Suzy's Case: A Novel

by Siegel, Andy

  Whenever I settle a case that was hotly contested by defense counsel, big or small, I make them place the settlement on the record. It’s like rubbing their face in it so they should remember for the next time we meet. “Ms. McGillicuddy can place the settlement on the record,” I suggest.

  “No, you can.”

  “Oh no. You do it.”

  The Weasel gives me her hundredth or so maddened look of the afternoon, then takes a step off the platform and looks at the court reporter. “You ready?”

  “Ready,” the reporter replies.

  “It is hereby stipulated, agreed, and consented to by and between the lawyers for the respective parties in the within action that this matter is hereby settled, with prejudice and without costs, in the sum of nine-point-two million dollars for the cause of action on behalf of the infant plaintiff, Suzy Williams, and in the sum of seven hundred fifty thousand dollars for the cause of action brought by the mother and natural guardian, June Williams, so stipulated, counsel?”

  “So stipulated.” Right after, she takes a moment to whisper in my ear, off the record. “Don’t forget to make a call to a certain crooked sergeant.”

  “So stipulated,” I softly reply, although I have to question in my mind why she called Rosie “crooked.”

  Just then, the courtroom doors burst open and an excited, sweaty little guy comes running in. “Hold it!” he yells, as I think, Too late sch-weaty boy. He stops next to the Weasel and puts his iPhone in front of her face. She reaches for it, scanning the screen, then gasps.

  “What’s up?” I ask, though I already know.

  “Dr. Smith,” she says, then pauses, struggling to arrange her features. It doesn’t work. She looks like she’s just been flattened by the Brooklyn-bound 4 train, in this instance also known as the Wyler express.

  “Dr. Smith what?” I ask. That’s right, I need her to say it for the same reason I just had her put the settlement on the record.

  “Dead. She’s dead,” she mutters.

  “Dead?” I repeat, putting on my most surprised expression. “Dead how?” I ask, loving now more than ever the binding and irreversible effect of open-court settlements. I’m not too sure she feels the same way.

  “The headline reads, ‘suicide,’ ” she says, shaking her head in disbelief. I step toward her as she turns the screen so I can see. On it is a gruesome picture of Dr. Smith. She’s flat on her back sprawled on a tile floor, eyes rolled inside her head, but the telling part of the photo is her hair. It’s standing on end, spiked, the way you see in the movies when a person is electrocuted. Well lookie there—isn’t that fitting?

  “How could that happen to a prisoner in custody?” she asks.

  “Which list you want, the short or long?” I reply. She stares at me, not a kind one. “Gotta hop,” I say, cheery as a motherfucker. “Good doing business with ya, say hello to the boys back at the office for me, see ya on the flip-flop.”

  “Clear the courtroom,” the judge declares, “and have a nice evening, counselors. We’re adjourned.”

  I step off the platform and walk over to June and Suzy. They’re all smiles. “Sch-weet, sch-weet, Vegas, Vegas,” Suzy exclaims.

  I bend down to her. “That’s right, sweet Suzy. You’re going to Vegas for the light show of your life.”

  June embraces me. I return the favor. “Wow, now that’s how you hug with feeling!” she says.

  “Yeah, I really felt that one.”

  “That’s because you’ve changed our lives and you’re happy for us. What was that seven hundred fifty thousand dollars for?”

  “You don’t know?”

  “No.”

  “It’s for you, for all you’ve done for Suzy over the years.”

  “I don’t want any money for that. She’s my daughter.”

  “Okay, then you can use it on her if you want. It’s yours to do with what you want. I’d suggest you create your own line of handbags. Everybody loves your stuff—the judge and Toby are ready to be your first customers.”

  We leave the courtroom and make our way out of the building, using the basement ramp. The settlement is just now hitting June. She can’t contain herself and is literally jumping for joy. I push Suzy up the ramp one labored and painful hobble at a time. I think I’ve popped a few more stitches from the effort as we make our way up, but it’s worth it to see the smile on Suzy’s face and to hear her exuberant cries of joy. “Sch-weet! Vegas!”

  When we get outside, I begin to feel an overwhelming sense of accomplishment. My awareness of this great achievement doubles for every limping step I take farther away from that big, cold stone building. The open air fills my lungs, and I sense victory running through my vessels as my endorphins release. I’m superhappy about the humongous fee I’m going to make, but that happiness is dwarfed by the feelings associated with the good deed I’ve done. I just changed the lives of June and Suzy. I’ve made their daily struggles easier to manage, and that’s a big, big deal.

  Was It You Who Saved Me?

  Not a word is said during the long walk from the back door exit to the roadway curb line. We are all silently and independently immersed in our victory.

  I stop wheeling Suzy. “June, you got two calls to make. One to Rosie and one to Trace.”

  “Done,” June says, then smiles.

  “ ‘Done’ meaning you’re going to make the calls or ‘done’ meaning you made them already?”

  “I called and left messages for both of them. Neither picked up.”

  “When did you make the calls?”

  Just as she’s about to respond, her cell rings a familiar song. June says hi and listens for a moment. “Uh-huh, uh-huh. Rosie wants to talk to you.” She hands me the phone.

  The first thing I want to know is whether the Weasel contacted her, which would give credibility to our theory. I put the phone to my ear. “Hi, Rosie. What can you tell me, over.” I listen to what she has to say for the next several minutes without interrupting. “Okay. I’ll tell June, and yes, I’ll tell her to call you tomorrow. Bye.” Click.

  June tilts her head. “What’s up?”

  “You ready for this? The Weasel herself called Rosie to confirm the existence of Statement Number Two. Fifteen minutes after her call, a lawyer affiliated with her office showed up to physically see the envelope, which Rosie only showed him through the guard window. Ten minutes after that, another guy arrived whom Rosie described as sweaty and nervous, most likely the guy who just ran into the courtroom. He offered Rosie ten thousand big ones for the envelope, which she declined. Then he upped it to twenty-five thou cash. Rosie jumped on the deal, taking the money for the envelope.”

  “Rosie wouldn’t give us up like that. I heard you tell Barton to just put two blank pieces of paper in that ‘Statement Number Two’ envelope when you were instructing him on what to do. And if she gave them an envelope with blank papers in it, then why’d they pay? I can’t believe it.”

  “You don’t have to.” June stares at me. “On her way out to make the exchange, she quickly scribbled a fake Statement Number Two envelope and stuffed some blank papers in it, leaving the real one—I mean the real fake—under her counter. She made the swap for the briefcase filled with the cash right then and there in the hall, handing him the fake-fake envelope, not realizing it wouldn’t have made a difference. After doing the exchange, she told the creep to wait a minute, that she had something else for him at her window. When she got back behind it, she told him he was holding a fake envelope, flashing the real one, I mean the real fake. She explained to him that he’d been videotaped, pointing out the security cam in the ceiling. She told me she didn’t think a little extortion would hurt none, since we were in the process of a blackmail, fraud, forgery, and bribery anyway.”

  “I knew Rosie wouldn’t give us up.”

  “Yes you did, June. I knew it, too.”

  June and Suzy come back to my office to wait for Trace to take them home. I begin to explain the terms of the settlement in plain
English. This is something I normally do beforehand, but I wasn’t sure the Weasel was going to show. “First of all, the monies that both you and Suzy are going to receive are tax-free. You see, this is not income. You’re being compensated for a loss sustained, so technically there’s no gain, capital or otherwise. Most of Suzy’s money is going to be placed in a financial vehicle known as a structured settlement. It’s like an annuity. The hospital is going to purchase a payment plan that will make monthly payments directly into an account for Suzy’s benefit, maintained jointly by you and an officer of the bank. She’ll receive great big lump sums scattered throughout the payment schedule, which will also be placed in this same account. The first big lump will occur when the initial settlement check is issued and the others will be paid at time periods throughout the rest of Suzy’s life. Usually, the schedule correlates with an expected event such as college, which is clearly inapplicable here.”

  “I always thought my baby would be smart enough to go to college, but I’d be unable to afford it. Now, just the opposite is true. I guess this money will make our lives easier, but it really doesn’t change things. I’ll never have my baby back.”

  “June, that’s the bittersweet reality of what I do. None of my clients are ever made whole.” I quickly continue my explanation of the settlement to avoid June’s final realization of this merciless truth. “One reason we use structured settlements is because there’s guaranteed return over the life of the payout, with annual built-in three percent adjustments for cost-of-living increases. Another reason we use a structure is so Suzy receives her money plus the money she earns on her money tax-free. If we took her settlement all at once in one big lump sum and invested it, reaping the same return as a structure, we’d only receive half that money because our profits would be taxable. You follow?”

  “Yep.” She sighs. Who can blame her?

  “The last thing you need to know is that this money is guaranteed for the next thirty years, even in the event Suzy has a premature death. I hate to talk about anyone dying, especially someone I’ve come to care about like Suzy, but you have to know about this provision. In the event she predeceases you, they still must make all the payments over the next thirty years. That means, God forbid, if she dies six months from now, they still have to make payments for the next twenty-nine and a half years directly to you, June, as her sole heir and beneficiary under the Trusts and Estates laws of New York.”

  “I understand completely.” Her cell rings. “It’s Trace.” She flips it open. “Yeah, baby … okay, baby … the case settled, baby … we don’t need it anymore, baby …”

  “We don’t need what anymore, June?” I ask.

  “Hold on, Trace,” she tells him, then looks at me. “Trace got some documents from the Fidge’s people inside the hospital.”

  “Tell him to bring them up! Tell him to bring them up!” I yell twice for good measure.

  “Chill, chill. You don’t have to scream.” She turns her attention back to Trace. “Heard that? Good. See you soon.” She flips shut her phone. “He’s around the corner and will be right up.”

  In ten minutes, I hear my office entry door bang closed with authority. Trace enters and I reach for the beaten-up folder he hands me. I open it and there are two pieces of paper. The top one is just as I expected. It’s a copy of the letter from Toledo to the hospital. The same exact one Toledo sent me a copy of, identifying the dangerous condition, with Engineersafe’s instructions to apply the enclosed adapter as a remedy. Only this copy is date-stamped RECEIVED: HOSPITAL RISK MANAGEMENT DEPARTMENT. I hand it over to June and she looks at it.

  “That’s the date for which Toledo has the certified signed receipt from the hospital, as described in the letter they sent to me. The Weasel’d be in big trouble if I let this out, since she verified in her D and I response the hospital had no documentation.”

  “Let her slide,” June says. “She did the right thing in the end.”

  “That’s the proper attitude. It’s of no consequence to us now. We knew the Weasel was attempting to pervert the course of justice. Here we have concrete proof.”

  The other piece of paper in the folder is a document titled “Work Order” on a preprinted form. The heading reads: “Brooklyn Catholic Hospital, Department of Risk Management.” It’s dated February 14, two days after the receipt of Engineersafe’s “Notification of Defect” letter and instruction to apply the adapter. The body reads:

  To: Department of Cardiology; Department of Engineering, Maintenance Division

  From: Brooklyn Catholic Hospital, Department of Risk Management

  Work Order Number: 00139

  Purpose of Work Order: Our contract heart monitor vendor, Toledo, has identified a potentially dangerous condition with a heart-monitoring machine we have in the hospital bearing a manufacture identification number beginning CBE. We have only one of these “defective” machines from Toledo, which is a replacement monitor. The male pins on the end of the electrode lead wires have been misapplied by a medical professional into the female receptor socket of an extension cord connected with live current, causing bodily harm to a patient in another hospital facility. Toledo has provided the Department of Risk Management with a plastic adapter to remedy the potentially dangerous condition. See copy of Toledo letter attached hereto with schematic diagram instructing how to place the adapter.

  Action Required: A member of the Engineering Department, Maintenance Division, together with a member of the Cardiology Department are to place the male ends (prongs) of the lead wires used with that machine into the provided adapter to prevent the potential danger to a patient from an accidental misapplication.

  Deadline for Completion: Within twenty-four hours from the date of this Work Order.

  Verification of Work Order Completion: I, _________________, am a member of the Department of Engineering, Maintenance Division, and hereby affirm I have completed the “Action Required” by this Work Order.

  Date: ______________ Signature: __________________________________

  Verification of Work Order Completion: I, _________________, am a member of the Department of Cardiology, and hereby affirm I have completed the “Action Required” by this Work Order.

  Date: ______________ Signature: __________________________________

  Verification of Work Order Completion: I, _________________, am the Risk Manager of the Brooklyn Catholic Hospital, and hereby affirm I have verified that the above members of the Department of Engineering and the Department of Cardiology have successfully completed the “Action Required” by this Work Order by personally inspecting the work performed.

  Date: ______________Signature: __________________________________

  I take the Work Order and hold it up to June, Suzy, and Trace. “This paper is a Work Order requiring two people from the hospital to put the Toledo adapter on and for a third person to make sure the work was performed. It’s dated two years and nine months prior to Suzy’s injury. I’m not surprised it’s not signed by anyone in the “Verification of Work Order Completion” sections because had the adapter been plugged on, Suzy never would’ve been electrocuted.”

  “So what are you going to do with this information?” asks June.

  “Nothing.”

  “But this shit ain’t right.”

  “It’s criminal negligence, if you ask me.”

  “So what are you going to do?” June eggs me on.

  “I told you already. Nothing. There’s nothing to gain from it. We can’t give Suzy her life back and we’ve accomplished the only thing we can by getting her money for an improved quality of life. You and Suzy are now taken care of and can live each day without a financial care in the world. There’s great value in that, I promise, and Suzy definitely likes to have fun. You guys deserve to enjoy each minute after what you’ve been through since Suzy’s injury.”

  June is quiet for several seconds. “I think you’re right. Suzy may be brain damaged, but she definitely does enjoy doing fun things.
I think the first stop is that trip to Vegas.”

  “That’s wise, June. Some scholar whose name I’m having difficulty retrieving from my long-term memory once said, ‘The art of being wise is the art of knowing what to overlook.’ If we seek action based on this, it’ll just put us right smack back into the middle of things. Stuck in the system again. Overlook it, I say, and move forward with your new life.”

  I turn to Trace. “Thank you for all you’ve done. You’re a good friend to June and Suzy, and you’ve helped me out greatly on this case. There’s something I’ve got to ask you, though. Was it you who saved me when I was run off the road? And was it you, again, who saved me from inside the trunk of that car?”

  “Na, man. Wasn’t me,” Trace answers in his deep voice.

  “You sure you’re not just being humble about taking credit for your good deeds?”

  “Na, man. I’m telling you. It wasn’t me.”

  “Okay. I thought it might have been you who saved me at the crash, although I had my doubts about you being my rescuer from the trunk because he didn’t have your giant arms. Was it the Fidge that rescued me?”

  “Wasn’t the Fidge, either, I’m certain,” Trace answers. This makes no sense.

  I address the group. “I guess we’re done here. Trace, please get my favorite clients home safely and take it easy on those rubber-burning peel-outs. Suzy, after her money is placed in a structured settlement, is now the thirty-five-million-dollar girl. My next stop is the emergency room uptown.”

  A Piece of Folded Paper

  I walk into the ER at Lenox Hill Hospital and immediately begin arguing with the chief of emergency medicine to call the chief of plastic. “Sir,” he tells me, “you don’t need the chief of plastic and reconstructive surgery to come here to close your scrotum. It’s not an anatomical area requiring the aesthetic skill of the chief of the department.”

  “Says you. I’ll have you know I have the balls of a twenty-year-old, and I don’t want anything done to compromise their youthful appearance. It’s not like I want him to Botox the wrinkles out of my sac. My condition is a medically necessary procedure and I just want your most qualified doctor.” I settle for the one with the second-most seniority in plastic.