germany.”

  “But the child was abducted, your honor. Surely—”

  “That may be something for a criminal court to consider, which I very much doubt. But this court has no jurisdiction.”

  “Not true, your honor. The divorce matter was here. The child was named in the divorce proceedings. That makes for continuing jurisdiction for this court.”

  “Only if it is in the best interest of the child. Which this is not.”

  “Thank you, gentlemen.” Judge Sears took a long moment to study her own notes, then said, “The original order is valid on its face. It was tried in this court and heard by me. I see no reason at this point to overturn the original court findings. Therefore the original order stands as valid. Mr. Caisse, your motion to set this order aside is denied. Mr. Glenwood, your request for an ex partae order, requiring the mother to present herself and the child before this court on Thursday, is hereby issued.”

  Hamper’s face twisted in very real pain. “That presents an intolerable burden to my client, your honor. Her schedule—”

  “If her schedule will not permit her to appear before this court, perhaps she is also not able to find the time to properly see to a child.” She leaned across the bench. “We are going to have a hearing so that I can listen to live testimony from both sides. Your client has until this Thursday to comply. Is that clear, Mr. Caisse?”

  “Yes, your honor.”

  “It better be.” Rachel Sears’ face was as unyielding as Marcus could ever recall. “In every single case where I’ve issued an ex partae order, live testimony has revealed that the situation is nothing close to what was represented initially.”

  Hamper did his best to look affronted. “I have given you nothing but the absolute verified facts of the matter, your honor.”

  “Save it. You both know the court’s standing at this point. I am legally obliged to put the child’s welfare before everything else. I therefore expect you both to be here, with your respective clients and the child, at nine o’clock Thursday morning.” She applied the gavel with vehemence. “Next case.”

  CHAPTER

  ———

  17

  ONCE OUTSIDE THE COURTROOM, Marcus planted himself directly in the opposing attorney’s path. “I can’t believe you started in with those sleight-of-hand tactics.”

  Hamper Caisse touched the knot of his tie, nodded to a passing attorney, and replied with a casual sneer. “What is this, you don’t have a case so you go after me?”

  “I’ve been around this block with you before. You’ve got a statewide rep for tactics that would make a streetwalker blush.”

  “You’re the one who resorted to shabby tactics in there. You’re grabbing at straws and wasting everybody’s time.”

  “What happened to the common courtesy of picking up the phone and informing opposing counsel what you intend? Has backstabbing and deception become your modus operandi?”

  “We’re not gathered here for a tea dance. I didn’t get dressed up so I could ask you to waltz. Your client is a menace. For all I know he’s done something horrible to that little girl.”

  By now every eye in the lobby was upon them. “You know as well as I do there’s nothing behind those accusations except your own overheated imagination.”

  “That’s just the sort of allegation that’ll have you begging the review board to let you keep hold of what career you’ve got left.”

  “Not to mention those outrageous claims about a custodial agreement.” A thought occurred to him then. Marcus decided there was no reason not to probe. “When was the last time you had contact with Sephus Jones?”

  There might have been a flicker in those flat gray eyes. “Who?”

  Maybe Marcus was just looking too hard. But he continued just the same. “A no ’count chicken thief who works over at the quarry. I wonder if there’d be any mention of the man among your former clients.”

  “If he’s a habitual offender, probably. Since I deal with twelve, maybe thirteen hundred cases a year. Can you even count that high, counselor? Do you even remember what it’s like to carry a full caseload?”

  “You wouldn’t also happen to count among your associates somebody who knows how to forge a corporate check? I’m asking on account of how some things don’t add up unless I factor you into the equation.”

  Hamper slung his briefcase within a hairbreadth of Marcus’ nose. “You don’t have the first tiny idea of the hornet’s nest you got yourself stuck into. I intend to stake your client out in the dirt, strip him bare, and flay him alive! And you’re gonna be sprawled in the dirt right there alongside him!”

  Marcus remained in the courtroom foyer and endured the solemn condolences of the legal fraternity because he had to. The fact that so many were sincere in what they had to say about Charlie Hayes only made his torment worse. With some relief Marcus spotted Omar Dell hovering on the group’s fringe, and excused himself to walk over.

  The court reporter wore a form-fitted navy suit with a pale blue chalk-stripe and matching knit silk tie. “Glad to see you able to make it today, counselor.”

  “You wrote up the story?”

  “ ‘Local Attorney Escapes Assassination Attempt.’ By Omar Dell, staff reporter and man on the rise.”

  “There’s no indication the bomb was directed at me. If it was a bomb at all.”

  “Police think it was. Especially since the explosion happened the week you started another attack on New Horizons.” To his credit, Omar failed to show a reporter’s objective distance. “I’m very sorry about the loss of your friend. Charlie Hayes was one special man.”

  “He was that.”

  “Seeing as how you were one of his closest friends, I expect people want to tell you stories about him, draw him closer in the process. I’d guess that is hard to take sometimes.”

  “Like munching on glass shards.”

  “You know I have to ask if you can suggest an attacker’s name for the record.”

  “And you know I can’t answer.”

  Omar pointed to where Hamper Caisse now dealt with a sullen teenage client and a frantic mother. “I’d say that little exchange you just had with opposing counsel would make fair copy, if only I’d understood what was said.”

  “No comment on that either.” Marcus started to excuse himself, then decided to offer the reporter a bone. “You might want to go have a talk with Sephus Jones.”

  “Spell that first name?”

  Out of the corner
of his eye, Marcus caught sight of Hamper’s head cocking slightly. Most courtroom lawyers picked up the ability to listen to peripheral conversations, a trick that served them well in urgent negotiations. “He works at the rock pit off Blue Ridge Road.”

  “You think he might have a bearing on the explosion or this case?”

  “If he does, I can’t tell you how.” Marcus sketched out the assault in his front yard, and his supposition that the New Horizons check was a forgery. “Whatever you do, don’t mention my name.”

  Marcus waited for the court papers to be completed, then personally carried them down to the clerk’s office for the ruling to be registered and notarized. He entered the central foyer to spot Kedrick Lloyd frowning at him. The crabby Englishman was seated on one of the hard foyer benches alongside a woman far too groomed for this tawdry spot.

  Marcus crossed over and offered, “Good afternoon.”

  The foyer’s fluorescents made the aging Brit look even more decrepit than he had in Dale’s kitchen. “Spare us the false friendliness, will you?” He waved an aged hand of china and translucent flesh. “Leave us be, that’s a good fellow.”

  The woman beside him had the horsey features of inbred money, and the low voice of one who had endured much. “Kedrick, please.”

  “Well really. He’s only here because he wants me to spend my last few breaths defending Dale in a trial they can’t possibly win.”

  “We’re already past that,” Marcus replied. “The hearing was today, and the court has issued—”

  “And I tell you these legal maneuverings hold all the significance of a leaf in a storm.”

  An attorney Marcus knew vaguely pushed through the courtroom doors and called over, “Firing squad’s armed and ready, Mr. Lloyd.”

  Kedrick brought himself fully upright. Marcus faced a lion’s mane of snow-white hair, a king’s bearing, and shoulders that should have carried far more flesh than they did. “You and your ilk are an abominable stain upon the scrolls of human history. Dale approached you in a moment of blind and drunken panic. You, on the other hand, have no excuse save cruel and soulless greed.”

  Kedrick Lloyd crossed to the waiting attorney with scarcely a limp. Even in his decrepit state, Marcus could see shadows of the man’s former strength. At the courtroom’s entrance Lloyd turned and added, “Go back to digging worms out of your small-town garden, Mr. Glenwood. Leave these larger matters to people who actually fathom the world’s workings.”