Insider Justice

by Dennis Carstens

  “We have a problem,” Lynn answered him. “I came across something tonight you had better look at.”

  “Can’t it wait till morning? If I leave now, especially after Samantha answered my phone, it will cause problems,” Zach replied. “Where are you?”

  “Um, outside,” Lynn said.

  “Smoking?” Zach asked, disapproval in his voice.

  “Screw you. You have no business…”

  “Sorry,” he interrupted her. “Can it wait?”

  “Yeah, I guess. Besides, I’m going home. I’ve had enough for today,” Lynn said irritated with the results of the phone call.

  “Give me a hint. What did you find?” he asked.

  “Not on the phone,” Lynn told him. “I’ll see you in the morning.”

  Lynn ended the call, took a last drag on the illicit cigarette then flipped the remains in the street. Clearly annoyed now, mostly with herself for calling him, she went back into the building.

  Lynn McDaniel was a cum laude graduate of Michigan Law School with a thirtieth birthday rapidly approaching. She was also a one-time, first runner-up Miss Ohio contestant. During college at Notre Dame and law school, she had been a card-carrying, idealistic, progressive liberal. In fact, she had gone to law school with the intention of becoming an environmental, save-the-planet lawyer.

  Upon graduation, she had jumped at the chance to join Everson, Reed. There had been assurances that environmental law was going to become a serious interest of the firm. In fact, it had, but not for starry-eyed tree huggers. Everson, Reed had scored representation of several blatant, Midwest polluters and Lynn had been on the team to protect and defend them and help them avoid cleaning up the messes they made.

  Zach Evans had saved her from that, and she was now part of the corporate litigation department. Five years with the firm and she had yet to meet a single client by herself let alone handle a case on her own. A three-hundred-thousand-dollar income helped assuage the guilt, but there were still times when she wondered if it was worth it.

  Lynn's two-year-old Mercedes C-class purred along the freeway toward her luxury condo. As she cruised toward home, once again she became determined to straighten out her life. Especially her affair with Zach Evans. Tomorrow morning that discussion, her ultimatum, was going to be delivered in no uncertain terms.

  Someone tried the handle on the conference room door only to find it locked. Whoever it was, and Lynn believed she knew who it was, rattled the door handle then knocked on the glass.

  The room was glass-enclosed from floor to ceiling. Because of the serious nature of the case being handled inside the windows were covered with dark paper. No one could see in or out.

  Before Zach could use his key to unlock the door, Lynn was opening it from the inside.

  “Hi,” she said as she stepped aside to let him in.

  Zach Evans was a firm partner and the number two lawyer in the corporate litigation department. He was also Lynn McDaniel’s immediate supervisor.

  Forty-two years old, Zach had been with Everson, Reed since graduating from law school. An average student at a local private school, William Mitchell in St. Paul, Zach had come to the attention of a partner by winning the moot court competition between William Mitchell, St. Thomas College of Law and the law school at the University of Minnesota.

  Normally a student with the mediocre G.P.A. accumulated by Zach in law school would not even merit an interview with Everson, Reed. But the partner who had spotted him, Evan Carpenter, had insisted on hiring him. Carpenter, who is one of the best known corporate and insurance company lawyers in the Upper Midwest, got his way and Zach was given a chance. Carpenter was and still is Zach’s boss and the head of corporate litigation. Unknown to the other partners and a significant plus for Zach, Evan Carpenter’s mistress of twenty years was Zach's aunt.

  “Okay,” Zach said as he placed his briefcase on the table, “what’s so urgent?”

  Lynn lifted the box on the table covering the document she had discovered the night before. While Zach took a seat at the table, Lynn slid it to him and simply said, “This.”

  Lynn took the chair next to Zach and sat silently while he read. It took him twenty minutes to first skim through it, then read it slowly and in its entirety. When he finished, he placed it back on the table the way he found it and stared at it while thinking about what it was.

  “Well,” he finally began, “you’re right. It’s damaging to our case, but there’s nothing on it to indicate anyone saw it. And…”

  "Constructive knowledge," Lynn said. "It's an internal memo."

  "And," Zach continued more forcefully, "who is this guy, Irving Haraldson, who allegedly wrote it?”

  “He was the company’s senior or chief engineer,” Lynn answered.

  “Was?” Zach asked.

  “He’s dead. In fact, about three years ago, he was picked up in a gay bar a few blocks from here. He was found murdered in his car on a road by the U along the river.”

  “Murdered? No kidding,” Zach said obviously surprised. “How do you know this?”

  “I picked it up during the course of our representation,” Lynn said.

  “Well, that helps us. No proof this memo was ever circulated or seen by anyone and the author is dead. He can’t authenticate it.”

  “Zach,” Lynn began with an exasperated expression as if speaking to a child. “It is constructive proof the company knew about the skateboard’s defects. For God’s sake, we have twenty-four dead kids here and at least another five hundred injured. Many of whom will never walk again!”

  “Lynn,” Zach quietly said leaning forward, so his nose was only inches from hers. “This memo will never see the light of day. Our job is not to worry about injured kids. To be blunt about it, I don’t give a shit. And you’d better not either. Do I make myself clear?”

  “Yes,” Lynn meekly replied.

  “We have ethics, sort of. We do not have morals. Our job is to win this lawsuit and make this go away. To zealously represent our clients.”

  “Within the bounds of the law,” Lynn replied citing the canon of zealous representation more fully to remind Zach.

  “Are there any more copies of this?” Zach asked ignoring her comment and pointing at the memo.

  “Not that I’m aware of,” Lynn said.

  “Good, I’ll take this one,” Zach said as he picked up the document. He opened his briefcase and slipped it under two case files he had inside it.

  “We need to talk about us,” Lynn abruptly said.

  “Okay,” Zach replied swiveling his chair around to face her.

  Over the years he had been with the firm, he had bedded an even dozen associates and secretaries. Zach’s good looks and charm not only worked wonders on jurors. Young impressionable women were easily smitten by him as well. Of course, they all had starry-eyed thoughts of his money and position with the firm. Zach had become quite adept at brushing them off and avoiding harassment claims.

  Two years ago, Zach had finally walked down the aisle. He had captured, or so he believed, one of the most significant women in the cities. Samantha Simpson, the daughter of Calvin Simpson. Best of all, Samantha had no interest in having children or the whole family thing. At least not right now. She had also made it clear that Zach’s roving eye days were over. In Zach’s ego-driven world this only meant he needed to be more careful; which he believed he had been with Lynn McDaniel.

  Looking at Lynn now, he knew exactly what she was about to say. Lynn was going to utter the words most men fear more than anything with the possible exception of, “I’m late.” Zach was about to hear, “Where is this relationship going?”

  After Lynn said those very words, Zach lied by telling her, “I’ve been thinking about it. I’m not happy with Samantha; you know that. But the Fourth of July is coming up. Cal throws a big party at their lake place up North.”

  “I know, I got an invitation,” Lynn said.

  "I can't do anything until after that," he practicall
y pleaded. "Besides, this will have to be handled delicately. You know Cal, he's a huge client."

  Zach leaned forward and kissed her on the cheek.

  “I have to go,” Zach said. “I have a meeting with Evan on another case, and we have court on a discovery motion at nine. Try to find out if there are any more copies of this memo.”

  During Zach’s quick “see you later” effort to flee, Lynn said nothing. She knew the excuse about the Fourth of July was Zach’s way of putting her off. She also knew she was about to get dumped. Other women in the firm had warned her about Zach Evans. Like most women, Lynn convinced herself that he would change for her.

  “Now what do I do?” she whispered to herself.

  FIVE

  “Your son’s on the phone,” Marc Kadella heard Carolyn yell at him through the open door of his office. He stood up and walked around his desk to the door. Marc had a feeling he knew why Eric was calling and did not want to share the conversation with his officemates.

  Marc Kadella was a lawyer in private practice and as a sole-practitioner rented space in a suite of offices shared by other lawyers. His landlord, Connie Mickelson, a loveable, crusty, older woman working on her sixth marriage, did mostly family law and personal injury work. Another lawyer renting space was Barry Cline, a man about Marc's age, who was becoming modestly successful at criminal defense and business litigation. The fourth and final lawyer was Chris Grafton, a small business corporate lawyer with a thriving practice who was a few years older than Marc and Barry.

  Marc was sandy-haired, blue-eyed of Scandinavian and Welsh ancestry. He was a little over six feet tall, in his mid-forties and the divorced father of two mostly grown children; his son, Eric, age twenty and a daughter, Jessica, age eighteen.

  “Thanks, Mom,” he said to Carolyn as he closed the door.

  “Hey, what’s up?” Marc said into his phone after returning to his chair.

  "Hey, Dad. How are you doing?"

  “Good, how’s your mother?”

  “Okay. You know, she’s Mom,” Eric replied. “Um, ah, Dad, I ah figured I’d give you a heads up. I registered for fall classes already…”

  “It’s barely July,” Marc commented.

  “I know, but I knew what I wanted to take, so I went ahead and signed up.”

  “How much?” Marc asked cutting to the chase.

  “I’ll need around six grand to start the first semester,” Eric said.

  “How much for the entire semester?”

  “Eighty-five-hundred,” Eric replied. “But you don’t have to pay it all at once…”

  “Is your mother gonna chip in?” Marc asked.

  “Have you talked to Jessie?” Eric asked referring to his younger sister, Jessica.

  “A few days ago, why?”

  “Mom’s gonna pay for hers,” Eric said.

  “She’s going to nursing school. It’s half the money…” Marc blurted out then stopped himself. He should not have said that to his son, and he immediately regretted it.

  “I know, but…”

  “Hey, sorry, no problem,” Marc cut him off. “Forget I said that. It’s okay. If she takes care of Jessie I’ll take care of you,” Marc finished while thinking his ex-wife’s husband, Tom, makes a half a million-dollars a year.

  “I could take out a loan,” Eric said.

  “No, don’t do that. I’m just glad you’re at the U and going to the business school and not some liberal arts factory on socialism,” Marc said.

  “That reminds me,” Eric said. “I’m taking a class entitled the purity of Marxist-Leninist economics. Sounds really interesting.”

  “Throw my phone number away,” Marc said while his son was laughing.

  “Hey, what are you doing for the Fourth?” Eric asked.

  “Margaret and I rented a cabin up by Bemidji for a couple of days,” Marc replied.

  “Mom’s having a party. I’m trying to think of an excuse not to go.”

  “Good luck with that,” Marc said.

  “Oh, hey! I almost forgot I have some good news. I got a job,” Eric said.

  “Oh, where, doing what?” Marc asked.

  “Stanton, Webster,” Eric said referring to a well-known, highly respected brokerage firm in downtown Minneapolis. “You’ve heard of them, haven’t you?”

  “Sure, of course. What are you…?”

  “It’s an entry-level kind of thing. Pretty much an intern sort of deal. But they’re paying me twelve bucks an hour, and if I work out, they’ll keep me on during the school year. It’s full-time for the next couple of months then part-time with flexible hours during school. They asked if I was related to you. They knew your name from a couple of your trials.”

  “And they hired you anyway? I’m amazed.”

  “No, they were impressed. Said you must be a really good lawyer. How about that, Dad?”

  “It’s flattering,” Marc admitted.

  There was a light knock on Marc’s door and Sandy Compton, one of the staff, opened it and poked her head in.

  “Your appointment’s here,” she quietly said. “Say hi to Eric and tell him I still wish he was a little older,” she added winking at Marc.

  “I gotta go, son,” Marc said while smiling at Sandy and pointing at the door to indicate she needed to leave.

  Two minutes later, now with his suit coat on, Marc took his seat behind his desk. The man Sandy referred to sat in one of the client chairs.

  Marc glanced over the man’s intake form, looked at him and said, “Have we met? You look familiar.”

  “Uh, yeah,” he said. “I was here about, oh, maybe eighteen months ago. I talked to you about handling my divorce.”

  Marc looked at the intake form again, read the man’s name, Norman Gale, looked back at him and said, “Sorry, I don’t remember it.”

  “Oh, it’s okay,” Norman said lightly waving a hand at him. “I didn’t expect you too. We only met the one time for a what-do-you-call-it, a consultation.”

  “Okay,” Marc smiled. He put the folder down, leaned forward and placed his arms on the desk. “What brings you back, Mr. Gale?”

  Gale hesitated for a moment, looked down at his shoes, inhaled and looked across the desk at Marc.

  “I kind of feel like an idiot,” he started to say.

  “Relax,” Marc said. “We’ve all been there.”

  “Yeah,” Gale nodded. “Anyway, when I was here before, you were straight with me. You told me up front what you could do and how the divorce would go. Except, I didn’t want to hear that. I guess, looking back on it, I wanted you to tell me a bunch of BS. So, I left and found a lawyer who did that. Now, a year and a half and fifteen grand in attorney fees later, we’re right where you said we’d be.”

  Marc leaned back in his executive chair, crossed his arms over his midsection and listened. Norman Gale’s was a story he had heard many times before. Most honest and up-front lawyers have.

  Gale continued for another ten minutes explaining to Marc how his lawyer and his wife’s lawyer had turned what should have been a relatively easy divorce into an acrimonious nightmare. Between the two lawyers, they had racked up over thirty thousand dollars in fees. And it had taken a private meeting that his wife had instigated between Gale and her without the lawyers to settle it.

  “What can I do for you, Norman?” Marc quietly asked when he finished.

  Gale pulled a document out of a large manila envelope he had sitting in his lap. He held it across the desk and handed it to Marc.

  “We got this settlement agreement written up, and I was wondering if you could go through it and tell me what you think?”

  Marc placed the document on his desk, looked at Gale and sadly shook his head.

  “I can’t do that, Norman. Or, I guess more precisely, I won’t. It’s not that I don’t want to help you,” he quickly added holding up a hand when Gale started to protest. “It’s not because you hired somebody else or anything like that. You didn’t hurt my feelings. It’s because there h
as been too much that’s gone on that I don’t know about. Plus, I don’t know what property you have, or kids or anything like that. I haven’t been involved and I don’t know anything about it.”

  “I figured you’d say that,” Gale sadly said.

  “Let me ask you this. Are you okay with it?”

  “Yeah, I guess so.”

  “Is your wife okay with it?”

  “Yeah,” he nodded.

  “Do you have children?”

  “Three,” he replied.

  “Are they taken care of? Are they going to have both parents in their lives?”

  “Yes, absolutely. We won’t fight over the kids. They’ll live with their mother, and I can see them whenever I want. They’re all teenagers and the two older ones have cars so that won’t be a problem. The child support is set. It won’t be easy, but I’ll pay it.”

  "Then the deal is probably okay," Marc said.

  Norman picked up the agreement and slid it back into its envelope. He stood and said, “What do I owe you?”

  Marc also stood and said, "Nothing. Don't worry about it. I didn't do anything for you to get paid so I won't add to your problem with attorney fees. Here," he continued handing the man his card. “Take this and if you or anyone you know needs a lawyer, give me a call. For anything. Even if I can’t help them, someone in the office can.”

  “I’ll do that, thanks,” Gale said.

  “Always appreciate a referral,” Marc said smiling as he shook the man’s hand.

  “What was that about?” Connie Mickelson asked Marc.

  Marc had walked Norman Gale to the exit door in front of Connie’s office. He was standing in her doorway leaning against the door frame.

  “He was here a while back for a divorce. I wouldn’t lie to him about what to expect so he left and found someone who would,” Marc replied.

  “And now he owes twenty grand in attorney fees and he’s kicking himself in the ass for not listening to you,” Connie said.

  “Pretty much. He wanted me to look over the settlement. I politely declined.”

  Connie rolled her chair back to the window behind her desk and opened it. The Reardon Building, an inheritance of Connie’s from her father, had the old-style windows that could open from the inside.