by Alexi Venice
Chapter Eleven
On her way back to the office, Monica bought a chicken wrap and a latte from the local coffee shop. No sooner was she seated at her desk, mid-bite into her wrap, the latte aroma comforting her, than Richard Smart barged in and closed the door. “Have a minute?”
“Sure. Mind if I keep eating?” she asked, mouth full.
“Go ahead.” He paced in front of her desk. “Did you know that Nathan is gay?”
Oh shit. Really? Now? With all I have going on? She bought some time by pointing at her full mouth, chewing, swallowing, and taking a healthy drink of her no-longer-comforting latte. “Why?”
“You don’t get to answer my question with a question,” he said.
“I believe I can answer your question any way I like,” she said equably but with a menacing undertone.
He stopped pacing and stared at her. “That type of answer tells me that you knew.”
“Why are you asking?”
“Because I want to know.”
“First, Nathan’s sexual orientation is none of our business. Second, my personal knowledge of other people is even less of your business.” There. Now she had gone and done it. Confronted Richard-fucking-Smart.
He blanched. “You have certain obligations to the partners of this firm.”
“To what obligations are you referring, aside from buying a nicer car?”
“To tell us what you see and hear about fellow lawyers.” His voice gathered steam, and he resumed pacing.
“First, you’re not a partner. Second, I hotly contest that I have a duty to gossip with the partners.” She took a bite of her wrap, trying to give the impression that she had a solid game.
“I’ll be a partner here before you, then I’ll be voting on whether you make partner.”
“So?” She chewed defiantly.
“So, you’d better get your priorities straight.”
“Which means?”
“Which means you better start talking to me.”
She calmly drank some latte to wash down her bite. “Are you threatening me?”
“Merely warning you,” he said.
If he thought she was going to be a cowering sycophant, he was mistaken. She’d be damned if she’d show respect to a douche-canoe like Richard. He stood for everything she and Nathan hated: privileged frat boy who joined his daddy’s firm and now thought he had the right to boss everyone around. It’s always sunny in Doucheville.
She took another bite.
“Is that policeman, Matt, your boyfriend or Nathan’s boyfriend?” he asked, maintaining his ground.
Now, he had just crossed a very personal line. She chewed, swallowed, and drank some more latte. “None of your fucking business.” There was no friendliness in her tone this time.
He glared at her, stomped his foot like a toddler, and stormed out of her office.
She stared at the vacated doorway and pushed her wrap aside. Should I tell Jim about this conversation? Is my partnership track in jeopardy because I won’t play in the mud with Richard? Will Jim be around when I come up for partner? Will he support me? If I tell Jim about Richard’s inappropriate conversation, will he confront Richard, or his father, and make the situation worse for me? Do I even want to work here if I have to be partners with that asshole? If I plan to leave, shouldn’t I at least tell Jim why? He’s been good to me.
Monica had to push Richard’s discriminatory remarks to the back of her mind and redirect her attention to the criminal trial. She owed a duty to the hospital and doctors to prepare them for the accusations that Halliday had spewed to the media because she knew that was merely an appetizer for what was to come at trial—a more aggressive Halliday who would try his level best to make the doctors look incompetent.
She checked the WQOD website and saw that Tiffany had splashed Halliday’s statements all over it, so she picked up her phone and called Al.
“Al Bowman, Community Memorial Hospital.”
“Hi Al, it’s Monica.”
“Thank God you called. What a shit-show.”
“You saw Halliday’s inflammatory accusations?”
“What? No. I’m talking about this flipping monkey,” he said.
“Oh. What did Marcus do now?”
“We got a sighting, so one of our security guards attempted to tase him. As the guard shot the taser, however, an employee who works in the kitchen came around the corner and took the brunt of it.”
“Oh dear,” Monica breathed. “How is she?”
“Not well,” he said. “She’s older, and it knocked her unconscious. They called a code and took her to the ED. This will be a nightmare for us internally, and I can only pray that the media doesn’t get hold of it.”
Didn’t I tell him not to use tasers? “You’re going to meet with her to apologize, aren’t you?”
“Yeah. As soon as the doctors tell me she’s ready for visitors.”
“Good,” Monica said. “If she wants money, I can help with negotiating a settlement.”
“How much should we pay her?” he asked.
“That depends on her injuries and prognosis,” Monica said. “Give it some time. Just open the door to continued discussions when you meet. Also, as I think about it, your workers’ compensation insurance might cover it.”
“You’re right. I’ll call them,” he said.
“Dare I ask about Marcus-the-monkey’s condition?”
“He escaped unscathed.” He sighed. “Still on the loose.”
“I was afraid this would happen if we started monkeying around with tasers,” she said.
“Very funny,” he said sarcastically. “The exterminator should be here tomorrow, so I’ll get this monkey off my back one way or another.”
“How are your discussions with Darcy going?”
“She hired a lawyer,” he said.
“I’m not surprised,” Monica said. “Who?”
“Miltrude Leib.”
“I know Wally.”
“Her name is Miltrude.”
“And that, my friend, is why she goes by ‘Wally.’”
“Gotcha.”
“Want me to call her?” Monica asked.
“Would you? All I need is a lawsuit and media attention now.”
“Well, don’t let an exterminator kill it just yet,” she said. “Wally might go apeshit.”
He moaned. “By the way, what did you call about?”
“Trevor McKnight’s lawyer gave a press conference this morning after the hearing in which he lambasted Abdul Seif’s medical care,” she said. “It’s already posted on WQOD’s website.”
“Let me pull it up,” he said.
She heard typing and clicking in the background. There was a brief silence, then he read out loud, “Halliday said that ‘Doctors Khouri and Rice were negligent, in essence blaming them for Abdul Seif’s murder instead of Trevor McKnight.’ Are you kidding me?”
“No joke,” she said. “Classic defense strategy. Introduce an intervening cause of death to deflect attention away from the defendant and onto someone else. I need to prepare the doctors for this attack.”
“Please do. They’ll be devastated. From what I’ve heard, Dr. Khouri went above and beyond in Abdul Seif’s care.”
“That’s actually a trap,” she said. “We don’t want Dr. Khouri to take the bait. If Dr. Khouri so much as breathes a word that he took ‘extra special care’ of Abdul, Halliday will accuse him of exaggerating Seif’s injuries because they’re both Muslim Arabs.”
“Unbelievable.”
“I know. Dr. Khouri has to be careful about not overstating his opinions, or they could backfire with the jury. He’ll have to walk a fine line of defending his care, but not openly advocating for Abdul.”
“Not that I think we did anything wrong,” Al said, “but can the Seif family sue us for malpractice if they’re not U.S. citizens?”
“Generally speaking, access to U.S. courts isn’t restricted by citizenship, but I’d have to research the spe
cifics for a malpractice case,” she said. “With respect to their appetite for suing, the Seif family is represented by a local attorney, Mike Warner. I can give him a call if you want me to.”
“That would be smart. Feel out the situation.”
“I can also ask Mike to explain Halliday’s defense tactics to the Seifs, so they aren’t manipulated into actually believing that the doctors committed malpractice. We don’t want them to direct their grief, and potential anger, at the hospital and doctors.”
“That’s why I pay you the big bucks, Monica. It’s your job to navigate us through this.”
“I’ll do my best.”
“If there’s anyone I trust to get it right, it’s you,” he said.
“I’m on it. Good luck with the tased food service employee.”
“I’m going to need it. Bye.”
She started her round of physician calls by dialing the hospital operator to page Dr. Khouri. She waited a long minute before he came on the line.
“This is Dr. Khouri.”
“Hello, doctor. This is Monica Spade.”
“Are you calling to warn me about the news?” he asked in his Arab accent.
“I take it you saw it already?”
“Yes. Nothing could be further from the truth. You know that I provided exceptional care, going above and beyond, following Abdul in the CCU and speaking to his family?”
“I know all of that, but we need to be cautious about saying too much, or there’s a risk that McKnight’s lawyer will accuse you of advocating for Abdul because you’re both Muslim, or Arab, or both. You’ll need to defend your care without overplaying the personal connection.”
“He’s going to paint me to the jury as either incompetent or overzealous? It’s a no-win situation,” Dr. Khouri said.
“No, it isn’t. You can still defend your care. It’s a matter of tone. I’ll help you. In the meantime, please don’t give any interviews or talk to the media. That would make matters worse.”
“I won’t, but this Halliday is allowed to say whatever he wants to the media? Defaming me like this?” Dr. Khouri’s previously calm voice cracked into a falsetto.
“The law provides a lot of latitude to arguments made in court during a lawsuit. I don’t think this is actionable defamation, meaning, even though it isn’t true and damages your reputation, it’s made within a lawsuit, so I don’t think a judge would entertain a defamation case.”
“That isn’t fair,” he said. “You shouldn’t be able to say whatever you want only because your client is on trial for murder.”
“I agree. But the law is what it is.”
“Very well.” He sighed. “I’m not supposed to talk to the media. I think I can handle that.”
“And, don’t post anything on social media about this.”
“You don’t have to worry about that. I’m not active on social media.”
“Good. I won’t take any more of your time.”
“Thank you, Ms. Spade. Goodbye.”
She placed a similar call to Dr. King, who also inquired about defamation. She found that ironic since he seemed to be a McKnight supporter. Maybe Dr. King will back off his theory that Abdul died from a drunken fall now that Halliday is attacking the doctors.
Monica’s call with Dr. Rice was the calmest. Dr. Rice had no problem keeping the antics of lawyers, and their legal strategies, in perspective, as she was heading into the Operating Room to do a brain surgery. Her focus was on her next patient, but she agreed not to talk to the media or anyone else.
Monica’s next call was to Mike Warner, the lawyer for the Seif family. He insisted that they talk in person over drinks rather than by phone, so they agreed to meet at The Broken Spoke at five o’clock. She appreciated the suggestion because she would rather look Mike in the eye and make a deal over drinks than over the phone.
Next, she had the unpleasant task of calling the monkey owner’s lawyer, Wally Leib. Monica had done a few deals with Wally and thought she was quirky but reasonable. Wally was at least 20 years older than Monica and had practiced in town her entire career. Monica had sat next to Wally at a few local bar association lunches, and they had chatted amiably.
Monica remembered her as a thin woman with long grey hair that accentuated her beakish nose. Her skinny ankles usually poked out from under a peasant dress. Like a crane walking through a marsh, Wally hadn’t looked entirely comfortable walking around the tables at the bar association lunches, stealing glances at people without turning her head.
Monica dialed Wally’s number.
“This is Wally Leib.”
“Hi Wally, this is Monica Spade. How are you?”
“I’m doing well. I suppose you’re calling on behalf of the hospital about Darcy’s precious monkey, Marcus.” Wally was as abrupt and to the point as she had been in her prior conversations with Monica.
“Yes, I am,” Monica said. “I understand you represent the owner of the renegade monkey, who is wreaking havoc in the hospital by the way.”
“I wouldn’t describe Marcus as renegade or wreaking havoc, Ms. Spade.”
I wouldn’t describe him as “precious” either, Monica thought. “Perhaps I spoke too soon, Wally. Why don’t you go first?”
“Marcus, who is a capuchin, is a support animal to my client, Darcy. She was bringing him to visit her friend, who is a patient. She expects to have Marcus returned to her in good health.”
“I appreciate that, and the hospital is making every effort to find Marcus by bribing him with food. As each hour passes, however, Marcus is making more and more messes, leaving a trail of excrement, vomit with worms in it, and discarded food. This is a hospital, not an outdoor zoo. Monkeys can transmit Herpes B, which can be fatal to humans. Hospital administration’s back is up against the wall on this one, Wally.”
Wally screeched like a crane, requiring Monica to hold the phone away from her ear. “I don’t believe you. Marcus is totally up-to-date on his vaccinations. Do you want me to scan and email his veterinary records to you?”
“You don’t have to yell at me, Wally. I understand that the owner feels a bond with her pet. We get that, but we’re running a hospital. We could be cited by a government surveyor and lose our license. We need to get the monkey out of there.”
“My client has been tirelessly walking the halls, calling for Marcus. He doesn’t want to come to her right now. He’s about five years old and feeling his oats, but that doesn’t diminish the fact that my client has a legal right to a support animal.”
“I get the support angle, even though Darcy was a visitor, not a patient,” Monica said. “But the law also allows a hospital to take safety measures to keep its patients safe from diseases and other threats—like an angry monkey coming into a patient room in the middle of the night.”
“Has the monkey entered any patient areas?” Wally asked.
“Who knows?” Monica asked. “He’s been spotted on video throughout the building.”
“I doubt that,” Wally said dismissively.
“I can send you copies of security video to prove it,” Monica said. “Listen, I think it’s time that you break the news to your client that the hospital is going to call in an animal control company to track and tranquilize the monkey for removal.”
“If you touch Marcus, we’ll report you to the police,” Wally thundered.
“So?” Monica replied. “It’s not animal cruelty to remove a wild animal from a hospital by way of a tranquilizer.”
“We’ll see about that,” Wally said. “If anyone tranquilized one of my cats, I’d kill them.”
Monica was stunned. Cats are domestic pets! “How many cats do you have?”
“Eleven,” Wally said indignantly.
Monica cracked a smile. “I understand the love of pets, believe me, but this is a wild animal in a hospital. You have to weigh the safety component here.”
“If that monkey is injured, I’m authorized to sue the hospital,” Wally said.
“I’m
not sure threatening litigation is your best play here, Wally. Why don’t you encourage your client to continue working with hospital security?”
“I’ll do that. Good talking to you, Ms. Spade.”
“Likewise. Take care.” Monica hung up the phone and covered her face with her hands. She’s as nuts as her client. I have to tell Nathan about this craziness. She got up from her desk and made her way to his office.
When she discovered he wasn’t there, she detoured through the kitchen on the way back to her office. There was a plastic container of homemade cookies on the table with a post-it note inviting people to take one. Chocolate chip. Her favorite. One won’t kill me, and I sort of earned this one. She grabbed a cookie and returned to her office to savor it with the remainder of the latte.
Chapter Twelve
Her mind buzzing, Monica nibbled the cookie while clicking through emails. Her eyes roamed over her inbox, not really focusing while she sifted and sorted recent events.
She couldn’t believe what Richard had said to her, and the way he had acted in her office. There’s no way he would ever accept me being gay. And, he’s the next generation of partners here! If I come out, I can’t work here—pure and simple. Fuck. I love working for the hospital. What am I going to do?
She decided to try doing some transactional work that wasn’t emotionally charged, so she focused on the first of several emails she had received about Thunderbolt Stadium, the athletic complex deal she was doing with Christina Fox. Pursuant to the latest email chain, Ben was coordinating the finances—each company’s cash contribution to the project—at American Credit Union, McKnight Construction’s bank of choice.
Monica pulled up the Excel spreadsheet of the cash contributions that Ben had emailed to her and Christina. She went line-by-line down the column of expenses and noticed that they had skyrocketed since the last quarterly report she had reviewed. The project was hemorrhaging cash during the building site preparation, even before the concrete was poured and the walls were up.
She enlarged the spreadsheet and carefully reviewed the entries. A few had asterisks next to them that referenced a separate tab in the Excel program. She clicked open that tab. There was a tiny disclosure there, in eight-point type, that building materials for Thunderbolt Stadium were recently purchased from McKnight Construction. The total purchases were $1 million.