“Good morning,” Adisa said. “I came in early but couldn’t get started because of a computer problem.”
“There’s no computer problem,” Catherine said with a somber look on her face. “I didn’t call you Saturday evening because I knew you were with your aunt at the hospital. I fought as hard as I could, but I wasn’t able to save you. You’ve been terminated effective immediately. Linwood went behind my back and had the votes he needed before sending out an e-mail requesting input from the equity partners. The article in the newspaper couldn’t have come at a worse time with the firm looking for any and every reason to cut staff and avoid the costs of relocating attorneys to Boston. I was able to get you a severance package in line with the one offered to the people let go last week, and you can use me as a reference on your résumé. I’ll do anything I can to help you land on your feet. You know what I think about you as an attorney and as a person.” Catherine stopped talking.
Stunned by the devastating news, Adisa froze in place. She realized the pitcher of water was still in her hand and placed it on the front corner of her desk.
“I’m not sure what to say,” Adisa managed. “I have a few personal files that I need to transfer to a flash drive or my cloud account. Nothing business-related.”
“That won’t be a problem. And I’ll send a copy of your severance agreement to your personal e-mail account by noon today. It’s the first item on my task list for this morning.”
The mention of a mundane thing like a task list made Adisa’s emotions rush to the surface. There would be no task list for her today or ever again at Dixon and White.
“And all this is because of a stupid newspaper article?” she asked as a tear threatened to escape her right eye and stream down her cheek.
Catherine hesitated, which caused Adisa’s jaw to tighten and a touch of anger to rise up inside her.
“What else is there? My performance reviews have always been great.”
Catherine looked directly at Adisa. “I can’t, and won’t, tell you specifics. You know personnel discussions are confidential. I didn’t agree with the decision, but I only have one vote.”
“Is it that I wasn’t considered partner-worthy down the road?”
“Sorry; you’ll have to draw your own conclusions.”
Adisa’s thoughts suddenly returned to the graveyard that was the final resting place of many of her ancestors. Prejudice and racism didn’t die when her relatives were laid to rest or end after black people left the farms and moved into corporate America. There was still life in what should be, after hundreds of years, an inert corpse.
“I have nothing but respect for you,” Adisa said in a steely tone of voice. “And I believe you went to bat for me. But I know when there’s an undercurrent of prejudice. And it’s not because I’m trapped in racial paranoia.”
“Adisa—”
“Mr. Katner probably didn’t want me included in the move to Boston, and this hiccup with the newspaper gave him an excuse to do what he wanted to do all along.”
Catherine didn’t respond. The look on her face told Adisa what she needed to know.
“Don’t worry,” Adisa continued with a sigh. “I don’t want to cause another problem that would blow up in your face. You’ve been an awesome mentor. Assuming everything is straightforward, I’ll sign the severance agreement.”
“This makes me so mad!” Catherine burst out.
“Hearing you say that means a lot.”
“I’ll write a letter of recommendation extolling your virtues and describing your duties,” Catherine continued. “Lawyers like you with two to four years’ experience at a firm like this one are a hot commodity. When I’m finished, you’ll have a decent shot at any job opening in the corporate section of any quality law firm. If a hiring partner wants to contact me directly, I’ll take the call.”
“Thanks.”
Catherine left, and after staring out the window for a few moments, Adisa began to pack up her personal belongings. The biggest problem was the schefflera plant. To avoid damaging it, she gently laid it across the backseat of her car with a large plastic bag wrapped around the pot.
With the loss of her job, Adisa became invisible to her fellow workers. Except for the man from IT who retrieved her personal files from her computer, no one spoke to her on her way out of the office. Then, as she was doing a final inspection of her office to make sure she hadn’t forgotten anything, Lucy, the assistant who’d worked for her, came down from the thirty-seventh floor. Sneaking into Adisa’s office, the young woman closed the door.
“I probably shouldn’t be talking to you,” she said in a whisper, “but it would be awful if I didn’t tell you how sorry I am that you’re leaving. First thing this morning I typed a memo to your personnel file dictated by Mr. Katner. It made me so mad I wanted to walk out the door myself. I mean, the way he described you—”
“Stop.” Adisa held up her hand and then pointed to her head. “I don’t want to carry that in here when I leave.”
“Sorry,” Lucy said. “I’m just upset and wanted to let you know. What are you going to do?”
“Go to my apartment and take a bubble bath. And I’m not getting out until I’m good and ready.”
After her bubble bath, Adisa brewed a cup of flavored coffee and took it to the living room. Sitting on the sofa with her feet curled up beneath her, she read her Bible. She followed a daily plan that included verses from both the Old and the New Testaments along with a selection from Psalms. The words from Psalm 34 particularly spoke to her about God’s care and provision for those who trusted in him.
After finishing her coffee and Bible study, Adisa put on her exercise clothes and watched an exercise DVD that combined Zumba and kickboxing. The recording was over ten years old, but Adisa still liked it. Needing to burn off energy, she kicked higher and her dance moves were crisper than normal. As she was finishing, her phone vibrated and an unfamiliar number appeared. Rather than letting it go to voice mail, Adisa picked it up and answered.
“Adisa Johnson?” asked a man with a rich southern drawl.
“Yes, who’s calling?” she asked, slightly out of breath.
“Theo Grayson from Campbellton. You worked at my office one summer when you were in high school.”
“Sure,” Adisa replied as she plopped down on the sofa. “I ran into Peggy Galloway this past weekend at the Jackson House, and your name came up. You inspired me to become an attorney.”
“That’s what she mentioned after church yesterday,” the lawyer continued. “She also told me about your involvement in a case that overturned an old criminal conviction based on DNA evidence.”
“It was a pro bono matter I handled for the Georgia Innocence Project. There was an article about it in the AJC.”
“I read it. What an ironic twist of events that your client’s DNA sample linked him to the cold cases in Louisiana.”
“That’s one way to put it,” Adisa replied ruefully.
“I don’t want to take up too much of your time. Here’s the reason for my call. Could you connect me with someone at the Georgia Innocence Project? I know they specialize in postconviction relief, but there’s a situation involving a nice young man here in Campbellton that may require a lawyer who doesn’t care about anything except the Constitution. Their network would give me a place to start.”
“Sure.”
Adisa gave him the names of the lawyer who referred the Larimore case and the paralegal who worked for him.
“Thanks,” Grayson replied. “Next time you’re in town seeing Ms. Adams, I’d love to take you to lunch and learn more about your career. Peggy told me about your aunt’s stroke. I hope she gets better soon.”
“And I hope you can find competent representation for the man who needs a lawyer,” she said. “What’s the charge?”
“Most likely aggravated assault, but it could turn into murder if the victim dies.”
Adisa felt her face suddenly get hot. “Is this the police offic
er who shot the unarmed black teenager?” she asked.
“Yes.”
“There’s been way too much of that happening all over the country,” Adisa said.
“I agree,” Grayson responded. “And it was going on before the media started paying attention. However, each situation has to be evaluated on its own facts.”
Adisa knew she couldn’t ask for more details. If Grayson had talked to the officer, the conversation would be subject to the attorney-client privilege.
“Well, everyone is entitled to representation,” she said, trying to sound more broad-minded than she felt. “I just hope this is a circumstance where the system works.”
“Me, too. Thanks again for the info, and don’t forget to call if you have time for lunch during a visit with your aunt.”
The call ended. Theo Grayson had always seemed like a nice gentleman, but Adisa knew it was impossible for even an enlightened white lawyer to know how a black person felt when hearing about the shooting of a young man like Deshaun Hamlin by a police officer. Hundreds of years of overt and subtle prejudice by those in authority didn’t evaporate easily, especially when current events reinforced long-held stereotypes.
THIRTEEN
LUKE PACED BACK and forth inside the house.
“Either find something to do or take that energy outside, please,” Jane said from the spot in the den where she was folding clothes.
Luke stopped and stared at the mountain of laundry that covered the imitation leather couch.
“I could help you fold clothes.”
Jane looked up at him. “I like to fold towels the way my mother taught me, not the way your mother taught you. Why don’t you see if there’s a project you can tackle in the backyard?”
Luke had already considered that option and come up empty. No dandelions dared to peek up from the soil since he last went on a weed hunt, and Jane’s bushes and flowers were fertilized and watered so thoroughly they were rain-forest healthy. He’d put together a playset that Ashley wouldn’t be old enough to enjoy for at least another couple of years.
The playset assembly had been a bittersweet endeavor because Luke couldn’t shake the thought that he might not be around to see his daughter go down the slide. Thoughts of prison were becoming more and more frequent and intrusive.
“I’m going over to the range,” he said.
“Good idea. You should have it to yourself this time of day.”
Luke grabbed his personal Glock 17 from the top of the refrigerator and retrieved a Sig Sauer P226 from the gun safe in the corner of the garage. He threw the leather satchel he used to transport ammunition onto the passenger seat of his truck.
Charlie Sellers, the owner of the gun range, was sitting in a ratty brown recliner and reading a trade magazine with pictures of the latest semiautomatic rifles displayed on the cover. He quickly closed the magazine.
“Luke,” he said. “What brings you down here this time of day?”
Luke shrugged. “There’s no job for me to go to, and I needed to shoot a few rounds to drive away the boredom.”
“Are you by yourself?” Charlie asked, peering past him.
“Yeah, why?”
“Uh, no reason. Inside or out?”
“Outside. I don’t want to be confined.”
As soon as Luke spoke, he inwardly kicked himself for his choice of words. Charlie didn’t seem to notice.
“I’ll join you,” the owner said. “What are you going to shoot first?”
“The Glock.”
They went to the large field at the rear of the building. Charlie sat in a folding chair beneath an open wooden covering and leaned back against the building. Luke stood at a table and loaded bullets into the pistols: seventeen for the Glock and fifteen for the Sig Sauer. He nodded at Charlie when he finished.
“Hot!” Charlie called out, even though no one else was present. “Range is hot!”
Luke found the regimented routine at the range comforting. He slipped on a set of ear protectors. Carrying the pistol with the barrel pointed at the ground, Luke moved into position about twenty yards from a row of five chest-size metal targets. He glanced back at Charlie, who raised and lowered his hand. Luke brought the gun to eye level. He took a couple of deep breaths and in rapid succession fired one shot at the first target, two at the second, three at the third, four at the fourth, and five at the fifth. The goal was to move seamlessly from target to target.
Even wearing the ear protectors, Luke could hear the dull metallic ping as the bullets hit the targets. It was a perfect run. He had two rounds left but reloaded with bullets from his pocket and shot another perfect round. He lowered the gun. Although he wouldn’t voice his thoughts to anyone, Luke was mystified by how he could be so accurate on the range and yet half his shots missed Deshaun Hamlin. He’d been troubled by the idea that he sent two 9 mm bullets flying down East Nixon Street with deadly potential. It was a big relief when he learned they hadn’t come close to injuring anyone. On the other hand, if the two bullets had struck their intended target, Luke knew his conversation with Theo Grayson would have been about a murder charge.
Laying down the Glock, he made several passes with the Sig Sauer, the pistol preferred by Navy SEALs. Luke loved the solid feel of the weapon and the locked breech, short recoil design. He always practiced more with the Glock than the Sig Sauer because he used a Glock at work. Today he split time equally between the two weapons. When he finished he returned to the table near Charlie.
“You really should consider competitive shooting,” the range owner said. “And I’m not saying that as a way to get you to burn up more ammo. You’ve got the gift.”
“I’d feel like I was trying to show off when all I want to do is be better at my job.”
“Understood.” Charlie paused. “How many rounds did you squeeze off when you shot the armed robber?”
Luke, who was cleaning the Sig Sauer, looked up.
“That was stupid of me,” the owner quickly added. “I know you can’t answer. That young man should consider himself lucky.”
When he left the range, Luke wasn’t ready to return home. Instead, he turned in the direction of the Westside Quik Mart.
After a light lunch, Adisa cleaned her apartment. Her phone vibrated, and the number for Dr. Dewberry’s office popped into view as she was scrubbing the kitchen sink. She quickly rinsed and dried her hands. It was the doctor himself.
“How’s my aunt?” she asked.
“She’s had a setback. It may be necessary to perform a follow-up MRI to see if she’s suffered another stroke or hemorrhage in a different part of the brain.”
Adisa was disappointed. In her mind she’d reached the place of believing Aunt Josie was going to steadily improve.
“What kind of setback?”
“The occupational therapist noticed more delay in your aunt’s speech patterns and limitations in the use of her left arm, not just the right.”
“When will you decide if the MRI is necessary?”
“Tomorrow. I reviewed the records from her primary care provider, and it appears that until this happened, Ms. Adams was in great shape. I want to see her regain as much mobility and function as possible. Hopefully, this is a temporary situation we can address by adjusting her medication, but I wanted to keep you informed.”
“Okay, thanks,” Adisa replied. “I have a lot of free time this week, so I may come to Campbellton sooner than I’d planned.”
As the afternoon dragged on, Adisa felt more and more anxious. She couldn’t push the thought from her mind that Aunt Josie might suddenly die before she could see her again. Adisa started watching a movie that had been in her Netflix queue for almost a month, but it didn’t hold her interest. Finally, she gave up. After throwing a variety of clothes into a suitcase and a hanging bag, she loaded them into the trunk of her car and left. She’d be stuck in the beginning stages of rush-hour traffic, but she had to see Aunt Josie.
While creeping along in traffic, Adisa decided t
o call a few of the law firms that might be interested in hiring her. At the top of her list was a firm that had been on the other side of a Dixon and White deal. The managing partner conducted himself in a competent, professional manner. If nothing else, he might know about job openings for lawyers with Adisa’s skill set. To her surprise, she didn’t have to leave a voice mail.
“Paul Austin,” the lawyer said as soon as the receptionist transferred the call.
The car in front of Adisa lurched forward, and she stepped on the gas.
“This is Adisa Johnson.”
“Right,” the lawyer said. “I remember you at Dixon and White. You took part in the negotiations on the National Carrier deal.”
Adisa swerved slightly as a car drifted over into her lane. “Yes,” she replied. “But I’m no longer at the firm.”
For the next fifteen minutes, Adisa repeated the presentation she’d mentally prepared while cleaning her apartment. Austin didn’t cut her off by saying they weren’t hiring, which gave her confidence a boost.
“What’s the likelihood that you can bring a book of business with you?” the managing partner asked when she finished.
Adisa doubted any of Dixon and White’s clients would follow her. Their loyalties lay with the large firm and the men and women who ran it.
“Not very good,” she admitted. “All of my work was a part of Catherine Summey’s group.”
“That wouldn’t stop you from sending out notices that you’ve taken a new position. My client and I were impressed with your contributions to the deal we worked on together.”
Adisa remembered the woman CEO as an aggressive, no-nonsense negotiator.
A Time to Stand Page 13