The Great Divide

by T. Davis Bunn

  “Objection!”

  Suzie did not turn. Did not speak. She simply waited for the inevitable, “I am going to allow the question.”

  “No,” Marcus replied, “I do not agree.”

  “Don’t you.” Her sigh was a small shiver of ecstasy. “How many clients do you now have?”

  “Several dozen.”

  “Of these, how many are major corporate accounts?”

  “None.”

  “And yet, before the accident, how many clients did you carry?”

  “Several hundred.”

  “And how many of those were corporate accounts?”

  “I don’t recall exactly. About thirty.”

  “Thirty major clients, hundreds of cases.” She gave him a little grimace, regretting the need to add a slight whining edge to her voice. The intimacy was giving way to the knife. “And now, almost nothing. Except this one case.”

  “I said I have other clients.”

  “Indeed you did. I’m sure they must be something.” She moved to the podium. “This case against New Horizons is your ticket back to the big time, is it not?”

  “Objection.”

  Judge Nicols shook her head. Slowly. Almost in apology to Marcus. “Overruled.”

  “Let me rephrase the question.” Sharper now, the whine that of a jagged-toothed saw. “You are trying to reestablish your reputation, are you not?”

  “No.”

  “You are desperate to generate some publicity for yourself.”

  “No. That’s not—”

  “You have everything to gain and nothing to lose in this case. Is that not so, Mr. Glenwood?”

  “I believe this case represents a genuine—”

  “Starting over in a small town, operating out of your own house, starving for business, missing the big time. You had to come up with something so off-the-wall, so utterly outrageous, that the press would have no choice but to take notice!”

  “No. That’s not true.”

  “Is it not. Is it not.” Her features twisted with the scarring of jaded lust. “Would it not be more truthful to say, Mr. Glenwood, that you have taken aim at a fine local corporation and trashed its good name for no other reason than to jump-start your own dismal career?”

  “No.” Knowing the weakness in his voice would sound like guilt, caring only that the end was now in sight. “That’s not true.”

  “Isn’t it.” The sneer was acrid. “Isn’t it.”

  “No.”

  “Well, I suppose then I am done here.” She gripped the podium with a vulture’s claw and forced herself around. “No further questions.”

  FORTY-ONE

  WHEN MARCUS stepped from the car, he had difficulty mustering enough strength to get himself moving. The vague scent of ashes drifted about the car like the remnants of his own pyre. Darren walked over and gripped his arm. “You j-just come on.”

  When he saw the three women gathered on his veranda, Marcus could have wept with relief over having someone there to help vanquish the ghosts. Netty was the first to come forward, inspecting his face and then embracing him hard. “I’d like to roast the lot of them over a slow fire.”

  Alma was next, her arms as strong and solid as her frame and her concern. When she released him, it was to say, “I brought you some dinner.”

  “I’m sorry, Alma, I should never have taken this—”

  “You hush up now.” She tugged him up the steps. “You need something hot in your stomach.”

  Alma released him so that Kirsten could approach. Her concern was just as genuine as the others’, her embrace as natural. But her arms were sweet as honeyed wine, her fragrance drawn from a season of greater promise. Marcus closed his eyes and gave in to the thought that here he could finally rest.

  They took him inside and put a plate in front of him. He ate because they watched him, though the only flavor in his mouth was dust and ashes.

  They knew enough of hard times not to make the moment linger. Only Kirsten hung back after Netty and Alma moved toward the car. “I could stay if you like.”

  “I’ll be asleep in five minutes.” Though she stood ten feet from him now, he felt her arms around him still. “Thank you for coming.”

  “There’s so much I’d like to tell you.”

  He had no will left to hold back. Thoughts formed and instantly tumbled out. “I couldn’t say anymore what I’m asking for the trial and what I’m asking for myself.”

  She closed the distance between them and reached for his good arm. Only when she gripped his hand with both of hers did she say, “I thought if I stayed mad at you it would keep me from caring.”

  “You were right to try.”

  She shook her head, causing the flaxen crown to shimmer. “It didn’t work.”

  He breathed, and felt his crushed soul tasting a fragrance that was too good for this moment, too fine. He held it just the same, wishing there were some way to keep it always.

  She seemed to understand, for her grip upon his hand tightened. “Do you think,” she whispered, “two shattered hearts could join and make one whole?”

  His entire inner world keened a sad yearning, but his willful tongue betrayed him. “I’d say it was more the making of a tragedy.”

  Even so, she did not let him go. “They say love can heal all wounds.”

  No, he wanted to say, that was merely the stuff of poetry and dreamers and a world far finer than this place. Here it was different. Here love pierced with a lance’s thrust, killing not once but daily. But Marcus imprisoned the words behind a tightly clenched jaw.

  Kirsten waited and held his hand until Alma’s voice called faintly from the front lawn. Then, she touched his cheek with lips too soft and warm for his hard nature. She crossed the foyer, pushed open the door, and tripped down the steps into the night. Kirsten left him scarred not by her touch but rather by its absence.

  When the cars had driven away, he reached up and with two fingers wiped at the spot, seeking to vanquish the flood of yearning. Only now did he miss what he had gone so long without.

  RANDALL WALKER passed through customs at the Raleigh-Durham airport with the ease of one who always traveled first-class. His houseman-driver was there to greet him and accept the baggage tags. Randall walked outside and stopped by the big Mercedes parked in the emergency zone. He stood beside the car and took in great drafts of the night air. It did not matter that the place stank of jet fuel and airport fumes. Behind those odors lurked the finest scent in all the known universe—the smell of home.

  He did not realize how much he had missed Raleigh until this very moment. His villa on the Amalfi Coast was everything he had recalled from his one brief visit, a true Renaissance castle. His wife was ecstatic, still walking around in a dreamlike state, scarcely believing it was actually hers. But in truth he was not made for the easy life, no matter how sweet the wine nor how fine the Mediterranean light. He missed the fray, the battles, the danger. Power was nothing unless it was used.

  His houseman came out toting his two alligator bags. “Have a good flight?”

  “Long. Naples to London, London to home.” Home. How wonderful a word it was. How much Marcus Glenwood and this case had almost cost him.

  The houseman shut the trunk, glanced over, and asked, “You all right, sir?”

  “Fine.” Randall Walker forced his limbs to unlock from the sudden burning fury.

  “You’ve gone all white.”

  “I’m just tired, that’s all.” He let the houseman open his door, slid inside, tried to settle the churning rage. It had been like this, on and off, ever since his departure. Sudden furies that threatened to send him screaming about the villa, shattering everything and everyone in his path.

  He had to come back. Had to be there for the kill. He pulled out his cellular phone and keyed in the number for Logan’s home. When the man answered, Randall said simply, “I’m back.”

  “Where have you been?”

  A wave of relief swept through him. Logan’s
tone was naturally impatient, demanding. Which meant the China Trade Council chairman had not gone through with his threat of public dismissal. James Southerland, the CEO of New Horizons, had assured Randall that he would personally handle the council chairman and his hair-trigger temper. Obviously Southerland was a man of his word.

  Randall forced himself to ease back. He smiled at the ceiling over the backseat, then at the night outside. “Business in Italy. I hear it went well today in court.”

  “You should have been there.” Logan’s gloating voice rang like great Oriental gongs. “Suzie just plain tore that guy apart.”

  “You taped it?”

  “Unofficially.”

  “I want a copy.”

  “Sure. No problem.”

  “Any problems with the general?”

  “None. He hasn’t spoken more than ten words to me since his arrival. The guy might as well be one of those big carved Chinese dogs.”

  Not according to Randall’s other sources. In private, the general was a frenzied maniac, screaming for the blood of everyone who had trapped him within this Carolina courthouse. Which was what had brought the New Horizons chairman back to the United States, not the judge’s so-called request. “When are you planning to have James Southerland testify?”

  “Last thing tomorrow.”

  “You mind walking me through your strategy?”

  Randall leaned back and listened to the trial attorney sketch out his plan of attack. Walker’s mind expanded gradually, stretching and assuming the old familiar shape. He sighed, working the anger and the anxiety from his bones. Randall Walker was indeed home.

  THE NEXT MORNING Marcus was relegated to the injury box, sitting and watching as Logan began an onslaught of witnesses. In swift succession the defense attorney led his people through their paces. He attacked hard and fast, moving in for the kill while Marcus was still flayed and wounded. Charlie handled the work like a pro, taking on the witnesses according to Marcus’ written notes, striking back with what force he could muster.

  Two workers were brought forward to counteract the plaintiff’s accusations of New Horizons’ mistreatment of employees. The personnel manager described their sensitivity program, given to all levels of management at all U.S. facilities. A black female VP from New York described her rise from the factory floor of their New Jersey plant, one that Charlie managed to reveal on cross had long since been closed and moved south. With each witness Logan drove home the company’s excellent labor policies. Solid training schemes. Great working conditions. How well New Horizons treated their employees. Even in his drained state, Marcus could not help seeing that his case was evaporating. Logan was distancing himself and his clients from the accusations, drawing the jury farther and farther from the initial testimony.

  The day’s final witness came as no great surprise, since he had spent the entire day seated between Logan and Suzie Rikkers. As chairman and chief executive officer of New Horizons Incorporated, James Southerland was as polished and powerful as a man in his position was expected to be. Logan’s opening question granted him an opportunity to apologize first to the jury and then to the judge for not being there throughout. But with a two-billion-dollar company to run and over two dozen foreign subsidiaries to manage, Southerland explained, making time for this case required a great deal of juggling. Nevertheless, he was here, and he wanted to set their minds straight on some very important matters about his fine company. Judge Nicols sat stone-faced as Logan respectfully walked the chairman through the company’s vast array of subsidiaries. Photographs were shown, supposedly taken from the Factory 101 shop floor. The pictures showed well-lit, pleasant enough surroundings. The workers were clearly Asian. The gleaming machinery was all new and part of New Horizons’ investment in this fine, upstanding partnership, the chairman declared, his tone as refined as his appearance. General Zhao unbent enough to offer his first reaction other than silent fury, smiling benignly as Southerland praised the partnership and the wonderful opportunities it offered their workers.

  At Logan’s request, Southerland explained why few employees knew where the products came from. The company’s policy was for all their products to be treated as New Horizons’ and not belonging to any particular factory. Some workers on the shop floor were resentful of products coming from foreign suppliers, he explained with an apologetic smile. The way the company handled this was, once a product entered their distribution center, to mark its origin only with a tiny inside tag, which was hidden by the packaging.

  Charlie did his best on cross. He showed how each of the managers who had testified earlier had over a third of their total salary tied up in annual bonuses, which were given at the sole discretion of senior management. He then turned to the company’s policy of employee screening, and asked Southerland to describe the extensive background checks given to all managers. Was it not true that they did this, Charlie demanded, because of all the complaints that had been lodged by earlier managers about company practices? When Logan’s objection was upheld, Charlie changed his tack and asked if the company had ever had an independent audit of its overtime wage payments. That objection led to Charlie asking if the company were not currently under federal investigation for unfair labor practices.

  Logan had not even bothered to sit down after his previous objection. “Your Honor, I must request you halt this line of questioning. In case everyone has forgotten, this trial is supposedly about a woman missing in China.”

  Judge Nicols glanced at Charlie, who wearily struggled to fend off the strain of an overlong day. “Mr. Hayes, I must agree.”

  Charlie allowed his shoulders to slump, speaking volumes to all who watched. “Plaintiff requests permission to recall this witness.”

  “Permission granted.” Judge Nicols tried hard to keep the pity from showing. But she failed, and for Marcus her expression was the stamp of death to their case.

  “Then for the moment we have no further questions.” Charlie felt it too. He slid into his seat and murmured so quietly Marcus could scarcely hear it himself, “Sorry, son.”

  “You did fine.”

  “Don’t dress the wounded with lies, son. It doesn’t help. They cleaned my clock, and we both know it.” Charlie used the knuckles of both thumbs to squeeze the fatigue and the perspiration from his temples. “All I could do was give you a chance to get in there later and deliver a few blows of your own.”

  Marcus’ gaze followed Logan’s as the defense attorney rose and glanced at the wall clock. Marcus found it hard to believe it was only two-thirty. The day had already lasted the length of droughts and famines and plagues.

  “We have just one more witness to call, Your Honor.” Logan was striving to hold the exultation from his voice. Juries disliked attorneys who assumed they had won. “But we cannot bring her forward until tomorrow morning.”

  Judge Nicols bristled, “Are you now presuming to set the court’s schedule?”

  “Not us, Your Honor, but our witness.” Logan’s voice rang with quiet triumph. “As our final witness, we intend to call the Attorney General of the United States.”

  WHEN MARCUS REACHED for the phone that evening, he felt as if he were hefting his corner of the continent. Seeking to avert the earth’s natural course by shifting its axis several degrees. He dialed nonetheless, and said when the phone was answered, “Randall, this is Marcus Glenwood calling.”

  “As I live and breathe, it surely sounds like you.” Randall Walker seemed positively joyous at the call. “I won’t ask how you are, because I already know.”

  “I wanted to repeat my earlier offer.”

  “You’re crushed, is how you are. Isn’t that right? Dead and don’t know it.” The man’s chuckle sounded wet, as though he were salivating at the prospect of a wonderful meal. “If you hush up a minute you can hear the hounds baying outside your door.”

  “Let Gloria Hall go and we’ll make this all disappear.”

  “What, and ruin the show? After all the hard work you’ve do
ne bringing this crowd together? The press and the television and a general all the way from China? And now the attorney general of these United States?” Each word was punctuated a little more sharply than the one before. “We can’t disappoint all these fine folks, now, can we!”

  “She’s dead, isn’t she.” Marcus heard the dirge in his own voice. “That’s why you didn’t let her resurface when all this started. Gloria Hall is dead.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about. Have you tried the embassy?”

  “It’s the only reason you’d let this show drag on so long.”

  “In case you didn’t notice, hoss, this ain’t my show. This is yours. You’re the one who’s pulled the whole world in close, so they’ll all have a bird’s-eye view.” The voice rasped with pent-up fury. “And now the whole world can watch you get skinned alive.”

  Marcus felt it necessary to say it all, speak the words in a litany of sorrow over having let more people down. “You can’t release her because you don’t have her anymore. You must have slipped up somehow. I’m sure you never intended to let this happen.”

  “I’ll be held responsible for just one death, and that one is yours. And don’t you think it’s ending when the jury comes back and says to the world, ‘We find for the defense on all counts.’ No sir. That’s when the fun starts. Right then and there, we’re gonna stake you out and sharpen the knives.”

  Randall Walker had to stop and fight to breathe around a chest filled more with rage than air. “You ever heard of death by a thousand cuts? We’ll take you apart one tiny piece at a time. First your career, then what’s left of your good name, then every cent you have. We’re suing you for a frivolous claim and charging you for all our legal fees. And we’re gonna win. Yeah we are. Bankrupt you and take it all, right down to that fine fancy house you set so much store by. Already got me some good folks who’ll take it off my hands. Good folks, yeah, the kind who deserve a place like that.”

  Marcus saw what was coming, and the realization struck like a stone-hard fist to his heart.