George’s level of awareness surprised Randall, but he decided now was the time to use it, not question it. “I’ve got me a couple of ideas.”
The two men heard him out in silence. George accepted the suggestions with a single nod and the words, “I’ll see what we can do.”
“Whatever it is, it needs to happen fast.”
“I told you I’d look into things, Randall.”
He ignored the tone, and gave in to his curiosity. “Nice to know you folks over in the governor’s mansion are keeping such a close eye on things.”
“Don’t have much choice,” the aide responded, his gaze sharp and biting. “Not when the governor receives a Saturday-evening call from the White House. Somebody up in Washington asking about a little local nuisance case over the weekend, that’s enough to light the warning fires, wouldn’t you say?”
“Absolutely,” Randall agreed solemnly.
“You wouldn’t happen to know how this thing has reached all the way to Pennsylvania Avenue, now, would you, Randall?”
“No idea whatsoever,” he replied, hiding his pleasure with all his might.
TWENTY-SEVEN
MARCUS ARRIVED at his courtroom table to find a manila folder waiting for him. His heart surged lightly at the familiar writing, only to ebb when he saw that Kirsten had left no note. He tried hard to be pleased at the thin pile of minor explosions in the form of further photocopied documents. Alma watched him riffle through the stack, and waited until he reached the last page to say, “Marcus, we have to talk.”
He sighed and shut the folder. “I know we do.”
“Austin tells me I should let you be. But there are things we need to know.”
Marcus nodded acceptance. “I’ll try to make it by your place tonight.”
The tense set to her shoulders eased somewhat. “Thank you.”
“Where is Kirsten? I haven’t heard from her in days.”
Despite the courtroom and the week to come, Alma had to smile. “Now, that’s a curious thing. The lady spent all weekend going through the papers you see there and doing a dance around the phone. One step forward, another step back. Never did work up the nerve, though what’s holding her back I could not say.”
He had to ask, “You think she wanted to call me?”
Alma gave the low chuckle of one saddened yet vastly amused. “That is the only foolish thing I have ever heard you say.”
Charlie saved him by huffing up. “Sorry, folks, the old bones didn’t want to obey me today. You’re looking lovely as ever, Alma.”
The bailiff entered through the judge’s door and announced, “All rise.”
Marcus said in a soft aside, “I’ll be handling the questioning today.”
Charlie rewarded him with a grand smile. “You heard from that Washington lawyer feller?”
“Last night.”
“He supplied us with the goods?”
“The best I’ve ever seen.”
Charlie sighed and lowered himself down into his chair as Judge Nicols settled herself. “I always did love fireworks and things that go bang.”
As Judge Nicols bid the jury a polite good morning and inquired about their weekend, Marcus whispered, “I’m going to request a new witness be subpoenaed. If she grants it, you need to run out and phone this number.” He handed over a slip of paper. “Tell him to expedite the papers.”
Charlie noticed the area code. “Washington.”
“The process server should be standing outside the guy’s office at this very moment.”
Judge Nicols turned toward their table and demanded, “Mr. Glenwood, are you ready to proceed?”
Marcus rose slowly, noting that the judge’s eyebrows lifted in response. Logan stiffened ever so slightly in his seat. Marcus said, “Permission to approach the bench.”
“Granted.”
It was Logan who walked forward to represent the defense. Marcus did not need to glance over to know Logan was as keenly taut as he. “Your Honor, there has been unnecessary foot-dragging by the State Department with regard to our request for depositions from the New Horizons board members. Not even the first of these has taken place.”
“I object to both the tone and the content of this accusation, Your Honor,” Logan shot back. “The plaintiff’s counsel is taking what is a normal business situation, the annual general meeting of the company’s international divisions, and turning it into something sinister. Or trying to. Of course these depositions take time. These are busy men.”
“And this is an urgent matter, one that our embassy officials have clearly put on the back burner.” Marcus handed over the document containing the name supplied by Ashley Granger. “I have identified the man at State who is responsible for such matters. Grey Hadley is acting assistant director of the division of consular affairs. He is scheduled to be leaving the country the day after tomorrow. I hereby request a subpoena be issued immediately, so that we may have him testify prior to his departure.”
“Your Honor, this is preposterous!” Logan leaned both fists on the corner of the judge’s bench. “We’ve acted in good faith here, despite the fact that this is a case built out of thin air. Right over there are two senior vice presidents—”
“Of the North Carolina distribution center,” Marcus added. “Who have nothing whatsoever to do with international activities.”
“—who have already sacrificed a full week of their time just to be here and show the company flag.”
“They cannot answer for anything to do with the company’s ties to Factory 101, Your Honor. Which is all we are after. One single person who has the power to sign off on international activities.”
“Excuse me, Your Honor, but can’t you see the plaintiff’s strategy here? They’re trying to bring another chess piece into play. They conceal what they can. They shuffle the pieces around to confuse the viewer. When things get tight, they move in another piece. They distract your attention. They frighten you. They threaten with more smoke and mirrors. No doubt when this is over they’ll refile their claims, set up groundless appeals, tie up the courts with prevarication.”
Judge Nicols observed Logan Kendall with an onyx mask. “Are you just about done?”
Logan backed off a fraction. “Yes, Your Honor.”
She turned back to her inspection of the records, then handed them to the aide poised by her chair. “So moved. Have an affidavit drawn up immediately.”
“Thank you, Your Honor. I took the liberty of doing so this morning.” Marcus waited as she inspected the new pages, and he decided there would be no better time than this. “I have one other name I’d like to add to my original list, and for similar reasons.” He handed over the second document. “Hans Klein, of the Swiss embassy in Washington.”
She passed on it before Logan could frame a response. “So moved. Anything else?”
“No, Your Honor.”
“Very well. Call your next witness.”
Marcus walked back to his table, knowing that it was not just his imagination that the courtroom air was now singed with compacted energy. “Plaintiff calls Marshall Taub to the stand.”
It was Logan who reached behind him, taking the file an assistant had ready to hand over. Several of the jurors moved slightly forward in their chairs. There was no change to the routine, except now it was the lawyer with the bruised and bandaged face and one arm in a sling who stood. All the same, the jury knew that the trial had taken a different tone.
To his lasting credit, Marshall Taub was not only sober, he was presentable. Nothing could be done about the Richmond lawyer’s pasty features or the broken blood vessels across his nose and cheeks. But his dark suit was neatly pressed, his hand steady as it reached for the Bible, his voice resonant and firm as he swore to tell nothing but the truth.
Marcus started off slow and easy, going over the more successful aspects of Taub’s career—his partnership with one of Virginia’s oldest firms, his holding of office in the state bar association. The defense remain
ed silent throughout. Marcus then asked, “You are involved in a long-running dispute with New Horizons, are you not?”
“Objection!” Logan vaulted from his chair. “Permission to approach the bench.”
This time it was Marcus who followed Logan’s march to the judge’s stand. His opponent was ready. It was no longer a skirmish.
Logan launched directly into attack. “Your Honor, this is one Pandora’s box you definitely do not want to allow them to open.”
Marcus did not hide his intentions at all. “As Charlie Hayes indicated last week, Your Honor, we are establishing a pattern of past practice. New Horizons has a long history of such unsavory activities.”
“This is totally irrelevant, Your Honor.”
“Wherever New Horizons has set up operations, litigation has followed. They have left a trail wide as the Mississippi and just as murky.”
Logan looked directly at him for the first time that day. “Very cute. Did your colleague come up with that one?”
“A little less histrionics, Mr. Glenwood,” Judge Nicols agreed.
Logan took that as his cue. “There is no similarity of action, Your Honor. On the one hand you have labor relations at U.S. facilities. On the other you have a Chinese factory with no established connection to my client.”
Marcus felt a singular thrill. Logan knew, or at least he suspected, that more was to come.
Logan kept his eye on the judge. “These other cases have been litigated and resolved, Your Honor, usually in the company’s favor. And I might add that most of these cases have been underwritten by labor. These are classic union tactics, Your Honor. Throw mud at the company until they agree to whatever the union is demanding. Personally, I wonder whether the unions are financing this case as well.”
“Your Honor, I object to these baseless insinuations.”
But Logan was not finished. “Do you want to litigate on the issue at hand, Your Honor? Or do you want to litigate the past? It is patently unfair to give such extraneous information to the jury. We’ve got to stick to the facts here. And the facts are, the plaintiff has no case. There is nothing to tie my North Carolina clients to some problem nine thousand miles away.”
Judge Nicols hesitated a long moment. Then, “I am going to allow this. But, Mr. Glenwood, I must warn you once more. A stronger tie must be shown.”
“Thank you, Your Honor,” Marcus said, turning away before either Logan or the judge could see what his adrenaline rush threatened to reveal. He did not have a tie, but at least Ashley had handed him some rope.
THROUGH THE REST of that morning and much of the afternoon, Marcus led the Richmond lawyer through his own research into New Horizons’ activities. A ream of court records was submitted as evidence, with Charlie Hayes passing out summaries to the jurors. Charlie greeted the jurors with silent nods, showing that even a retired federal judge was not above waiting on them. It was an unexpected boon, the old man working as a willing assistant, and one that did not go unnoticed by the defense. Logan watched with frowning intent as Charlie rose time after time, but could find no reason to object.
New Horizons’ pattern unfolded like a great and intricate fan. The company was shown to have a history of moving into an area and barely skirting the law. Taub described how he had been involved in a case he had first won, then watched as the New Horizons lawyers buried it with appeals. Marcus did not go further at that moment. Logan would first wield his knife and draw blood, there was no question of that. Then Marcus would try to stitch up the wound.
They moved on from the Richmond trial itself to patterns in other cases, the number of which totaled just over four dozen. Migrant-worker abuses, failure to pay overtime, minimum-wage violations, collective-bargaining problems, environmental infractions, assault and battery of union organizers, bribery of local officials.
Logan was up and out of his seat before Marcus could frame the words “No further questions.” Logan approached the witness stand with a predatory stalk. “Mr. Taub, let’s go back to some of the unfounded accusations you just leveled against my client. You seem so aware of everything. Would you be able to tell the jury precisely how many of the aforementioned cases were actually won by the plaintiffs involved?”
“New Horizons has very good lawyers.”
“That’s not what I asked. Answer the question, Mr. Taub. How many were won by the accusers?”
“My own, for a starter.”
“Your own, yes, we’ll come back to your case in just a moment. But how many of the others have been resolved in favor of the plaintiffs. It’s not a difficult question. Try and give us a straight answer this time.”
“The straight answer is that whenever the lower courts found for the plaintiff, the company tied up the decision in appeal.”
“That is not the answer, Mr. Taub. That is not the answer. Your Honor, I ask that you instruct the witness to pay attention.”
“You are an attorney, Mr. Taub,” Judge Nicols admonished. “You know the procedure here on cross.”
“Yes, Your Honor.” Marshall Taub turned back to the defense attorney with an expression that was both weary and resigned. But his voice remained rock-steady. “I would imagine very few.”
“None at all is the correct answer, Mr. Taub. None at all. An interesting fact to escape your attention when you and the plaintiff’s lawyer were so intent on sullying my client’s good name. Not one of these cases has been resolved against my client. None. Zero. Zip.” Logan waited a moment, then added, “Do you have any idea how the number of cases against New Horizons compares with those brought against other companies its size?”
“No.”
“Interesting how this second vital statistic has been missed as well. But you are aware, are you not, that there is a steady rise in litigation aimed at big American businesses, as hungry lawyers and greedy plaintiffs seek to profit from nuisance cases like this one?”
“Objection, Your Honor.”
“Sustained. The jury is instructed to disregard those comments.”
Logan stepped away, distancing himself from the jury box and the fray. From the room’s far end he asked, “You have had some problems of your own, haven’t you, Mr. Taub.”
“Yes.” The man straightened his shoulders, though it cost him. He kept his voice strong, though it cost him more. “I have.”
“Indeed you have. Many problems.” Logan moved back to his table, accepted the paper handed him by Suzie Rikkers. “You were fired from your law firm, were you not?”
“I resigned.”
“They found you incompetent in your duties, is that not correct?”
“I resigned,” he repeated, looking at nothing.
“You declared personal bankruptcy, not once but twice. Is that not also correct?”
“Yes.”
“And you have been disciplined by the state bar on two separate occasions,” Logan’s voice rose in surprised incredulity. “For showing up drunk in court?”
Marshall Taub remained stoic, unbowed. “Yes.”
“Do you feel that leaves you in any position whatsoever to criticize my client, or to taint its reputation?”
“Objection!”
“I withdraw the remarks,” Logan said, retreating to his table. “No further questions.”
Marcus rose and slowly approached the stand. The shameful pain was etched deep on Taub’s unhealthy features. Marcus could offer nothing by way of comfort, except a single slow nod. The Richmond attorney had stood up well. “Mr. Taub, about the case you brought against New Horizons. How did the lower court find in that trial?”
“They found the company guilty on all counts, and awarded my clients seven million dollars.”
“Guilty on all counts,” Marcus replied slowly. “And how long ago was that?”
“Six years ago.”
“What has happened since then?”
“The company’s attorneys have appealed, and attached to the appeal more than forty different motions. I devoted all my time to arguing th
ese motions. Fighting this case cost my partnership almost nine hundred thousand dollars.” His voice was toneless, his gaze aimed at all his past errors. “Finally they told me to either quit the case or quit the firm. I resigned. I put everything I had into fighting the case. I lost my family. I lost everything.”
“Do you have any idea how many other cases have resulted in such an avalanche of appeals?”
“I have been in direct contact with nine other lawyers, all of whom won in lower courts. None has received a single penny in compensation. Four have—”
“Objection!”
“I withdraw the question.” Marcus returned to his table, embittered by the exchange. “No further questions, Your Honor.”
“The witness is excused. Court is adjourned until nine o’clock tomorrow morning.” Judge Nicols paused for a moment before rising, long enough to issue Marcus a stern but silent warning. He gave her nothing but grimness in return. Charlie had requested fireworks. Fireworks there would be.
THE SKY WAS DARK by the time Darren drove into the Halls’ development. The houses were so new they shone in the streetlights. Most, however, were adorned with whimsical Victorian flairs. Corner windows bowed around cupolas with high-paneled roofs. Porches were graced with intricate latticework. Light streamed out from almost every window he saw, gold and welcoming. Marcus found his tired mind wishing the unseen dwellers well, hoping they would never know the vagaries of unforeseen tragedy, yet suspecting even this fine scene withheld secrets of fear and need and woe.
As they pulled into the driveway, Alma Hall was already shutting the front door and buttoning her sweater. Marcus took this as a bad sign, and wished he had more energy to deal with the coming onslaught.
But the woman offered her own tired smile in greeting. “Austin’s fallen asleep on the living-room sofa. It’s the first real rest he’s had in weeks. Do you mind if we talk out here?”
“Not at all.”
“The poor man is wound up so tight I’m afraid he’s going to snap.” She leaned down and said through the open car window, “Hello, Darren.”
The Great Divide Page 25