A Time to Stand

by Robert Whitlow

  “Okay,” she replied slowly.

  “Would you prefer the country club or the Jackson House?”

  Adisa had never eaten a meal at the Campbellton Country Club. Going there as the guest of Mr. Grayson, who was probably a charter member, might be an interesting experience.

  “Which has the better food?” she asked.

  “It depends on what you’re in the mood for. Chicken salad or fried chicken.”

  “Chicken salad.”

  “Then I’ll meet you in the atrium of the country club at noon.”

  After a full morning at the hospital that included helping Aunt Josie with a shower, Adisa went to her aunt’s house to change clothes before driving to the country club. As she was applying the finishing touches of her makeup, Shanika called.

  “Let me talk to Aunt Josie,” Shanika said.

  “I’m not at the hospital. I’m about to leave for lunch with Theo Grayson at the country club.”

  “The lawyer? What does he want to talk to you about?”

  Adisa quickly filled her sister in on the possibility of working at Grayson, Baxter, and Williams. She didn’t mention the call to the woman CFO.

  “That sounds great,” Shanika said.

  “There’s no offer on the table. Not yet.”

  “But if he wasn’t interested, why would he get back to you so quickly and invite you to lunch at the country club?”

  “You’re right,” Adisa admitted. “But I’d hate to make a mistake by accepting a temporary job and losing out on something more permanent.”

  “You thought the job in Atlanta was long-term.”

  “True,” Adisa admitted.

  “One thing I’ve learned being a mother is that life changes fast. I’ll be praying for you. Let me know how it goes.”

  Adisa turned onto a tree-lined boulevard that snaked its way from the highway to the clubhouse. To her right was the golf course, which was a lush green from the spring rainfall. By August, only frequent nighttime watering would keep the fairways and greens alive beneath the baking Georgia sun. The clubhouse featured a white-columned entrance and a covered portico. She pulled to a stop for valet parking, and a lanky teenager took her car keys and handed her a claim check. Adisa checked her appearance in a full-length mirror in the lobby.

  “Ms. Johnson?” asked the maître’ d, a middle-aged man in a blue suit and crimson necktie.

  “Yes.”

  “Mr. Grayson is waiting for you.”

  Adisa’s phone vibrated, and she took it from her purse. The caller ID was for the company she’d contacted after talking with Paul Austin.

  “Just a minute,” she said, holding up her index finger. “I need to take this call.”

  “Certainly. The lounge is to your left.”

  Adisa rapidly walked into a wood-paneled room with green leather chairs.

  “Ms. Adisa Johnson?” a woman asked.

  “Yes.”

  “Hold for Ms. Trentham, please.”

  “It’s nice hearing from you,” the CFO said when she came on the line. “It’s such a coincidence that you called. I was thinking about you earlier this week.”

  “You were?”

  “Yes, we’ve decided to hire your firm to represent us in a transaction that’s becoming tougher with an arbitrage house in Singapore, and I was going to request that you be part of the legal team.”

  Adisa swallowed. “I’m no longer at Dixon and White,” she said. “But I’m talking to another law firm that might be able to provide the type of services you need.”

  “Do they work in Asia?”

  “I’m not sure, but I could find out.”

  “Are you an associate there?”

  “Not yet,” Adisa admitted. “I’m talking to them about a position.”

  “If you had something in place, I’d be glad to discuss it with you, but we need to move quickly. Is Catherine Summey still at Dixon and White?”

  “Yes.”

  “I’d better give her a call. I know they have experience in foreign mergers and acquisitions.”

  “A lot of experience,” Adisa said resignedly. “It’s an area I’d like to develop in the future.”

  “I’m sure you will. Nice talking to you and good luck.”

  The call ended. And Adisa realized she was not yet a big enough fish to swim in the legal ocean that reached across the Pacific.

  The maître’ d led Adisa into a spacious dining room with a large chandelier in the center. The tables were covered with white cloths and napkins embossed with the country-club crest. Not only was Adisa the only black person in the room; she was the only female. Grayson was sitting at a table near the bar area. He saw her and stood as she approached. The maître’ d pulled back the chair for Adisa.

  “There’s a first time for everything,” Adisa said to Grayson when they were alone. “Where are the women?”

  “Women?” Grayson raised his eyebrows. “What makes you think women are allowed?”

  Adisa’s jaw dropped. Grayson smiled.

  “Wait!” he said, pointing past her shoulder. “Here they come.”

  Adisa turned around as a group of ladies wearing golf attire entered the room.

  “You just happened to arrive before the morning groups finished eighteen holes. In a few minutes there will be as many women here as men. And there are all races on the membership roll. The only thing that matters is an applicant’s ability to pay the membership fee and yearly dues.”

  “Okay,” Adisa replied. “I guess I was a little on edge about coming here.”

  A waitress arrived and took their orders for the walnut chicken salad.

  “The chicken salad is the best,” Grayson said when the waitress left. “It has grapes, a few cranberries, crisp celery, and premium chicken. If you don’t like it, I’ll order you something else.”

  “I’m sure it will be delicious,” Adisa responded with a smile.

  Grayson raised his hand in greeting to someone across the room. Adisa took a sip of water. Her heart was beating faster than normal, and she hoped Grayson couldn’t pick up on any nervousness in her voice.

  “I know you probably haven’t heard anything yet from the firm in Atlanta that’s interested in you—” he began.

  “Actually, I have,” Adisa said and then told him about her phone call with Paul Austin. She left out the bad news she’d received just minutes earlier.

  “I’m sorry that door is temporarily closed, but it sounds like a great opportunity. I hope it works out eventually,” Grayson replied.

  “You do?” Adisa asked in surprise.

  “Of course. Why wouldn’t I want you to practice the type of law you’re interested in with a firm that has a high level of expertise?”

  A second wave of disappointment washed over Adisa as she realized Grayson had scheduled the lunch as a nice way of breaking the news that he didn’t have a job for her, either. She’d prepared herself to critically evaluate an offer. Now she felt foolish for presuming Grayson, Baxter, and Williams would want her.

  The waitress arrived with their food. The chicken salad was nestled on a large, perfectly formed piece of iceberg lettuce. In a small side cup was a medley of fresh fruit that included strawberries, blueberries, and kiwi. Grayson took a bite of chicken salad and nodded his head.

  “It’s a great batch. Try it.”

  Adisa scooped up a small portion of chicken salad with her fork. The crunchy walnuts, sweet grapes, and juicy, tender chicken weren’t overpowered by the mayonnaise. The salad had the perfect balance of sweet, tangy, and meaty.

  “It’s good,” she agreed.

  Grayson ate contentedly. Although the chicken salad was delicious, Adisa found herself staring at her plate.

  “I’m glad the firm in Atlanta doesn’t have a position for you now,” Grayson said, stopping to take a sip of water. “Because I do. The partners met first thing this morning and agreed that we’d like you to take care of Mike Williams’s clients while he’s out of the country. He lik
ed the idea that you weren’t going to stay in Campbellton long-term or have any interest in stealing his business.”

  “Of course not,” Adisa replied quickly. “That didn’t enter my mind.”

  “Which doesn’t surprise me at all. Your moral compass is fixed on truth as firmly as that of anyone I’ve known in a long time. That was clear when you were a teenager, and I don’t believe that’s changed.”

  “Thank you,” Adisa replied, a bit overwhelmed by the compliment.

  “Because you’ll need to spend extra time away from the office taking care of your aunt, we’d like to pay you a percentage of the hours you bill. What were you making at Dixon and White?”

  Adisa told him. Grayson’s eyes widened.

  “That’s impressive. I estimate you’ll make about twenty-five percent of your previous salary and work twenty-five to thirty percent less. Health benefits included.”

  By living at Aunt Josie’s house, Adisa quickly calculated that the proposal would allow her to stay current on her student loans, car payment, and other bills. She might even be able to save some money because she wouldn’t be maintaining a big-city lifestyle. She felt comfortable with Theo Grayson. He was different from Catherine Summey but would offer another type of beneficial mentoring. Above all, Adisa felt an inner peace linked to the ability to keep an eye on Aunt Josie.

  “Think about the offer while we eat,” Grayson said. “There’s one string attached, but I think you’re up to it.”

  The older lawyer dug his fork into the chicken salad, put it in his mouth, and continued to chew with satisfaction.

  “I love this stuff,” he said.

  Adisa laughed. “Mr. Grayson, how can you turn a scoop of chicken salad into the epitome of dining excellence?”

  Grayson pointed his fork at her. “Chicken salad like this proves that something ordinary can go to extraordinary heights if combined with the right ingredients. I’ve tried to be like that myself, and I believe that’s true about you.”

  Adisa’s emotions suddenly rushed to the surface. Grayson lowered his fork to the table and eyed her closely.

  “What’s wrong?” he asked.

  Adisa shook her head. “Nothing. That was very kind of you to compare me to yourself.”

  The older lawyer raised the cloth napkin to his lips. “That’s the role of my generation. My father didn’t or couldn’t encourage me, but I’m thankful someone else came along and did.”

  Adisa placed her fork beside her plate. “I don’t need to think about the offer. I’m going to accept the job.”

  Grayson held up his hand to stop her. “I haven’t gotten to the string. You need to hear that first.”

  “What is it?”

  Grayson stared at her for a few seconds before he spoke. “I want you to help me represent Officer Luke Nelson.”

  EIGHTEEN

  FOR THE SECOND time during the short meal, Adisa lost her appetite.

  “Please, hear me out,” Grayson continued, responding to the reaction showing on her face. “After I reviewed your résumé, I spoke with your former boss at the DA’s office in Cobb County. He told me you were a quick learner and almost ready to sit first chair in a murder case. He believed an aggravated assault case, even one with a high profile, was well within your capabilities.”

  Adisa’s head was spinning as her mind flashed back to courtrooms during criminal trials and scenes she’d tried to systematically purge from her memory: victims’ families sitting stoically during jury selection, weeping when photos of their loved ones were introduced into evidence; the pathos of the defendants’ relatives plunged into a swamp of vicarious guilt and shame; the pressure on the prosecutors not to mess up the case on an erroneous interpretation of the law or failure to gain admissibility of a crucial piece of evidence; and the slipperiness of some defense lawyers who seemed willing to blur the lines of ethical conduct to win at any cost.

  “I was glad to land the assistant DA job out of law school,” Adisa replied. “But that wasn’t the career I wanted.”

  “But you were good at it.”

  “And miserable most of the time. When the opportunity came to become an associate at Dixon and White, I didn’t hesitate a second. Once I settled in there, the practice of law became something I looked forward to when I got out of bed in the morning. And I was a prosecutor, not a defense lawyer. It’s a very different mind-set. I handled most of the research but didn’t question a ton of witnesses and only gave a few closing arguments to the jury.”

  Grayson ignored his chicken salad and leaned forward. “I’m not asking you to do this on your own. Ensuring Officer Nelson’s right to good representation has challenged me, too. If you agree to help, it’ll be with my assistance. We’ll share the load, which makes the burden much easier.”

  Adisa shifted in her chair. “That’s not possible.”

  “Oh, it’s like riding a bicycle. You’ll be surprised how quickly you regain your confidence.”

  “That’s not what I mean,” Adisa replied. “It’s not possible for me to represent an officer who shot an unarmed black teenager. I’d rather be appointed special prosecutor. That’s a role I could put my heart and soul into.”

  “Prosecution, defense.” Grayson held his hands out in front of him and alternately raised them up and down. “Both are necessary parts of the process.”

  “No.” Adisa shook her head. “It’s not that simple.”

  Grayson ate a final bite of chicken salad. “And I’m not going to pretend that it is,” the older lawyer said. “Also, I won’t insult you by asking if you could defend a black teenager who mistakenly shot a white officer who’d left his gun in his patrol car. Jasper Baldwin is going to present the case to the grand jury this afternoon. Until then, we won’t know for sure that Luke is going to be charged.”

  “But you and I both know he will be.”

  “Yes,” Grayson said with a nod of his head. “The facts of the shooting and the political realities are going to dictate a result. Beyond that, the system needs to work as it should. We agree on that, don’t we?”

  “Are you cross-examining me?”

  “Only until I uncover the truth.”

  Adisa bristled. “Bringing up my moral compass was a setup.”

  “No, I meant it.”

  Adisa was silent for a few moments. “Yes,” she finally sighed. “Officer Nelson is entitled to competent representation if he’s charged with a crime. But I’m not the person to do it.”

  “Here’s what I’d like you to do,” Grayson said, leaning back in his chair. “Talk to Jasper Baldwin and see what he has to say. Then let me know your decision.”

  “Why do you want me to talk to the DA?”

  Grayson patted his slightly pudgy midsection. “My gut has more than chicken salad in it. And it tells me you’ll only consider my offer after you explore all your options.”

  While he waited for Jane, Luke paced back and forth throughout the house.

  Each time he checked his watch, he tried to imagine what would happen at the courthouse.

  “Jessica!” Jane called out to the babysitter from the master bedroom. “Don’t forget to give Ashley her pink medicine. It’s in the refrigerator, and the syringe is in the top left drawer of the chest beside her crib.”

  “I see the syringe,” Jessica replied from the baby’s room. “Should I let her play with it?”

  “No, it’s not a toy.”

  Although grateful that Mr. Grayson was going to be with him at the courthouse, Luke was still frustrated about the decision not to testify. After all, he was the only person on earth who knew the truth. It would be impossible for the grand jury to decide what to do without the testimony he alone could provide. And doing nothing seemed like surrender, which was contrary to his nature.

  “I’m ready,” Jane said as she appeared with a grim look on her face.

  She was wearing the same gray dress she’d worn to the funeral for Luke’s grandmother. Luke started to question her wardrobe se
lection, but he realized that was as pointless as debating whether the medicine syringe could do double duty as a toy. He was wearing a blue sport coat, khaki pants, and red tie. His shirt was too small at the neck, forcing him to unbutton the top button.

  They rode to the courthouse in silence. Jane stared out the window. Reflexively, Luke almost parked in one of the spots at the courthouse reserved for law enforcement officers but swerved to the right and found an open place nearby.

  “By habit,” he muttered.

  They reached for the other’s hand and joined their fingers together as they walked up the sidewalk to the main entrance.

  “There he is!” a male voice called out.

  Luke turned and saw a middle-aged man holding up a sign that read “No Charges Against Officer Nelson.” The man was surrounded by a group of ten or twelve people. The group quickly made their way toward Luke, who wanted to continue into the courthouse but knew he had to acknowledge their presence.

  “We’re here to let the DA and grand jury know there are people in Nash County who believe in law and order!” called out the man holding the sign.

  “Thanks for your support,” Luke replied.

  “Are you his wife?” a woman in the group asked Jane.

  Jane nodded.

  “I think it’s horrible what they’re saying about your husband and want you to know that I don’t believe a word of it. My little boy and I are praying for you and your family every night.”

  “Thank you,” Jane answered gratefully.

  “And we’re working on our own petition,” another man in the group added. “The other side got the jump on us, but we’ve already got three hundred registered voters demanding that the DA nolle pros your case.”

  Luke eyed the speaker more closely at his use of the legal term for a DA’s prosecutorial discretion not to file charges against someone. Over the months Luke had been on the force, several of his arrests had been dismissed via nolle pros.

  “We’re going for a thousand signatures,” the man continued.

  “And then we’ll go for another thousand,” the woman who’d spoken to Jane added.