by Webb Hubbell
Dub wasn’t satisfied. “Your Honor, Mr. Patterson is making a mockery of this auction. I don’t know what he handed the marshal, but there’s no way he could come up with such an amount.”
Judge Houston said serenely. “Mr. Blanchard, the marshal knows what he’s doing. What’s your problem? The higher the bid, the more the government recovers.”
Dub had no answer. The judge was right. Dub should be overjoyed by how much the assets he had seized would fatten the U.S. Treasury. I glanced at Peggy. She clearly didn’t know what to think.
We waited in silence until Thompson in the second row nodded to Mangum, and I heard, “Five million dollars.”
“Six million,” I came back quickly. Micki grabbed my arm and said “Jack . . .” I turned to her and whispered, “Trust me.”
Mangum asked. “Marshal, is that bid secured?”
“Yes, Mr. Patterson’s bid is secured.”
Last night Walter had pulled me aside and given me an envelope. “The opposition may have to bid a little higher than five million,” he’d said with a grin.
“What’s this?” I’d asked.
“A letter of credit in the amount of fifty million dollars. You can go as high as half a billion dollars for Doug’s research and patents.” Maggie walked up quietly and put her arm around him.
“If Doug has discovered even the basis for a cure, our foundation will be honored to own his patents and put him back to work. I have no idea if you can pull this off, Jack, but we didn’t want you going up against a Sherman tank with a popgun. At least you know you can draw them out.”
I was dumbfounded. “Walter, what can I say? You’re taking a hell of a risk.”
“No, I’m not. There’s no way the government is going to let us own that research, but we are damn well going to scare the hell out of somebody, maybe expose a few bastards. That letter of credit is real, but it will never be called on. You and I know that, but nobody else does. On the other hand, if the one in a million shot does come home, we’ll be able to change the world. Isn’t that why I started our foundation in the first place?”
“One in a million—not very good odds.” I smiled, again impressed by the foresight and intelligence of the man I worked for.
Now we had met the enemy.
Mangum looked at his boss, who again nodded.
“Seven million,” he said clearly. No pins dropped, but the air was thick with anticipation. I paused for a minute until the marshal turned to me. “Mr. Patterson?”
I faced him squarely. “Ten million dollars.”
Now I could hear Liz gasp. Dub’s table was in full whisper, and Mangum seemed lost. Thompson’s face wore a furious scowl.
“Marshal, is that bid secured?” Mangum sounded less sure of himself this time.
“Yes, sir, it is.” Maroney was having fun.
Mangum asked for a minute, and Maroney said, “One minute.” Magnum walked over to Thompson, and they began a heated conversation in whispers. I signaled to Cheryl, and she had the camera zoom in on the two men talking. They caught sight of the cameras and turned away. Maroney began to gather his papers, but Mangum slowly straightened.
“Twenty-five million dollars,” His voice was barely above a whisper.
I was ready with “twenty-six,” but Maroney said in a firm voice. “I’m sorry, Mr. Mangum. Your letter of credit doesn’t entitle you to make such a bid. Do you have a different letter?” He turned to me. “I know you wanted to bid again, but until we clear up Mr. Mangum’s bid, you still have the high bid at ten. You don’t have to bid against yourself, Mr. Patterson.”
Everyone now knew that I was prepared to go higher and had the security. Dub was beside himself, Mangum seemed lost, and Thompson sat in stony silence. Their well-laid plans had gone haywire.
“Well, Mr. Mangum, do you have additional security for your bid?”
“If we can postpone this auction for a day, I’ll present whatever collateral you require.”
Maroney shook his head. “I’m sorry, that’s not permitted. Unless I hear another secure bid, I will award the assets to Mr. Patterson.”
Dub’s voice rose. “You can’t do that. I’ll vouch for this man’s ability to bid up to any amount he wants.”
The marshal said, “Thank you, Mr. Blanchard, but, again, your, uh, ‘voucher’ does not fall within the rules of our agreed upon procedure. Mr. Patterson, I . . .”
Dub interrupted. “I am the legal representative of the United States Government, and on its behalf, I demand that you accept this man’s bid.”
Maroney was in his element. “I too am a legal representative of the U.S. Government, Mr. Blanchard, and I will not accept an unsecured bid.”
Dub was beside himself. Thompson glared at him, drawing his hand across his neck. The implication was clear.
Dub almost shouted, “On behalf of the United States Government, I cancel this auction. I will immediately open an investigation into whatever fraud Mr. Patterson is trying to perpetrate in these proceedings. He’s attempting to make a mockery of this Court and American Justice. Your Honor, I hereby ask you to convene a grand jury and to dissolve any agreements we may have reached with counsel in this matter.”
Proud of himself and his outrage, Dub turned to face the camera and smiled broadly.
How could such an incompetent jerk be so cocky?
I rose to my feet. My turn.
“Your Honor, I’m not the one perpetrating a fraud—that honor goes to Mr. Blanchard.” Off the board and into the deep end, I thought, gulping a little. Jail, here I come.
Dub was livid, almost apoplectic with rage. The courtroom had let out a collective gasp and was about to erupt when the judge brought down his gavel.
“Mr. Patterson, you’ve made a serious allegation against an officer of this court. I hope you’re prepared to back it up.”
“I’m ready, your Honor, right here and right now.”
57
HAD I LET myself go too far? Probably, but it sure felt good. The success of the auction had gone to my head a bit, although not many would’ve considered it a success. What no one yet realized was that I had effectively put a cloud on the transfer of Doug’s research and patents to Akron Drug. I could tie up any further attempt to sell the research and patents for a good while by claiming I was the successful bidder. It would throw a monkey wrench in the works, but it wouldn’t further research into a cure for cancer or get Doug out of prison. Those results depended on what happened next.
Dub was bursting at the seams and let it show.
“Your Honor, Mr. Patterson has accused me of fraud. His allegations are as baseless as his bid for Dr. Stewart’s research. I demand he be held in contempt. He’s making us all look like fools.”
Micki muttered loud enough for everyone to hear, “Well, you, for sure.” Maroney tried to hide a smile.
Judge Houston wasn’t happy with anyone. He kept shifting his glare to Cheryl’s cameras, still recording every sound, every movement.
“Mr. Patterson, were you serious when you said you could prove your allegations? I could be sympathetic if you merely spoke in the heat of the moment—after all, he said the same about you. Could you perhaps bring yourself to apologize to Mr. Blanchard?”
I looked at Micki, expecting her to urge caution. Her eyes telegraphed, “Go for it.” I turned to Maggie, normally the very soul of logic and reason. She mouthed, “Don’t hold back.”
“Judge, it pains me to say this about Mr. Blanchard,” I paused, “but I meant every word. I’m prepared to prove he’s involved in an unconscionable fraud of the American people.”
The audience in the gallery couldn’t be contained. The judge rose and lowered his gavel, calling for order.
“All right, all right. Marshal, under the circumstances, I hope you won’t mind if I take over here. You may consider your duties with regard to the auction to have been well performed and now absolved. By the way, the uncontested sales during the auction will remain in force. I think w
e should take a break for lunch. We probably all need to regroup a little. When we return, Mr. Blanchard, I will conduct an expedited hearing as to why Mr. Patterson should or should not be held in contempt. But I caution you to be careful what you ask for, because I intend to give Mr. Patterson some leeway.”
I spoke before he could rap his gavel again. “Your Honor, in order to make my case, I ask that you subpoena Mr. Mangum and the other two men who bid on Dr. Stewart’s research, as well as Mr. Thompson, who has been signaling both Mr. Magnum and Mr. Blanchard throughout the auction. I intend to call them as witnesses.”
Both Dub and Bullock began to speak, and panic appeared on the faces of the men I had singled out. I had noticed that all three were edging toward the door.
Dub let Bullock take the lead. “Your Honor, these gentlemen are either bidders at an auction or merely observers. They couldn’t have any knowledge of Mr. Patterson’s allegations. Once again, counsel is trying to create a circus, to the point of harassing ordinary citizens. His tactics have no place in your court.”
“I’ll be the judge of what does or doesn’t have a place in my court. Mr. Patterson may be digging himself a deeper grave, but he’s entitled to subpoena witnesses. Since Mr. Blanchard wants immediate relief, I’ll not deny Mr. Patterson the opportunity to defend himself. Gentlemen, you’re all under subpoena. I expect you to appear in my court at one o’clock this afternoon. This . . . uh, auction, is adjourned.”
I signaled our crew to leave quickly so Dub could confer with his people and the bidders in full view of Cheryl’s ever-rolling cameras. I figured they’d notice the cameras were on eventually. Clovis hung back.
We’d optimistically arranged for a conference room close to the courtroom.
I looked at Maggie and Micki. “I thought you two were going to tell me to sit down and shut up.”
“No way. Isn’t this what you wanted? Micki will either keep you out of jail or get you out.” Maggie answered.
“I suppose it is, but . . .” My fool’s bravado was beginning to fade.
Micki grinned at me. “I’m going to go work on getting you bail, just in case. Walter, I may need your checkbook. Can you come with me?”
Walter rose, but before they left I said. “I may have to put you on the stand to authenticate the letter of credit. You ready?”
He nodded curtly and left with Micki.
Thankfully, Liz had been a silent observer so far. Now she asked, “Jack, do you think they’ll let me have the cars today?”
Why in the hell was she worried about the cars at a time like this? I was irritated, but determined not to lose my patience.
“You’ll need to catch up to Micki—get Paul to go with you. She’ll get Maroney to let you have the cars, but how about waiting until this afternoon? You’re not under subpoena, but . . .”
“Jack, I know you think I’m being ridiculous, but I need those cars. Trust me. Thanks to Cheryl, I can probably watch whatever happens this afternoon on my iPad. Let’s go, Paul.”
Debbie left to get sandwiches, and Maggie and I began to prep Stella for her testimony. Clovis finally sauntered in, a smirk on his face.
“I got to watch Dub get one ass-chewing from Thompson until they realized they were still on camera. It’s a safe bet they’ll try to get those cameras turned off for this afternoon.”
“Let’s hope Cheryl took my advice. Clovis, while we’re working with Stella, y’all figure out how to replay the tape of their confab after court recessed. We may want to introduce it as evidence.”
Micki returned with her arm through Walter’s. She gave me a wink. “Well, you may have to spend a few days in jail, but I’ll get you out in the end.”
“That makes me feel so much better.” I turned to Walter. “For a minute I thought we’d actually purchased the patents and some very valuable research. How high do you think they were willing to go?”
“They were never going to let you win. The product is too valuable. They didn’t come prepared, but now they’ll fight you forever. That’s why you have to follow this through today. Otherwise Doug’s research will be lost forever.”
Nothing like a little pressure.
“I know, but it would have been nice to get it fair and square,” I said. “Okay, Micki, get ready to rescue me. I’m about to commit professional suicide.”
We returned to the courtroom. A whole new set of lawyers sat at the opposite end of the prosecution’s table, pointedly ignoring Dub. Dub glanced at Debbie just before we sat down and on cue, with no coaching, she blew him a kiss. His reaction was worth my going to jail. Ed Thompson gave Debbie a cold stare and spoke quietly to his bulky companion.
Judge Houston strode into the courtroom and quickly called the hearing to order. We all sat down, and he looked at the new lawyers at the prosecutor’s table.
With just a hint of a taunt, he asked, “Well, Mr. Blanchard, have you called up the reserves?”
Before Dub could answer, a very tall fellow with thinning razor cut grey hair rose to his feet.
“Your Honor, we are not with the prosecution. My name is Gerald Monday. I’m a partner with the law firm Monday, Williams, and Jones. These men are my associates. We represent the gentlemen who have been subpoenaed. We filed a motion to quash the subpoena a few minutes ago and request you rule on our motion before proceeding. I took the liberty of delivering a copy to your clerk, and I’m now prepared to argue our motion. If the court pleases, this. . . .”
The judge interrupted. “Has Ms. Lawrence or Mr. Patterson been given a copy of this motion?”
Monday didn’t flinch, “We couriered a copy to Ms. Lawrence’s office after we filed it. We had no idea where they might have gone for lunch.”
I was ready to respond, but Judge Houston was well ahead of me. “Well, they’re right here now, and after you give him a copy and they’ve had time to review it, I might consider taking up your motion. As of now, we’re in session. Your clients are here, and in a few hours your motion will be moot. So I suggest you and your five associates take a seat.”
Monday and his group look offended, but knew when to be quiet. The gallery had swelled to its full capacity.
Bullock rose. “Your Honor, we can’t help but notice that television cameras are still recording this event. Since the nature of the proceeding has changed, I ask the Court to order the cameras to be turned off and taken away.”
“May I be heard,” came a voice in the gallery. There was no mistaking the strong voice of Janis Harold. Thankfully, Cheryl had taken my advice.
“Your Honor, I represent Fox News. The other networks that are now carrying this broadcast by feed have also authorized me to speak for them. We oppose the closing of the courtroom. Mr. Patterson is a well-known attorney, both in this state and in Washington. His representation of Woody Cole made national headlines, and the possibility that he may be held in contempt is of national interest. Mr. Blanchard asked for these proceedings to be carried live, and Fox News went to great expense to accommodate that request. This matter involves Mr. Patterson only. I suggest he’s the only person with standing to complain.”
Micki rose carefully. “Mr. Patterson has no objection to the cameras, your Honor.”
Judge Houston seemed perplexed, but waved Bullock down before he could speak.
“Mr. Bullock, I have to agree with Ms. Harold. Only Mr. Patterson has standing to object and, although I don’t like cameras in my courtroom, it was your idea. The cameras can stay. Now, Mr. Patterson, what do you have to say for yourself? You have accused Mr. Blanchard of perpetrating a fraud. Do you have any evidence?”
I was ready, but Dub beat me to the punch. He looked sideways at Thompson who nodded. “Your Honor, I have to believe that Mr. Patterson was speaking in the heat of the moment. I’ll withdraw my accusation of contempt. I think we’ve all cooled down. Surely this hearing isn’t necessary.”
His very body seemed ready to explode; I worried fleetingly about his blood pressure. But I could hardly hear his
muttered sentences. Clearly, his bosses had told him to shut it down and live to fight another day.
I thought this might but I hadn’t decided how to respond. I didn’t have to. The judge did it for me.
“Mr. Blanchard. Contempt is for me to decide, and although you may be willing to let things go, I’m not. I want to hear what Mr. Patterson has to say. Mr. Patterson, it’s time for you to speak up.”
Clearly things weren’t going as anyone had expected. Monday stood slowly.
“Your Honor, we must object. Mr. Patterson’s intent is to harass my client. He’s disrupted a legitimate auction of patents and chemical research and now intends to slander my clients and a respected U.S. attorney under the protection of a lawyer’s privilege. You simply cannot let him get away with this travesty.”
I think ye protest too much.
The judge finally gave vent to his irritation.
“Mr. Monday, I’m trying to make sense out of what Mr. Bullock unkindly referred to as a circus. First, Mr. Blanchard wants to hold a public auction on national TV, and now it appears he wants to cancel it, remove the cameras, and forgive Mr. Patterson for accusing him of fraud. I think it’s time we heard what Mr. Patterson has to say because, frankly, I’m interested. What is it that Mr. Blanchard doesn’t want me to hear? Mr. Patterson, can you shed some light on the subject? And let me warn both of you. Mr. Monday and Mr. Blanchard, it’s time for you to sit down and be quiet. Mr. Patterson is currently the subject of this contempt hearing, but I can expand it if you continue to interrupt.” He turned to me, actually smiling. “Mr. Patterson, why shouldn’t I lock you up?”
“I’m happy to tell you, Your Honor.”
58
“YOUR HONOR, THE fact is that our government, represented by Mr. Blanchard, and certain private interests, probably Mr. Monday’s clients, are involved in an effort to appropriate Dr. Douglas Stewart’s research and patents, using our criminal process to perpetuate their scheme. Their scheme is a bold attempt to prevent Dr. Stewart from giving the world a major breakthrough in the search for a cure for cancer.”