Marcus rubbed his temples against the thought of the battles yet to come. “I’ll worry about all that tomorrow.”
She shifted in her chair, as though trying for a clearer angle on the issue. “I have been left with the distinct impression that Miss Gloria Hall had this planned from the beginning.”
Marcus said to the flames, “If you only knew.”
“Not tonight. But soon.” She cocked her head to one side. “One question will do for now. She knew the general was coming to America, didn’t she?”
“I can’t say for certain, but I think so.” Marcus felt the fatigue and the release down deep in his bones. “My guess is that she was hoping whoever took over the factory wouldn’t be so, well, controlled.”
“She wanted to provoke them into doing something that would expose them so that they would wind up in our courts. She wanted it all to happen while the general was over here and in range.” Gladys Nicols shook her head. “That poor girl.”
“Her poor parents.”
“Yes. Them too. How are they?”
“Not good.”
The look she gave him was etched with shared sorrow. “And how are you?”
“Surviving.” Marcus stretched his back, knew there was no putting it off. “Your Honor—”
“We’re done with court for the moment. You may call me Gladys.”
His gaze was enough to draw her up tight. “This case will not be finished,” he replied, “until we know exactly what happened to Gloria. And maybe not even then.” He sat and listened to the fire crackle, then continued, “Next week I’m going to file papers for a new civil action. I felt I owed it to you to see if you wanted me to pass the pressure on to another judge.”
She hesitated a long moment. “I am both tired and tempted. But all my life I have heard words about passing cups.”
“There is a federal statute framed in the days of the Soviet empire,” Marcus explained. “Back then Russia tended to escape responsibility for the misdeeds of state-owned companies by claiming sovereign immunity.”
“I imagine we will find the same objection raised when the Chinese government appeals this decision.”
Marcus nodded. “I want to head them off at the pass. This particular law says that a foreign government involved in a company for wholly commercial reasons can be held directly liable for the actions of that company. And for all damages.”
Judge Nicols sat up straighter still. “My, my.”
“Not only that, but there is a legal exception to sovereign immunity. It states that if a single action can be shown to be part of an overall pattern, then the state can be held liable for fomenting this action.”
“You want to up the ante, don’t you,” she demanded softly. “Hit them with more bad publicity. Continue the pressure until they come up with answers.”
“As soon as I can get the papers together, I intend to file a civil action against the Chinese government for human rights abuses in its lao gai prisons and forced-labor factories,” Marcus finished. “Nationwide.”
“Then I suppose my questions about Gloria will have to wait a while longer.” Judge Nicols rose to her feet, drawing Marcus with her. “I will see you in my office at eight o’clock tomorrow morning.”
EPILOGUE
THE LATE NOVEMBER DAY wore a dress as dark as Alma’s. The airport windows overlooking the runway were veiled in a mist so fine and soft it could not be called rain at all. The vast crowd of press and photographers and mourners gathered beside the runway was washed a uniform gray. Marcus stood with one arm around Kirsten’s shoulders and looked to a group of television newscasters standing in somber shades and chattering to a horde of electronic eyes. Marcus wished he could somehow grow as impervious to the tumult as he was to winter’s approach.
They were all there with him, all the strangers bound to him now, knit into the fabric of his life. All but Gladys Nicols, who had sent Jim Bell in her absence. The retired patrolman and Amos Culpepper had stood sentry at the doors since their arrival two hours earlier.
Together they all had watched the plane land and the passengers disembark. The metal courier stood silent and waiting now, drenched in the same gray sorrow as all the rest of this mournful day.
Jim Bell walked over and said, “You know Judge Nicols would be here if she could.”
Marcus nodded, both to the words and his understanding that it was far easier to address him than Austin or Alma Hall. He had two new cases winding their way toward a new jury trial in the judge’s courtroom. “It was good of you to come.”
Jim Bell offered a paper stiff as folded parchment. “She asked me to give you this.”
Marcus unfolded the sheet, read the contents, then called out, “Darren, come over here, please.” He handed the tall young man the paper and said, “At the request of Judge Nicols and Charlie Hayes, the governor has agreed to expunge your record. As far as anyone is concerned, you are walking out of here with a clean sheet.”
Amos Culpepper joined them. “You still want to join our team at the sheriff’s office, Darren?”
The man did not look up from the paper shivering slightly in his hands. “Y-yes sir.”
Amos gave a solemn nod. “Nice to know there’s some good coming out of this day.”
There was a knock at the door. All eyes watched as Amos walked over and exchanged soft words with a uniformed patrolman. He then turned to the couple tucked into the corner shadows and announced, “They’re ready to unload the coffin.”
Deacon Wilbur rose first, one hand on each of the parents. “Stand tall, now,” he said, his voice carrying against the tide trying to press through the open door. “The whole world is gathered out there, ready to watch your Gloria come home.”
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
A number of people proved instrumental to this book’s formation. Katie Simon is Staff Attorney and chief aide to U.S. District Court Justice Earl Britt. Her energy and patient explanations were critical to the research’s early stages. Kieran Shanahan, an attorney and member of the Raleigh City Council, was instrumental in the shaping of the trial and the defense’s strategy. His and Katie’s assistance cannot be overstated. It was both an honor and a pleasure to work with them, and come to know a bit more about their world.
Reuben Blackwell, former executive of the Raleigh Chamber of Commerce and now Director of the RMOIC, has been a dear friend for many years. The house where much of this book takes place is modeled after his neighborhood in Rocky Mount. I am indeed grateful to him and his wife, Neva, for seeking to share with me their world. Thanks must also go to the pastor of their church and his wife, Chris and Sherron Jordan, and to all their wonderful congregation. They sang, they danced, they shouted, they put up with my quiet musings, and they made me feel welcome. What a gift.
One of the great delights of this book has been working with my editor at Doubleday, Eric Major, and his assistant Elizabeth Walter. They bring to the table a remarkable level of professionalism and wisdom. I would like to thank two others among the many at Doubleday with whom I have been fortunate to work, Judith Kern and Steve Rubin. My heartfelt appreciation goes as well to the wonderful team at Waterbrook, including Dan Rich, Lisa Bergren, Michelle Tennesen, and Rebecca Price. It is a privilege to call them friends.
My wife, Isabella, is an international attorney who is currently earning degrees in theology and ethics at Oxford University. Her first thesis was on the issue of human rights violations within the Chinese lao gai prison network. She has walked with me every step of the way, from dream to realization.
Over a hundred interviews were conducted for this book. Some have requested not to be named, but must be thanked nonetheless. A few of the many others who contributed are: George Ragsdale of Ragsdale, Liggett & Foley; Ashley Thrifte and Lawrence Davis of Womble Carlyle; State Supreme Court Justice David M. Britt; Federal Justice W. Earl Britt; Alexander B. Denson, United States Magistrate Judge; Ted Borris of Hatch, Little & Bunn; Leslie C. Griffin, Director of Asian Affairs for the U.S
. Chamber of Commerce; and the staff at Amnesty International’s offices in Washington and London.
And finally I would like to thank my father, a Raleigh-based attorney for more than forty years. Thanks, Dad, both for sharing your wealth of experience, and for opening so many doors.
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