Trial by Fury

by KG MacGregor

  Theo was operating at a clear advantage, since she’d had weeks to prepare for motions she knew would be filed. “Your Honor, once again defense counsel has confused this case with Lipscomb v. Frazier, et al. I’ve done no interviews with sports talk shows, as this case—unlike Lipscomb—does not name Harwood athletes as defendants. Regarding the substantive issues in his argument, Harwood University has unfettered access to contemporary media outlets, and thus numerous opportunities to portray itself as an upstanding institution. During the Lipscomb proceedings, a gag order resulted in Harwood University increasing the number of positive image ads in local press outlets by four hundred percent. Such an imbalance clearly favored the defendants.”

  It had been Jalinda’s idea to scour the media for that data, which Theo then presented in chart form to both Diggs and Somers.

  “More importantly, we ask the court to consider the fact that secrecy—in particular, the extraordinary efforts by the defendant to suppress allegations of sexual assault on its campus—is at the heart of plaintiffs’ case. The secrecy at Harwood has created a culture that allows these assaults to proliferate. A suppression order would not only support that culture, it would restrict the constitutional rights of victims to speak critically of its effects.”

  She had no idea if her argument was resonating, as Diggs seemed to be absorbed in the media report she’d presented. Without making eye contact with anyone, he leaned toward the court reporter and said, “Let the record show this is a properly filed case that meets the requisites for federal court. In light of plaintiff’s evidence that Harwood University engaged in an uptick in image advertising while under a suppression order, likely to enhance its standing should it find its case in court, I reject defense’s motion for a suppression order. Counsel is advised to proceed with caution as such an order may be imposed at any time.”

  With every word, Somers sank deeper into his chair, the arrogance fading from his face.

  Theo didn’t really care about the gag order, as she had no more bookings for interviews. She cared only about getting to trial and winning her case.

  * * *

  Celia straightened her back against the plush upholstered chair. A work-study coed had delivered a glass of ice water and left her to wait outside Earl Gupton’s office a half hour earlier. This was his meeting, not hers, and she had little doubt what he wanted to discuss.

  The fresh spate of allegations had sent shockwaves through the university, sparking online flame wars in the comments section of the Daily Hornet and an impromptu protest by several dozen students—male and female—in front of the administration building. Celia was gratified to see so many rising up on behalf of the victims. At the same time, it was sickening proof of how the celebration of a basketball trophy had smothered the outrage over Hayley’s rape and suicide. An “attention-seeking drama queen” so conveniently dismissed. People only told themselves what they wanted to hear.

  By now, Theo had probably spoken with Kay. Confirmation of the athletic department’s tactics would help prove part of the conspiracy, but even Celia knew the administration would try to distance itself from what they’d label a “rogue” practice undertaken in secret by minor operators. Ban the attorney from campus, suspend an assistant coach or two—all fixed.

  It was Sonya Walsh, Harwood’s general counsel, who opened Gupton’s door and invited her in. Gupton was waiting in the sitting area of his office with none other than board of trustees chair Norman Tuttle. Déjà vu all over again.

  “How wonderful to see you again, Celia,” Gupton said, his enthusiasm embarrassingly forced. Last time she was in here, she was Dr. Perone. “You remember Chairman Tuttle.”

  “Of course.” She shook hands cordially. Ignoring Gupton’s offer of a seat on the sofa, she took the armchair at the end of the coffee table so as not to feel surrounded.

  “So sorry to keep you waiting. The three of us have been brainstorming some ideas for letting the women on campus know we’re behind them one hundred percent. Sonya reminded me earlier about our meeting last spring. As I recall, you were concerned about the university’s response to an unfortunate incident on campus, one the courts are looking into right now. I wondered if you had any ideas for what we could do to meet this issue head on. Sexual assault on campus, I mean. We want our female students to feel safe.”

  It took a conscious effort to keep her jaw from dropping. Clearly Harwood’s legal team had made note of the fact that Theo’s new complaint included no mention of their threats to her if she went public with the allegations. They’d mistakenly concluded she was now on their side, grateful for her plum course assignments and generous theater budget.

  “Sorry, I should have asked how your semester was going,” Gupton said. “Andrew tells me we’re in for quite a treat next spring. Spamalot.”

  That answered the question about whether her department head was part of the payola scheme to buy her silence. A dismal, disappointing revelation.

  “Yes, we’ve just completed casting.”

  “My wife and I saw that a couple of years ago in West End,” Tuttle said amiably. He’d sunk deep into the sofa cushions, so far that his feet were no longer on the floor.

  Gupton nodded toward Sonya Walsh, who said, “Dr. Perone, we were concerned you may have misread our position during our last meeting. At the time, the administration faced an unfortunate predicament, caught between two parties in an interpersonal conflict. You can understand our hesitance about taking sides with one student against another without the benefit of all the facts.”

  Celia caught herself watching Walsh’s hair, which held its place like a helmet no matter how much her head bobbed during her animated speech.

  “As administrators,” she continued, “we’re responsible for both students and faculty. We were extremely worried you might find yourself on the wrong end of litigation without the financial means to defend yourself, and felt it best to discourage further escalation.”

  “That’s not…quite how I remember it,” Celia said, adding a smile that was every bit as fake as theirs. “I understood the threat of litigation was from Harwood itself. Plus you indicated I could be fired if I said or did anything to place Harwood in a negative light.”

  “Which you did,” Tuttle said brusquely. “But you weren’t fired, were you? In fact, you were treated quite handsomely by your department, even after you offered testimony to that Constantine woman in support of that specious wrongful death claim. Greedy lawyers.”

  Walsh jumped back in, ostensibly to keep the discussion from becoming acrimonious. “A claim the university ultimately paid—strictly out of compassion for a family that had lost its child. While we admitted no direct liability for her death, we fully acknowledge a certain responsibility for the wellbeing of all our students while they’re on campus under our care.”

  “How can you say that, Ms. Walsh? You were given irrefutable evidence of a young woman being raped while she was unconscious.” Channeling Theo in one of her TV interviews, Celia pummeled her with the ugly facts. “The whole world has seen that video, and your attempt to paint the administration as a neutral party is laughable. You refused to order the campus police to investigate the evidence. That isn’t being neutral—it’s taking sides with rapists.”

  “Whoa, whoa, whoa here!” Gupton held up his hands in the direction of his counsel, as if imploring his colleagues not to escalate the rancor. “There’s a lot of blame to go around, and like it or not, we’re on the hook for our fair share. But let’s not lose sight of why we’re here today.”

  Celia crossed a leg and let it swing whimsically. “Can you reiterate that for me, Chancellor Gupton?”

  “What we need, Celia, is some guidance going forward. Sadly, Harwood has struggled with its tribulations, as all major universities sometimes do. But such adversity hardly constitutes a hostile learning environment. It’s apparent to all of us, given your recent experience, you’re in a singular position to help us convey that message.” His earnest ga
ze made it clear he expected a response.

  “I’m a professor of performance studies. If it’s faculty advisors you want, I should think it would be more beneficial if you engaged those in the women’s studies department. Or perhaps public relations.” Even as she suggested other disciplines, it struck her with no small measure of irony he was in fact looking for an actor, someone who would pretend all was well.

  “No…no, your contribution is…unique.” He cleared his throat and glanced at Walsh.

  “What Chancellor Gupton is asking, Celia,” she said tightly, “is how the administration might work with you to ensure the messages from the university continue to be positive. What could we do to facilitate that on your part?”

  There it was—a flat-out bribe to prevent her from testifying about their threats.

  Celia shifted in her chair, leaning forward as if to pin them in their seats. “Why don’t we cut the innuendo so there’s no misunderstanding? Hayley Burkhart was my student and I cared about her. But I’m not part of this new case, and you’d like to keep it that way. Is that a reasonable reading of what you’re asking?”

  Gupton nodded solemnly. “It would be detrimental to the university if you testified as to your assumption that you were threatened. I can assure you, there was no threat intended. I hope we can clarify that today.”

  “You realize I could be subpoenaed to testify about that conversation. If that were to happen, you’d like me to forget that you threatened to fire me and focus instead on your assertion that you were attempting to balance the best interests of everyone involved. And you were especially concerned that I’d be exposing myself to malicious litigation from assailants seeking revenge. Do I have that right?”

  All three stared at her blankly, their silence speaking volumes.

  “Very well. What do you propose for your part of”—she used her fingers to make air quotes—“facilitating this?”

  Gupton picked up a folder from the coffee table. “Andrew made several suggestions for your consideration. A permanent part-time research assistant. A paid sabbatical with one of our European partners. An endowed chair from the Harwood Foundation.”

  Such rewards would elevate her above other professors in her department—and make her the target of their resentment. After a measured silence, she replied, “Those would be amazing opportunities. But I’m worried there would be some…shall we say, jealousy among my peers.”

  A look of relief crossed Gupton’s face as he realized they were officially negotiating. “You’d have to show some patience, of course. Give us two or three years to roll them into place. That should assuage the skeptics, plus we could boost the opportunities for others in your department so you won’t feel singled out. Bear in mind your elected position on the faculty senate makes you deserving of a certain level of esteem. It’s only fitting Andrew would reward that with a certain degree of academic largess.”

  Celia drew in a deep breath and threw her shoulders back with renewed confidence. “If I agree to facilitate such a conversation, how do I know those rewards will be delivered?”

  Tuttle heaved a wheezing sigh. “We can’t exactly write this down in a contract, Miss Perone.”

  “Dr. Perone,” she corrected flatly.

  “Celia, look.” Gupton leaned forward and clasped his hands, the picture of a reasonable man. “I understand your doubts. These opportunities, as you call them…they cost us mere pennies of our endowment. Withholding them for any reason would be foolish on our part. On the contrary, we’d be forever grateful for your help in getting us through this dispute. I promise you, we’ll come out the other side a better institution.”

  “And you’ll do everything you can to fix the way women are treated when they report being sexually assaulted?”

  “Absolutely.”

  “No more telling the cops to back off? No more special treatment for jocks?”

  “That stops today. I’ll tell Chief Egan myself. You have my word.”

  Celia shook hands with all three again and closed the door behind her when she left. A research assistant, a sabbatical in Europe and an endowed chair. All she had to do was sell out a bunch of nameless, faceless rape victims…and Theo.

  A bribe, a confession, a promise to reform. Smiling to herself as she walked toward the faculty parking lot, she took her phone from her pocket.

  “How wonderful to see you again, Celia. You remember Chairman Tuttle.”

  Ironclad evidence the administration cared nothing about its rape victims. Wouldn’t Theo be proud?

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Theo perched on the arm of her couch, adjusting the belt on her dress, a long-sleeved chocolate brown wraparound that hugged her from thigh to shoulder. The local news was set to start at any second. “Celia! Get in here. You have to see this.”

  When the program opened with photos of four of Harwood’s administrators, she clicked the remote to pause the story.

  Celia emerged from their bedroom wearing Theo’s favorite, the bare-shouldered black dress, mixing it up this time with long pewter earrings. “This is getting ridiculous. I’m buying a new dress this weekend and throwing this one away.”

  “Don’t even think about it. I’ll fish it out of the trash. You look gorgeous in it.” She pulled Celia toward her and spun her toward the TV. “Watch this. It’s the lead story.”

  “Bowing to pressure today from students, faculty and alumni, Harwood University’s board of trustees fired four top officials in what some say is only the beginning of a personnel shakeup at one of the nation’s elite institutions. Trustees chairman Norman Tuttle, chancellor Earl Gupton, general counsel Sonya Walsh and campus police chief Thomas Egan were fired after being indicted two days ago on charges of perjury and obstruction of justice in relation to the Harwood basketball rape scandal. Sources tell us the four officials are accused of intimidating witnesses, interfering with a criminal investigation and lying to the district attorney about their involvement in the scheme to cover up the assault. Four players from Harwood’s national championship basketball team face sentencing next week in the drugging and rape of Hayley Burkhart, a twenty-year-old junior who committed suicide after the assault.”

  “Un-fricking-believable.”

  “Satisfying, isn’t it?” She doubted Celia’s department head would survive the purge, since the audiotape from the second meeting clearly implicated him in the conspiracy to silence witnesses. Another head on the chopping block was Austin Thompson. Once Theo learned for certain he was involved with the athletes, she’d filed a motion with Georgia’s disciplinary board to have him disbarred for brokering the settlement on behalf of Donald Lipscomb.

  “I totally get what drives you now, Theo. It’s the rush from seeing people like Gupton get their comeuppance.”

  “I admit I like that part. But it’s nowhere near the rush I get from seeing my clients vindicated. Or my witnesses,” she added with a kiss to Celia’s temple. “You were so brave. Your friend Kay too, and all those women who came forward with their stories. The only way to change the system is to stand up and fight back.”

  “Mmm…it’s not over yet.”

  “For all intents and purposes, it might as well be. Trust me, they don’t want to go to trial. Whoever comes in to replace Gupton needs to get this lawsuit behind him—or her—as quickly as possible so they can start rebuilding their reputation.”

  “It helps a lot that they’ve cut off the head of the snake.” Celia wrapped her shoulders in Theo’s Burberry shawl. “I stole this, by the way. You said we’d be sitting outside.”

  November nights were iffy, but the forecast called for the low sixties all evening. Not that it mattered—Atlanta Grill lined its terrace with patio heaters to maintain a comfortable ambience for outdoor dining. It was Theo’s favorite restaurant, and she’d been wanting to take Celia there for dinner ever since they missed out on their first date.

  Tonight was a special celebration—seven months since the day Celia had walked into her office
in disguise, her voice cracking with fury as she told the story of a young woman violated and denied justice. Her outrage had fueled Theo’s admiration. That Celia had emerged again the day she handed over the new recording and announced herself ready to testify. Even when Celia doubted it herself, Theo knew the firebrand was in her heart.

  * * *

  Celia loved the way heads turned when Theo walked through the dining room to their table. Even if her face hadn’t been all over the news, especially here in Atlanta, her striking looks and the confidence with which she carried herself suggested if she wasn’t a VIP, she ought to be.

  No, they knew Theo. In moments, they’d be texting their friends with news of a celebrity sighting.

  She vaguely remembered what it was like to be recognized in public as a child star of ten years old. Even before cell phone cameras were ubiquitous, her agent had warned her to be on guard with her looks and behavior, that she was always on stage.

  The hostess settled them at a table on the second-floor terrace across from the Grand Atrium in the historic 200 Peachtree building. An interesting ambience…urban romantic.

  “What’s so funny?” Theo asked with a bemused smile.

  Celia hadn’t realized she’d been laughing to herself. “Nothing really. I was watching people watch you. You’re famous.”

  “Says the TV star.”

  “That’s why I was laughing. It reminded me of something I hadn’t thought about in years, back when I was doing my show. You have to understand, Hollywood’s one of those places where you can run into an Oscar winner in McDonald’s. I used to go into restaurants with my mom, and if nobody recognized me, she’d say something like, ‘Is this table all right, Little CeCe?’”

  “She actually called you that?”

  “Only in public. And always loud enough that you could hear her three tables away.”