Conscious Bias

by Alexi Venice

  On her way to the hospital, Monica thought about Charles and Richards’ opinions—and actions!—and was shocked that they existed in this day and age. No wonder gays stay in the closet. Fuck!

  She arrived at the hospital a few minutes before the Seifs were due and found her way to Al’s office.

  “Hiya, Monica,” he said. “Still no idea why they want to meet with us?”

  “Nope,” she said.

  “Maybe they want me to fire Dr. King,” he mused.

  “I doubt it. They seem too classy for that, but you’re going to anyway, right?”

  “Yes!” Al’s phone rang. He picked it up and spoke to his receptionist then said to Monica, “They’re here.”

  He and Monica greeted the Seifs in the reception area and brought them to the conference room. After an exchange of greetings but without preamble, they sat around the large table, Khalid sitting at the head of the table with Mohamad on his right, and his wife, Basmah, on his left. Ameerah sat next to her mother.

  “I’m very sorry for what you’ve had to endure at the trial,” Al said. “Monica has kept me apprised.”

  “Thank you,” Mr. Seif said. “We have survived worse.” He cleared his throat and allowed a few seconds of silence.

  “How can I be of service to you today?” Al asked.

  Mr. Seif smiled. “You can accept a gift from us.”

  “A gift?” Al asked, relief flooding in where paranoia had once resided.

  “Yes,” Khalid said. “After discussions with my family, we decided to make a donation to your hospital. We’re very grateful for the care Abdul received, and equally grateful for your transparency and help during the trial. Ms. Spade has been working very hard, behind the scenes, of course, to prepare the physicians and help the prosecution. She even put herself in harm’s way, which scared us a little. We’ve been impressed with her steadfast commitment to the case and our family, even in the face of danger.”

  Al turned to Monica. “She is amazing, isn’t she?”

  “We hope that no harm befalls Ms. Spade, or the hospital, as a result of helping us through the trial.”

  Monica took a breath, signaling that she wanted to speak, but was reluctant to interrupt Mr. Seif.

  “Please, Ms. Spade, you wanted to say something?” he asked.

  “Um, yes. It’s been my pleasure and honor to help your family in memory of Abdul. I’m not worried in the least about my safety or any ramifications in the community.”

  “That’s good to hear, child,” Mr. Seif said.

  Basmah smiled at Monica, and Ameerah looked relieved.

  “My son will describe the conditions of our donation.” Mr. Seif gestured to Mohamad to take over.

  Mohamad steepled his hands on the table in front of him. “Our family would like to make a $10 million donation to your fine hospital, on two conditions.”

  Al remained cool but for a few rapid blinks of his eyelids and sharp tilt of his head to the right, giving his left ear priority. “I’m sorry. What was that?”

  Mohamad smiled. “We would like to make a $10 million dollar donation with two conditions.”

  Al cleared his throat. “How generous. What are the conditions?”

  “First, we would like you to name the Critical Care Unit the “Seif Critical Care Unit.”

  “That would be our honor,” Al said. “And, your second condition?”

  “We would like you to hang in the hallway of the Seif CCU a collection of Islamic art that we will also donate.”

  “Again, we’d be honored,” Al said.

  “That was too easy,” Mohamad said. “Perhaps we should have added more conditions.”

  Everyone chuckled, but Al more nervously than the others.

  “We’re grateful for your generosity,” Al said. “The Hospital Board of Directors will be thrilled. Trust me, your donation is timely because we need to expand the CCU.”

  “Ah. We’re pleased that our money will be put to good use,” Mohamad said.

  “Very,” Al said.

  “Excuse me,” Mike said. “I hate to interrupt, but I got a text that the jury reached a verdict. If we want to hear it in person, we should go to the courthouse. We don’t have to, but if you want to, we should leave now.”

  Mohamad looked at his father, who nodded.

  “Our business here is concluded,” Mohamad said abruptly.

  “Thank you so much,” Al said, following Mohamad’s lead to stand. Everyone shook hands. “I’ll join you in court for the verdict.”

  “Would you like to ride with me?” Monica asked.

  “If it wouldn’t be too much trouble,” Al said.

  Here’s my chance, she thought. I helped bring in the donation, so I’m in a strong place to come out to him.

  They departed in an unceremonious rush, as if very little of significance had just transpired.

  As soon as Al and Monica were in her truck on the way to the courthouse, Al let loose several celebratory whoops and couldn’t stop talking about how excited he was to add on to the CCU.

  Monica smiled as she listened, genuinely happy for the hospital and community. When there was a break in his stream of consciousness about the new project, she said, “There’s something I need to tell you.”

  His smile remained. “What’s that?”

  “I’m gay, and I only recently came out to people at my law firm. My friends and family have known for years, but I hadn’t told people like Jim until recently.”

  He was silent, but his expression took on that of someone who was replaying every conversation he’d had and what he had said to Monica.

  She gripped the wheel, nervous as hell. The short silence seemed interminable.

  “Right,” he said, realizing it was his turn to talk. “That’s great. I’m happy for you. I hope I haven’t said or done anything that might have offended you in any way. In fact, I’m sorry about the ‘you don’t know fear, only guilt’ comment. That was stupid.”

  She laughed, relieved. “No worries. You’re easy to work with, and you haven’t offended me in the least.”

  “Whew,” he said. “So, business as usual then?”

  “I hope so,” she said.

  “It’s a deal.”

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  The Seif family took their usual spots behind Dominique and her pack of legal assistants, who, like border collies, had rounded up the family at the door, making sure everyone was seated in time for the reading of the verdict. Mohamad Seif sat at the end of the family row on the center aisle, and Mike Warner sat at the opposite end, next to Kahlid.

  In the row behind the Seifs, Monica and Al had barely sat down when Jim Daniels slid in next to Monica, surprising her.

  “Hey, Jim. I didn’t know you were coming,” Monica whispered. “Did you finish that little agreement and give it to Charles?”

  “I didn’t want to miss this,” he said. “And, yes” Jim reached across Monica and shook Al’s hand. “Hi, Al.”

  “Good to see you, Jim. Congrats on the new firm,” Al said.

  “Thanks. We’re really excited,” Jim said. “Did Monica tell you the name?”

  “No,” Al said.

  “She’s so humble,” Jim said. “It’s Spade, Daniels and Taylor.”

  “So, my hospital lawyer is the lead partner of her own firm now?” Al asked. “Does this mean your rate is going up?”

  Monica laughed. “Not any time soon.”

  “I’m holding you to that,” Al said.

  “Who told you the jury reached a verdict?” Monica asked Jim.

  As if summoned by a sixth sense, Dominique turned around and quickly scanned her side of the courtroom. As her eyes roamed over Monica’s row, they stopped momentarily on Jim. The edge of Dominique’s lip curved up subtly. With the confidence of a woman who has her lover’s support, Dominique turned back to face the courtroom theater.

  What the what? Monica thought, her mind backfilling random pieces of information she had gathered that week. Now
I know where Jim’s inside intel has been coming from—Dominique. Come to think of it, she probably gathered some intel from Jim about Dr. King and David McKnight golfing. Man, does he get around.

  Her thoughts were interrupted by a battalion of sheriffs’ deputies filing into the courtroom, fanning out along the walls and filling the aisle. Monica knew their presence was standard for a possible murder conviction—to prevent the defendant from trying to harm himself rather than serving a long sentence—but that required only a few officers. There were at least 30 deputies in the room, which Monica assumed was a preventive measure to protect the families from attacking each other, keeping peace regardless of the verdict. She certainly couldn’t picture the Seifs doing anything violent. Thus far, they had comported themselves with grace, humility and bravery despite the murder of their son.

  The TV cameras panned the room, and the journalists typed away on their laptops.

  The court clerk hailed, “All rise,” and they heard the substantial metal door open behind the façade that was a backdrop for the judicial bench. Judge O’Brien bustled into the room and sat with an air of authority, his black robe billowing around him, as the metal door closed.

  He leveled his eyes first at Dominique then Halliday. “Is counsel prepared for the verdict?”

  “Yes, Your Honor,” Dominique and Halliday in unison.

  “Bailiff, please bring in the jury,” Judge O’Brien commanded

  Everyone remained standing while nervous and somber-looking jurors entered the jury box. Once they were seated, the courtroom gallery followed suit, and Judge O’Brien asked the jury foreman, a white male in his 60s, to deliver the verdict to the bench. The foreman handed the folded piece of paper to the bailiff, who delivered it to Judge O’Brien. Practiced in his craft, Judge O’Brien maintained an inscrutable expression as he read the entirety of the verdict to himself. He refolded the paper and handed it back to the bailiff, asking him to return it to the foreman.

  “Please stand,” Judge O’Brien directed the foreman. “We’re on the record now. Mr. Foreman, has the jury reached a verdict?”

  “We have, Your Honor,” the foreman replied.

  “Is your verdict unanimous?”

  “Yes, Your Honor.”

  “Did you sign the verdict as the foreman?”

  “Yes, Your Honor.”

  “At this time, I ask the defendant, Trevor McKnight, and his counsel, Jeffrey Halliday, to stand,” Judge O’Brien said.

  Trevor McKnight’s hands and legs trembled so badly that he could barely push off from his chair to stand. The previously-haughty young man had lost at least 10 pounds the week of trial, aging a lifetime since he had punched Abdul Seif. He looked more fearful than angry now, facing his fate that was written on a piece of paper and held by a layperson.

  “Please read the verdict,” Judge O’Brien said.

  The foreman cleared his throat and projected his voice. “We, the jury, find the defendant, Trevor McKnight, not guilty of felony murder.” His tone held a mild hint of scorn. He glanced at the Seifs before continuing. “Since we answered ‘no’ to the first question, we weren’t required to answer the second question about a hate crime.”

  Several sheriffs’ deputies formed a circle around McKnight and Halliday at counsel table while others encircled the McKnight family. Suddenly, there were at least four deputies in the aisle next to the Seif row, preventing them from exiting, much less getting anywhere near the McKnight family. Not that they would, Monica thought. She found the show of force embarrassing under the circumstances.

  “At this time, Trevor McKnight is free to leave with his counsel,” Judge O’Brien ruled. “Bailiff, after the jury is excused, you may remove Mr. McKnight’s belt.”

  The bailiff nodded.

  Monica was in shock. Not guilty? Were those people listening to the same testimony I was? How can this possibly be?

  “The Court thanks the jurors for their service,” Judge O’Brien said. “You are free to talk to the media and lawyers about this case, but you are under no duty to do so. Please adjourn to the jury room to gather your belongings. The trial of State versus McKnight is hereby concluded.” Judge O’Brien slammed down his gavel for finality, and the jurors walked single-file back through the door whence they had come.

  Trevor McKnight hugged his lawyer then pulled the hem of his shirt out of his waistband and unbuttoned the lower buttons. A stunned crowd watched in silence as the bailiff unlocked the wide, black belt under Trevor McKnight’s shirt. Once off, McKnight hastily shoved his shirt tails back into his pants, accentuating how skinny he was.

  Seeing Trevor’s elation jolted everyone into a new reality—a free Trevor McKnight—and recalibrated the power structure in the courtroom. His parents leaned over the court bar and hugged him, both openly crying.

  Judge O’Brien rose from his chair and disappeared behind the façade. They heard the metal door open and slam.

  With raised eyebrows, Monica looked at Jim, who gave her a knowing expression, as if saying, I’ve seen stranger things happen.

  Monica couldn’t believe that McKnight had punched a man, killing him, and now was going free. The injustice! She disagreed wholeheartedly and was sure her expression showed it. Despite Abdul’s fatal fall to the concrete at the hand of the young McKnight, the local son would go free.

  She looked at the Seifs, who were hemmed in by deputies, their heads hung low. They kept their eyes on their folded hands, waiting patiently. She could only imagine their pain, sorrow and frustration.

  Dominique shook Halliday’s hand, said a few words to him, then passed through the bar. She allowed a fleeting look of disappointment when her eyes caught Jim’s but then masked it. She spoke to the deputies, who motioned to the Seifs to stand. Dominique and the deputies escorted the Seifs out, making sure everyone else in the courtroom stayed seated. The Seifs followed Dominique down the hallway into the District Attorney’s Office.

  Once they were gone, the courtroom erupted in nervous chatter. Within seconds, Tiffany from WQOD worked her way to Jeffrey Halliday for an interview. He threw back his black hair like a peacock preparing for a strut.

  “What do you think of the verdict?” she asked.

  “I think it’s a fair verdict,” he said. “I believed my client from the beginning.”

  Monica couldn’t bear to listen. She motioned for Jim to get up and leave with her. Jim obliged, and she, Jim and Al exited into the main hallway.

  “That’s crazy,” Al said.

  “No kidding,” Jim said. “From what I heard, the prosecution’s case went in really smoothly.”

  “Unfortunately, so did the defense’s case. The poor Seif family,” Monica said.

  “I hope they don’t think we’re all biased,” Al said.

  “I wish I could tell them that,” Monica said.

  “Maybe you’ll get the opportunity,” Jim said. “I need to get back to the office. Will I see you there soon, Monica? We have a few matters to conclude.”

  “We do indeed,” she said. “I’ll bring Al back to the hospital and join you after that.”

  “See you there,” he said then turned to Al. “Good seeing you, Al. Monica and I will still be your lawyers, but your bills will come from our new firm now.”

  “No problem,” Al said.

  Jim walked briskly to the main entrance.

  “Do you want to say goodbye to the Seifs?” Monica asked Al.

  “I’d love to. Do you think we can?”

  “Let’s try.” She led Al down to the DA’s Office and introduced him to the receptionist. “We were wondering if we could say goodbye to the Seif family.”

  “Let me check.” The receptionist disappeared and returned a minute later with a nod. She buzzed them through the secure door and led them to a conference room.

  Dominique was wrapping up her remarks to the family. “I’m very sorry for your loss. For what it’s worth, I will carry Abdul’s memory with me, and I will never forget this trial. I wish th
e verdict had gone the other way, but I don’t have any grounds to appeal it. Again, I’m sorry.”

  “My family is grateful for your efforts,” Mohamad said.

  Everyone looked at Al and Monica, expecting them to say something.

  “I echo DA Bisset’s comments and want you to know that I disagree with the verdict,” Al said. “You have my utmost respect, and I apologize that our judicial system failed your son. He was quite a young man. I’m so sorry for the tragedy you’ve been through.”

  “Thank you,” Mohamad said. “Just so you know, this verdict doesn’t change our intention to donate to the hospital.”

  Al held up his hand. “That’s not the reason I’m here. Monica and I are here because we like you and respect you, and we’re heartbroken over what you’ve had to endure.”

  “I agree,” Monica said. “I’m surprised and disappointed by the verdict, which compounds your horrible loss.”

  “Thank you for your help, Ms. Spade,” Mohamad said. “We appreciate it.”

  Monica and Al nodded solemnly and left. Once they were in the main hallway, Monica said, “I think that went as well as could be expected. Those poor people.”

  “I didn’t know what to say other than I was sorry,” Al said.

  “Me too,” she said.

  Monica dropped Al at the hospital and returned to her old law firm, the biased vortex of hell, to collect her $100,000 check, pack up her shit, and leave for good. Once her bank confirmed the funds were officially in her account, she would tell Jim, so he could notify the partnership that he, too, was leaving.

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  The next day

  While Monica drove with her left hand, her right hand lay in Shelby’s on the seat between them. They were on their way to Jim’s lakehouse for an afternoon of boating—their first date. Monica couldn’t believe her good fortune. Shelby was as into touching Monica as Monica was into daydreaming about doing all sorts of naughty things to Shelby.

  “Did you expect that verdict?” Shelby asked while thumbing circles on Monica’s palm.

  “Maybe I’m naïve, but no,” Monica said through the sweet sensations traveling up her arm.