“Why?” she asked, not wanting to acknowledge it but having to admit she was intrigued.
“Why what?”
“Why wouldn’t you have gone to trial?”
“Because, my dear girl, I knew, as you’re in the process of finding out, that any attempt to negotiate with Justin, especially about incorporation, would fail. He can’t incorporate, not like this. I knew if you went to trial you’d lose. However, in pretrial motions we could have kept him harried and harassed for years. And then, in our time and our choosing, after his weaknesses were exposed, we could have forced a favorable settlement on him . . . that’s why.”
Hektor leaned back, clearly proud to have finally been able to tell someone of his never-to-be plan. He could also see by her eyes that Janet got it, too. Or, to be more precise, got him.
“OK, Sambianco, I’ll give you that it makes for interesting court babble. But that still doesn’t take away from the fact that Justin Cord doesn’t hate us, he hates you.”
“He doesn’t know the difference,” Hektor sighed. “Either way you’ll have to agree the trial’s starting to stink. And my guess is you’re beginning to feel the pressure . . . externally as well as internally.”
Her silence was all the answer Hektor needed to continue.
“Alright, Janet, think about it. Who was against going to trial?” The question’s rhetorical nature again left Janet silent.
“And,” continued Hektor, “who not only put his whole career on the line by saying this idea stunk, but is now also in the process of being proven right?”
Hektor waited. He needed for Janet to arrive at the answer on her own—to realize that he was not a dead subject at GCI but was likely to be the only man to come out of the trial still standing . . . even if on thin legs.
“Assuming we both agree that this trial is lost, there is something we can salvage for the future.”
“What?”
“We need Justin to hate us more than he does already, and the easiest way for that to happen is for us to use the data contained on this plaque.”
He gently slid the plaque back across the table so that it was directly in front of her. Janet picked it up and quickly scanned its contents.
“It’s interesting, Hektor, but it won’t help us win.”
Hektor smirked. “It doesn’t have to. Just let me have Justin on the stand for ten minutes—twenty, tops—and I promise I will use whatever renewed influence I have to cushion your fall.”
“My fall?” she repeated, astonished.
“Yes, Janet. Your fall. If you need a minute to let it all sink in I’ll be glad to give it, but you’re a smart girl, aren’t you? And you didn’t get this far by not rolling the political die, and rolling them quite well, I might add.”
Janet acknowledged the compliment with a dour expression.
“So, my dear girl,” continued Hektor, “do we or do we not have a deal?”
Janet thought about it for a moment, sighed, and slowly nodded her agreement.
“Oh, one more thing,” added Hektor.
“Yes?” asked Janet, knowing full well that what he was about to reveal was in no way, shape, or form an afterthought.
“Did you notice,” asked Hektor, “that Mr. Cord and Dr. Harper are very . . . how shall I put this? . . . mmm, comfortable together?” He finished his coffee, turned around, and headed back into the gathering crowd.
Janet tried to figure out what he meant. Then one eyebrow went up as the salacious implications became clear. She activated her handphone and called one of her underlings with connections to the media. “Clyde, this is Legal. Get me a team to review all media images of Dr. Harper and Justin Cord together. I’ll call tonight with full details.”
She disconnected and smiled as she thought back on her conversation with Hektor. There was a good deal of smart in the man, she realized. There was also a good deal of evil. She’d watch her back.
Justin pulled at Manny’s sleeve and whispered to him, “Why is Sambianco acting as lead lawyer now?” Manny gave him a shrug.
“It may have something to do with that Sebastian Blancano fellow who used to work for you all those years ago,” offered Manny.
“What makes you say that?”
“Well, I’ve been spending quite a bit of your money researching your past. But I don’t have anything close to the resources of GCI. I do, however, know that GCI found something out about your old assistant.”
“Shouldn’t all that be public record?”
“Justin, the population of the Earth went from eight billion to two billion in twenty years. We suffered economic, social, and cultural collapse, not to mention some minor nuclear wars and the release of some very nasty biogerms. On top of which, the VR plague hit full force. Much of what you would call public record was lost. Or the indexing and contents files were lost. There are whole caverns filled with computer disks jam-packed with useless, and in many cases, degraded information. Now, if someone wishes, they can review and sort the data into modern database formats for use on the Neuro, but any information so sorted is considered property.”
“But isn’t it still public record?”
“No, it’s garbage until someone takes the time, effort, and money to retrieve it. Surely you don’t think they would do it for free?”
“What about the public good?”
“Justin, you of all people should know that the public good is almost never served by robbing someone of their time or money.”
Justin had to laugh. Manny was, of course, correct. If Justin had a dime for every change to a blueprint he’d had to make for the “public” good.
“I don’t suppose you can get them to share what they have on Sebastian using disclosure?”
“Not in a civil trial. Besides, I have the feeling Mr. Sambianco is about to disclose everything.”
As if on cue, Hektor stood up.
“Your Honor, I would like to call to the stand . . . ,” he paused for effect, “Justin Cord.”
A murmur raced through the crowd. Justin looked at Manny for guidance. But it was obvious that Manny had no idea what Hektor was up to. Justin should have felt better that instead of seeing fear or panic in Manny’s eyes he saw the gleam of combative respect. With Manny’s encouragement, Justin approached and took the stand.
The court clerk held up a thin, hardcover book of which Justin was able to make out the title. It read The Alaskan/Terran Constitution with Amendments.
“Justin Cord,” bellowed the clerk, “do you affirm that you understand that your biophysical state has been calibrated, and any lie, obfuscation, or omission of pertinent fact, stated or unstated knowingly, will in all likelihood be detected?”
Out of force of habit Justin raised his right arm and put his hand on the Constitution, thus reigniting a tradition that had almost completely disappeared. He responded with, “I do so affirm.”
The clerk took the book, which he’d later replace and sell at a handsome profit, and finished the small part he got to play on what had by now become the biggest stage in the solar system.
“Proceed,” he said, as professionally as he could, and shuffled away, thousands of credits richer.
Hektor took his time getting up from behind the table. He needed to draw out his moment in the spotlight for as long as possible, not for hubris but for strategy.
“Justin,” he said, as he approached the bench. “May I call you Justin?”
“No.”
“Permission to treat as a hostile witness, Your Honor?” asked Hektor.
“Granted,” affirmed the judge.
Justin winced, realizing he’d been played, and played well. He clamped down on his instinctual dislike of Hektor and forced a smile on his face.
“Mr. Cord,” continued Hektor, “I’m curious about the arrangements for your suspension.”
Manny jumped up out of his seat. “Objection, Your Honor. Badgering the witness. Mr. Sambianco either has a question or he doesn’t.”
“Sustain
ed,” answered the judge. “Mr. Sambianco, kindly ask a question.”
“My apologies, Your Honor.” Then, directing his stare once more on his penned-in victim: “Mr. Cord, about how much would you reckon you spent to have yourself suspended?”
“Over a billion dollars. I’m not exactly sure what that is in AmEx.”
“It’s not important. I think we can all agree that it was quite a tidy sum.”
“Yes.”
“Did you have any help?”
“Yes.”
Hektor paced in front of the witness stand. “Actually, you must have had a lot of help . . . unless you went ahead and built this yourself.”
Manny stood up. “Objection, Your Honor. Opposing counsel is making a statement, not asking a question.”
Hektor responded before the judge could speak. “Withdrawn, Your Honor.”
Manny sat down.
“Mr. Cord,” continued Hektor, “could you please state some of the help you received?”
“Could you be more specific?” asked Justin.
“Yes, of course. Who were the key players in helping you realize your suspension?”
“One key player. Her name was Dr. Sandra O’Toole.”
“And how did you work with her?”
“It was simple, really. I gave her an unlimited budget, then got out of her way.”
“You make it sound so easy. All the major corporations and governments of your age could not create the self-sustaining suspension device you created.”
“Not ‘could not,’ Mr. Sambianco, ‘would not.’ The governments were used to saying ‘no’ to most truly innovative projects—as my suspension was—and the megacorporations, usually out of fear of government regulatory commissions and the lawsuits that inevitably followed, simply shied away.”
“You don’t need to tell us, Mr. Cord, about the stupidity of government regulation. Trust me, sir, you’re preaching to the choir.”
“Your Honor!” yelled Manny, exasperated.
“Mr. Sambianco, if you please,” warned the judge. “There’s no need to lecture the witness.”
“My apologies, Your Honor.” Then, looking at Justin, “Mr. Cord.”
Justin acknowledged the apology with a slight nod of his head, knowing full well there was about as much sincerity in it as there was respect on his part for Hektor.
“But surely,” continued Hektor, “it was not simply you and Ms. O’Toole who made your new life possible? At the time you were dying, those last couple of desperate months you must have been damned near comatose with pain and exhaustion.”
Manny jumped up again. “Your Honor, if Mr. Sambianco has a question relevant to this case then he should go ahead and ask it. I, however, fail to see how questions regarding my client’s health at the time of his impending death are relevant to this case.”
The judge nodded in agreement. “Mr. Black raises a good point, Mr. Sambianco. Unless you can explain your line of reasoning, I suggest you move on.”
“Your Honor, since we have predicated our case on loco parentis, I will need to establish what, if any, of Mr. Cord’s previous associates could be considered guardians.”
Manny jumped up again. “Objection, Your Honor! Mr. Cord had no ‘previous guardians.’ To imply otherwise misrepresents my client.”
The judge formed his fingertips into a steeple and sat silent for a moment. “I will allow it, Mr. Black, if only to see if Mr. Sambianco can somehow establish a precedent. Whether or not that precedent will have a leg to stand on, this court will decide. Proceed, Mr. Sambianco.”
“Thank you, Your Honor. I will repeat the question. Mr. Cord, at the time you were dying, you must have been damned near comatose with pain and exhaustion. Is that a fair assumption?”
“I’ve felt better,” offered Justin.
“So how is it that you managed to run a multibillion-dollar corporation, finance a top-secret special project, and fool the world into not knowing that you were dying of cancer, while literally wasting away of that self-same disease?”
“I had good help.”
“You must have. We know about the aforementioned Dr. O’Toole; surely there were others.”
Justin did a mental calculation and decided that if he tried to delay, it would just make him look shifty and give Hektor way too much fun in dragging it out.
“Of course,” answered Justin. “The man who covered up the story was Martin Henninger, a former reporter who did a masterful job of hiding the truth about my condition. I do not know who helped Dr. O’Toole beyond some key personnel, and that just superficially. My business empire was run more and more by my assistant, Sebastian Blancano.”
“Really? Now this Sebastian Blancano was a trusted aide?”
“Yes.”
“Really?”
“Your Honor,” said Manny, jumping to his feet, “my client already answered the question. Mr. Sambianco continues to badger.”
Again the judge nodded in agreement. “Mr. Black is correct. Mr. Sambianco, you will proceed with your questioning without badgering. Do I make myself clear?”
“I apologize, Your Honor,” answered Hektor. “It’s just that Mr. Cord’s account does not jibe with the record GCI has recovered. If I may . . .”
Hektor walked over to the bench and handed the judge a small dataplaque.
Manny spoke up. “Your Honor, if I may request disclosure,” he said, more for good form than of entertaining any actual hope of getting a positive answer.
“Mr. Sambianco,” asked the judge, “is this knowledge in the public domain?”
“No, Your Honor, this is data from the Grand Collapse that GCI recovered at great expense. However, in the interest of amicability.” Hektor tossed another dataplaque at Manny, but it fell short. As Manny reached for the plaque he overextended himself and almost fell over. He recovered, but not without a smattering of scattered laughs from the courtroom. Manny immediately started to download the plaque’s contents. It only took a few seconds for him to raise his hand.
“Your Honor, I request a recess to brief my client.”
Hektor spoke up with a drawn-out look of exasperation. “Your Honor, please. I’m ready to ask my questions now. Is this any way to reward my generosity? I complied with Mr. Black’s request; is it fair to use that against me?”
“No,” answered the judge, “it is not. Mr. Black, your request is denied. You may continue, Mr. Sambianco.”
Hektor smiled at Manny. He’d given him the knowledge to help his client, but not the time. It was, figured Manny, probably Hektor’s way of saying “screw you” to the man who’d screwed GCI.
Justin, sitting stiffly on the bench, knew Manny was being outmaneuvered. But he also had known the risks when he stepped up to the witness stand. The court hushed.
“Mr. Cord,” continued Hektor, “will you explain why your fortune is not bigger than it already is?”
“Your Honor—,” began Manny, in an exasperated voice.
“Save it, Mr. Black. Mr. Sambianco, if you have a point, get to it now.”
“Of course, Your Honor. Mr. Cord, you had fifteen storage units, did you not? Each one filled with items of fabulous wealth and worthless junk. But only three survived, did they not?”
“Yes, that is correct.”
“Tell me, Mr. Cord, what did these three stashes have in common?”
“They were the ones with stuff in them.”
The court erupted in laughter, with Hektor leading the fray. The fact that Hektor could honestly laugh at himself only made Justin realize how dangerous the man was.
“Of course, that would be one obvious difference. But don’t you find it interesting that they were your private stores?”
“I do not,” answered Justin honestly.
Hektor waved off Justin’s response. “Mr. Cord, you trusted this Sebastian with your fortune, your life, and even your death. Is it safe to say that you judged this man worthy and relied on his judgment?”
“Up to a point, yes.”
“Then isn’t it interesting that the only troves to survive were the ones that Mr. Blancano had nothing to do with? This trusted associate, a man on whom you depended and, it is safe to say, a man who knew you better than anyone else . . .” Hektor waited a moment. “. . . abandoned you.”
“Objection, Your Honor!” screamed Manny.
“Overruled,” the judge answered back, with equal swiftness.
“Your corporation,” Hektor continued, not missing a beat, “was not destroyed in the Grand Collapse; it was liquidated along with the twelve supposedly ‘secret’ troves by none other than your trusted friend, Sebastian Blancano.”
Justin’s face reddened.
Hektor continued unabated, satisfied with the effect his disclosure was having on the witness.
“We’ve even found a pre-GC credit-card receipt in Mr. Blancano’s name showing he purchased the book that the mine excavator Omad Hassan found in the tomb with your suspension unit.”
Justin sat stone-faced, refusing to acknowledge if he was already aware of the evidence.
Hektor continued to throw his facts like darts, hoping that one would hit the mark.
“The book was entitled Subsurface Deconstruction and Environmental Engineering. I think you’ll find chapter twenty-one of keen interest.”
Hektor pressed a button on his DijAssist and turned to face the wall to the left of Justin. Suddenly, there appeared a blown-up image of the starting page, entitled “Chapter 21: Controlled Explosions in a Subsurface Environment.”
Hektor paused for effect.
“This page was folded down. So I ask again, Mr. Cord. Was there any man in the world who knew you better than Sebastian Blancano?”
Justin’s shoulders began to sag.
“A simple yes or no will do, Mr. Cord.”
“No,” seethed Justin, staring hard into the eyes of his oppressor.
“No more questions, Your Honor . . .”
Hektor was speaking to the judge, but was also keenly aware of his audience.
“So in summation, Your Honor, Justin Cord was a man abandoned. All of his carefully laid plans were for naught. The man who knew him best, the man who was his caretaker and official guardian, not only deserted him, in all likelihood he plotted to have him killed postmortem. And while Sebastian Blancano may be accused of treachery, that is not what’s at issue today. Because whether or not Mr. Blancano intended for the explosions to seal off Mr. Cord’s sanctum—doubtful—or destroy him outright—likely—the final outcome was always clear. Mr. Cord was judged by the man who knew him best. Honor that judgment. Justin Cord was lost and abandoned and would not have been found but for GCI. In fact, without GCI he would still be locked up deep within the mountain. Without GCI he would not have the physical, physiological, and psychological coping skills he so aptly demonstrates today. In short, without GCI’s intervention he would not have been reborn. Give a parent their due, Your Honor.”
The Unincorporated Man Page 31