by Rachel Kane
Jace frowned. “You told them we were being threatened?”
“I was on the phone with them five times yesterday. And, by the way, next time you go into deep hiding, would you please hide somewhere with a cell signal?” Harlan rubbed his face. “Anyway, they don’t know anything about Grumman sending enforcers after you. Grumman probably keeps a wall up between the legal side of his business, and the dark stuff.”
“So they can threaten my life and just get away with it?” asked Trent.
“Nobody’s getting away with anything,” said Harlan. “Not after they hear what you have to say today. Come with me.”
Jace and Trent began to follow, and then Harlan stopped. “Jace, I guess your job is done, if you wanted to…oh.” A look of realization flashed in his eyes as he looked from Trent to Jace. “Seriously? In two days?”
“Let’s just get this done,” said Jace.
The conference room was crowded. Dodi and Harlan had their team, but they were far outnumbered by Grumman’s lawyers, all of whom looked sharper and better-rested than Trent’s side.
None of them looked happy to see Trent. There were raised eyebrows and quiet snickers at his appearance. He felt his cheeks redden with shame. But Jace was next to him, lowering deadly looks at anyone who laughed. The noise quickly subsided.
Trent was introduced and sworn in. His chair felt uncomfortable…or maybe it was his clothes. Or his skin. He had been hoping Jace would sit next to him, but of course that was unrealistic. He was flanked by Dodi and Harlan. There wasn’t even room at the table for Jace; he sat in one of the chairs by the wall.
Harlan was the first to speak. “Now Trent, I’ll remind you that you are under oath. This is the same as if we were in court before a judge. The court reporter here is going to transcribe all your answers to the questions we ask today. Our friends on the other side of the table have also asked that we video tape the testimony. Are you comfortable with that?”
Trent’s brow furrowed. He looked over at the camera. He hadn’t even had a chance to mess with his hair. He shrugged and nodded.
“You’ll have to actually say your answer,” said Harlan.
“Sorry. Yes, yes, that’s fine.”
One of the associates turned on the camera. Were they going to show this in court? It was such a humiliating feeling.
Harlan gave him a glance. “Ready?”
Trent nodded.
“I wonder if you could tell us in your own words what happened the night of the 12th,” said Harlan.
As Trent began to speak, his mind eased. He had replayed this memory so many times. The fundraiser night, the fear he had felt. Going to the bathroom, hearing the voices. He recited the entire story, without pausing once.
And just like that, it was over. He had said what he had come to say. He looked at Dodi, who smiled at him. Then he saw Jace; his expression was as hard to read as it ever was, but the bodyguard did give him a thumbs-up.
But now what? Now that this burden had been lifted from him…was he supposed to leave? He started to ask Harlan.
“Thank you for that answer,” said the opposing counsel, a stern man who wore wire-framed glasses. “I have just a few follow-up questions.”
Trent took a breath. “Okay.”
“Now you say you were in the bathroom stall because of a panic attack. Do I have that correct?”
“Yes.”
“And do you have these attacks frequently?”
Trent wasn’t happy admitting he had them, but there was no sense beating around the bush about it. “I’m not sure what you mean by frequently.”
“One a day? One a week? Give us a general idea of how often they happen.”
“A lot depends on how much stress I’m under, but I’d say once a week on average.”
“I see. So this attack that sent you to the men’s room of the art center, it was the first attack that week?”
“I don’t remember.”
“It’s possible you had had more?”
He began to grow nervous. He looked over at Harlan. Where were these questions heading? Shouldn’t Harlan object or something?
“I don’t know,” he said to Grumman’s lawyer.
“You don’t know whether it is possible you had more than one panic attack that week? Are they so mild, then, that they do not stick in your memory?”
“What? No, that’s not what I said.”
The lawyer leaned forward. “Surely if the attacks were severe, you would remember?”
Harlan finally spoke. “Can we pause recording for a moment? Springer, I’m not sure where this line of questioning is heading.”
Grumman’s lawyer opened his hands and raised his eyebrows. “I’m surprised at you, Marlowe. These are softball questions. I’d just like to know the state your witness found himself in, during this alleged conversation.”
Harlan gave Springer a long, searching look. The pause made Trent more nervous than the questions had. Something was going on, something he didn’t understand. He felt that old familiar tingling in his lips, in the pads of his fingers. The signs of nervousness. Breathing too quickly.
“All right,” said Harlan, finally. “Go ahead. Let’s see where this goes.”
Springer removed his glasses and set them on the table. “Thank you, Marlowe. I appreciate that. Mr. Sinclair, should I repeat the question?”
The court reporter began to type once more.
“If you would,” said Trent.
“We were talking about the severity of your panic attacks. How severe are they?”
“Very, when they’re happening.”
“I see. But you don’t recall how frequently—”
“Springer,” said Harlan, with a warning tone in his voice.
Grumman’s lawyer smiled. “Fine. Mr. Sinclair, when you have these attacks, what do you normally do about them, if anything?”
“There are lots of things you can do about panic attacks,” said Trent. “Breathing exercises, meditation, writing down your thoughts—”
“But I’m asking about you, specifically. What do you do for them?”
“Breathing. I take a deep breath, hold it, let it out slowly. I do that for a minute or two.”
“That’s a very natural, holistic approach.”
“It usually helps.”
“Does it always help?”
“Well no, not always.”
“In cases where the breathing doesn’t help,” said Springer, “what do you do then?”
“I have some medication I can take.”
“I see,” said Springer. He put his glasses back on, letting them perch at the end of his nose, then flipped through papers. “I wonder if you can tell me, are you on a regular medication for anxiety?”
“All right, all right,” said Harlan. “Can we pause another minute?”
He waited for the stenographer’s hands to leave the keyboard, and for an associate to turn off the camera, then said, “Are you kidding me, Springer?”
“What’s going on?” asked Trent.
“Would you prefer we do this in front of the judge?” asked Springer. “I assure you, every single one of these questions would be allowed.”
“Just because the witness is on some antidepressants—”
“If that were all he were taking, I wouldn’t be asking,” said Springer.
Harlan’s brow furrowed. “What are you talking about?”
“You heard him. He wanted to take a tranquilizer in that bathroom stall. Now, I have reason to believe he is on quite a high dose of tranquilizers usually.”
“Reason to believe?” asked Harlan.
“Yeah, because you broke into my apartment and looked at my medicine!” said Trent.
From the corner of his vision, Trent could see Jace bristling.
“Trent, don’t say anything,” whispered Dodi.
“I don’t know what you mean, breaking into your apartment,” said Springer, pushing his glasses up, “but I’m sure if you had any evidence of that,
you would have spoken to the police about it? Harlan, has your witness spoken to the police?”
“You know he has not.”
“That seems remiss.”
“I was busy trying to hide from your hitmen,” said Trent.
The room went silent.
A slow, strange smile crept over Springer’s face. “Hitmen? Were you physically threatened, Mr. Sinclair?”
“You know I was.”
“Trent, now is not the time,” said Harlan.
“I have been in fear for my life!” said Trent. “How is this not the time?”
“Surely you spoke to the police about the threats,” said Springer.
“Don’t answer,” said Dodi.
“Damn it!” said Trent. “I don’t understand what is going on here! I was on the run for days thanks to you people.” He turned to Dodi. “You promised, I’d come in here and testify and it would be easy, and then all this nightmare would be over.”
Harlan tapped his fingers against the table. “Trent, would you and Jace excuse us a minute? Actually, everybody excuse us. Springer, you stay.”
It made for awkwardness. Everyone got up and pushed past the chairs to move out into the hall, including the court reporter with her machine.
People were staring at Trent. Muttering. He tried standing close to Jace.
“What is going on?” Trent whispered to him.
“I don’t understand it,” said Jace. “But it looks bad.”
He felt so exposed, suffering the glances of the lawyers around him. The hall seemed very narrow and warm. Airless, to the point that catching his breath was difficult. Was everyone using up the oxygen?
He felt a small twinge in his chest. By reflex his hand reached up to touch the area. Was it his heart?
“Breathe,” said Jace.
“What?”
“Do what you said before. Breathe. Slowly.”
Trent nodded and tried that. He managed to get himself under control.
Then the conference room door opened, and Harlan ushered them back inside.
Once everyone was seated, Harlan said, “Before we go back on the record, there’s a change in ground rules. We’re not going to have any questions or statements involving the last three days.”
“But—” said Trent.
Harlan raised a finger. “Trust me, Trent.”
Dodi leaned over and whispered, “I’m so sorry.”
His heart began to grow cold. Springer nodded at Harlan. The camera was turned on. The stenographer poised her fingers above her machine.
“Mr. Sinclair,” said Springer, “I believe we were discussing your medication. You are on a regular medication for anxiety?”
Trent swallowed and looked around. Both Harlan and Dodi nodded.
“Yes, I am.”
“An antidepressant?”
“Right.”
“Daily?”
“Yes.”
“And if the antidepressant does not sufficiently calm the anxiety, and your breathing treatments do not help, do you have recourse to any other treatments?”
“Any other…yes.”
“Tranquilizers, Mr. Sinclair?”
“Yes.”
“Earlier you stated you could not put an exact number to the frequency of your panic attacks. Are you able to tell me how many tranquilizers you take a week?”
It was so clear what was happening. It was like driving down a steep hill and realizing your brakes no longer worked.
“I have a prescription for thirty a month,” said Trent. “I usually run out towards the end of the month. So maybe one a day.”
“Maybe.”
“Yes.”
“Sometimes none a day?” said Springer.
“Sometimes.”
“But occasionally more than one a day.”
“Yes.”
“Had you already had a tranquilizer before the fundraiser on the 12th?”
It was like there was nothing inside him but cold air. No mind. No soul. Empty. “Yes.”
“And was there alcohol being served at this fundraiser?”
“Yes.”
“Did you drink anything that night before this alleged conversation?”
“No.”
“Are you sure?”
“I don’t mix my pills and alcohol.”
“Ever? You have never, since beginning this medication, had a drink of alcohol while the tranquilizer was still in your bloodstream?”
“What a bullshit question,” said Jace.
Harlan quickly turned and shushed him, but Springer appeared not to have heard. He was staring right at Trent, hypnotic, like a cobra.
“I don’t know the answer to that question,” Trent said. “But I didn’t drink that night.”
“But you have, on other occasions.”
“He answered that one already,” said Harlan.
“Very well. Let’s move on. In your psychiatric history, Mr. Sinclair, have you ever heard voices? People who were not there? Auditory hallucinations?”
Trent looked down at his hands. He rubbed his thumb against the cuticle of his ring finger. “You clearly already know the answer to that,” he said.
Springer nodded. “I do.” He slid a paper over to Trent.
It was a screenshot of an online forum he used to hang out at, before he’d gotten his panic under control.
“Do you recognize that?” asked Springer.
“It’s from PsychHope.”
“An essay you wrote?”
“A post, sure.”
“About…?”
“About leaving the hospital.”
“A psychiatric hospital, according to what you’ve written here. For a psychotic episode, as you describe it. Can you tell me about that?”
It was so unfair. For two days, Jace had tried to protect him from physical harm. Harlan and Dodi had tried to protect him from legal harm. But it didn’t matter, did it?
The conversation he had witnessed was like a slow poison. It took its time, creeping into every vein, every cell, but once it had spread everywhere, there was no escape from it.
He wanted so badly to look at Jace for support. But he couldn’t. His eyes were locked on his hands.
“I had a bad time a few years ago. The med I was on stopped working. There was a lot of stress in my life. This was before I got my job at the school. And yes, at one point, I thought I heard voices. I’m not sure. It could have been my imagination, amped up on all the adrenaline of a panic attack. I can’t say for sure. But it has never happened since then.”
“I see. And you were put on an antipsychotic medication for that hallucination?”
“As an attempt to see if it would help my anxiety.”
“But you are not on that anymore?”
“No. I’m on a better regimen now.”
When Springer moved in for the kill, it was so simple, so gentle compared to what had come before: “Mr. Sinclair, if I understand correctly, you are telling me that you were once on an antipsychotic after a period of hallucinations, and that you are now not on that or any other sort of antipsychotic medication?”
Slowly, Trent shook his head. “No, I am not.”
Springer removed his glasses and put them in a case, which he returned to his jacket pocket. He straightened his papers and closed his leather notebook.
But before Trent could take a breath, before he could be relieved that it was finally over, Springer looked back up. “One last question, before we go off the record. I nearly forgot. Did you tell your school about your psychotic episode before they hired you?”
Trent stared at him. He could not look to Jace for support. Couldn’t look at Harlan and Dodi.
“No,” he said, and then didn’t say anything else for a very long time.
19
“I could have killed every lawyer in that room,” said Jace. He paced Harlan’s office, his hands in tight fists. Every time he passed the door, he could see Dodi’s office across the hall, its glass walls revealing whe
re Trent sat, slumped, appearing unresponsive to her words. Jace wished he could go in there and talk to him.
“You’re not going in there,” said Harlan, reading his thoughts. “Let Dodi talk him through this. We need strategy, not emotion.” His jacket was flung over the back of his chair, and his shirt-sleeves were rolled up. He looked like he was ready to take action. Except that there was nothing he could do.
“You don’t need emotion? You fucking failed him, Harlan. You forced him to come in here, you promised him safety, now look at him.”
“Little brother, I understand you’re mad. I don’t know what’s been going on between the two of you these past few days, but obviously you’ve made some kind of connection. You’re even dressing alike, which, might I add, is just weird. I know you’re taking this hard, but I assure you I’m taking it harder. This case was going to put us on the map. Nobody dares go up against Grumman. The whole city is scared of him. But we had him. Past tense, had. Because Trent lied, and destroyed our case. Any minute now Springer is going to call with the kind of low-ball offer that will make me a laughingstock. And I’m going to take it, because I don’t know how we go to trial with this.”
Jace winced. “Trent didn’t lie.”
Harlan waved away the objection. “There was a strike against him that we didn’t know about. He could’ve told us at the outset, hey, by the way, I’m a psycho.”
“Thin ice, brother.”
“Not interested in hearing about your hurt feelings right now.”
“And I’m not interested in hearing you blame Trent. Didn’t you vet him early on? He’s not exactly shy about telling people he’s on medication.”
Harlan looked exasperated. But he closed his eyes and took a few deep breaths.
Jace knew that look well. Everyone in their family had this temper. It had caused more rifts than could ever be fixed. The rift between him and Harlan was one of those. Jace never would have guessed he would be back here, in Harlan’s office, speaking to his brother ever again. Yet here he was, and watching the man’s face visibly, consciously relax, as he let go of the anger that threatened to erupt into a physical fight.
Finally, Harlan sighed. “You’re right. This is my fault. I should have asked more probing questions. But damn, Jace. I had Grumman in my grip. So you knew all about Trent’s psych history?”