by Kim Linwood
The plaintiff’s opening statement tears at the heartstrings. I’m bored out of my skull, just wanting to get on with it, and I’m sure that plays right into his picture of us as uncaring monsters. Their lawyer is Dave Slater, a tall, black man, square faced and serious. He knows his shit, and he’s a fighter. Both in court and on the softball field. He’d better buy me a beer later for handing him an easy win, and then I’ll even the score next season.
Knowing we were the other side, I’m sure he’s worked his ass off, so I’ll let him have his moment. He’ll be expecting a curve ball, but he’s going to slam it out of the park.
“Mr. Riordan, it’s your turn to present your opening statement.” The voice makes me look up. Oh, Dave’s done already. Suppose I should pay attention. Well, it’s show time.
My statement is well crafted but uninspired. I feed them the line Cooper wants. Business is business, they do the best they can, he’s out there providing Americans with jobs, blah blah blah. Cooper smiles and nods, completely missing the skeptical looks some of the jury members are sending his way. It’s hard to make people believe you care about jobs, when you’re on the stand for wrongful termination on a massive scale.
I wrap up, then sit and wait. Mercifully, Dave’s only set up a few witnesses, probably figuring that the evidence is so skewed anyway. They’re more of a precaution than a necessity. It still feels like forever before it’s my turn.
Hopefully Peterson is as much of a nutcase as he seemed from the phone interview. In the short talk I had with him before we entered the courtroom, he seemed even more unstable than I’d figured. How a whack job like him got to be chief accountant for a large corporation is beyond me.
Even Cooper must have figured something was wrong with him or he wouldn’t have been demoted. No idea why Cooper believes he has this guy’s total loyalty, but I’m on record as having disagreed with putting him on the stand. Eventually bowing to my client’s wishes shouldn’t raise any red flags.
I want this case to combust, but we need to keep our noses clean. The last thing I want is for someone to cry foul after the fact and have it blow back on Riordan and Flynn.
I get up slowly, tugging my suit and straightening my tie. With a nod to the judge, I approach, enjoying the silence in the room as they wait for my words. I won’t deny it. I fucking love being in the spotlight, and I’m going to use it for all it’s worth.
“Your Honor.” Everyone’s watching me to see what my first move will be, their eyes burning into my back. “I’d like to call Mr. Lloyd Peterson to the witness stand.”
The judge nods.
Cooper smiles and nods when Peterson rises and comes to the front. Peterson flicks a glance at his boss, but his expression doesn’t give away what he’s thinking.
After being sworn in, he settles noisily into the witness booth. Tapping the mic, he produces a couple of loud thuds followed by a screech of feedback that’s as pleasant as nails on a chalkboard. He pulls his finger back in surprise before easing back with a sheepish grin.
My turn. I smile, full of easy charm. “Mr. Peterson, you’re Mr. Cooper’s chief accountant, correct?”
He leans forward towards the mic cautiously, like he’s worried it’s going to feedback again. When it doesn’t, he speaks cautiously with a quaver in his thin, reedy voice. “Yes, sir.”
“So you’re intimately familiar with the state of the corporation’s economics, like the payroll, for example.”
“Yes, sir.” Peterson relaxes a little at the easy questions.
“And you’ve gone through all of their books in preparation for the trial to determine if they were in order?”
This time he pauses, chewing his lip. “Yes, sir.”
He’s a little screwy, but he’s not stupid. When I prepped him, I told him he needed to be honest, but to not volunteer anything. Deciding what to ask, and how to question a witness is one of the parts of this job I love the most. It’s a dance, like boxing. Draw them one way, feint, jab, dance away. Never let them take the lead.
Except today I want him to do exactly that. I just can’t make it obvious.
“I know you’ve been with Cooper Holdings for many years, but can you tell me how long you’ve been Chief Accountant?”
Peterson’s eyebrow tics. I’m closing in on sensitive tissue, and I’m about to do some chainsaw surgery. “Five years.” He shakes his head. “Five stinking years,” he says in a lower voice, but the mic still picks it up.
Out of the corner of my eye, I see Cooper frown. It’s honestly never occurred to him that his buddy the accountant might not have appreciated being demoted.
“Wow, that’s quite a while. You must have a pretty good handle on the business. Do you believe there is anyone who has a better understanding of the Cooper Holdings financials?” Come on, take the bait.
“No, absolutely not.” Peterson’s voice still quavers, but it’s gaining strength. “Especially considering my fifteen years as CFO.” His gaze hones in on Cooper, sharp and oddly fixated. “Fifteen long, wasted years of my life.”
“Sir, please constrain yourself to answering the question asked,” the judge admonishes.
Peterson flinches but nods. His right eye ticks.
“So you’ve been at Cooper Holdings for exactly how long then?”
“Twenty-seven years. I worked for his father back in the day, and have given that company most of my miserable life.” He’s warming up nicely. “And what did I get for it?”
I hear a few “Yeah!”s from behind me. There are guys in here who’ve known Peterson for years, and know all too well what it’s like to get screwed over by Cooper.
Judge Bailey scowls. “I’ve warned you once, Mr. Peterson. I won’t do it again. Mr. Riordan, please control your witness.”
“Your honor!” Cooper’s voice is a panicked stage whisper that carries clearly through the stunned room. “I need to talk to my lawyer. Now!”
I hold up my hand at him, signaling Cooper to wait. “Just give me a minute. We’re nearly finished.” The judge nods.
“So in your opinion, as one of Mr. Cooper’s most trusted employees, do you believe that the payroll practices at Cooper Holdings are in line with the industry, and financially justifiable?”
“Justifiable?” Peterson looks at me like I’m nuts. The rumbling in the gallery gets louder.
“Order in the courtroom, please.” The judge waves at me to continue.
I smile good-naturedly. “Yes, as in, defensible, or appropriate.”
Peterson snorts. “I know what the word means, and no. There is nothing justifiable, defensible or appropriate,” he spits the words out like they burn his tongue, “About his practices. That man would sell his own grandmother if he thought he’d get a quick buck out of it.” Peterson’s voice is full of bitterness.
“I’m sorry, your honor. Mr. Peterson could you—”
Peterson is on a roll and I let him cut me off. “That ratty little bastard hasn’t treated anyone right since he took over the company. He drove his father to an early grave, turning it from a respectable place to work into a crooked death trap.”
His knuckles whiten as he stands to his full height and grips the podium. “Health regs. Overtime. Careers. We’re just bugs for him to step on when it suits him. He thinks I don’t understand why he asks me to keep the books like we do, but I wasn’t born yesterday, you bastard!” His voice turns shrill and cracks while it rises in a scary crescendo. I’d expected him to get aggressive, but this is starting to go off the rails.
The mood was already tense, and Peterson’s words are just adding fuel to the fire. The courtroom rumbles behind me. “Bastard.” “Slimeball.” Angry words filter through the hum.
Cooper’s looking like a frightened animal, cornered in its own den and I don’t fucking blame him. Some of those guys look ready to climb over the railing and give him their own personal flavor of justice.
The cameras roll, catching everything. Claire, I hope you’re seeing this.
“No, sir, I think this is!” He’s fucking shaking, like he’s gonna explode. “This scumbag ruined my career. He ruined a lot of careers. He’s driving the whole damn company into the ground, and when the new layoffs get announced tomorrow, he’s going to ruin a whole assload more!”
What? Layoffs? I didn’t even know about that. Holy shit. The rapidly growing rumble behind me tells me that the workers didn’t know either.
And then everything happens at once.
“Mr. Peterson!” The judge bangs the gavel, calling the court to order.
A huge bear of a man in the crowd tears himself loose with a roar from the restraining grasp of his only slightly less crazed looking friends and leaps for the railing.
Cooper doesn’t notice, maybe because he’s coming for me, rushing out from around our table. His eyes are sparking in fury and his fists are tightly clenched. I don’t know what he thinks he’s going to do, but he never gets to do it. The giant from the crowd tackles him from behind before the guards can get to him. They go down over the stenographer’s table, smashing it to splinters with their weight, while she launches herself out of her chair with a scream.
They roll across the floor to right in front of me, and Cooper gets a fist right to the nose, sending blood spurting over everything. I step to the side, arms raised. I’d love nothing more than to throw myself into the melee, but this is their fight now, not mine.
Everything’s out of fucking control. It’s not a court case, it’s a barroom brawl. More angry people pour over the railing. Judge Bailey’s banging his gavel like he’s trying to break through his desk. “Order! Order!” Police officers stream into the room, pushing their way past eager press crews who are probably creaming their fucking pants at this footage.
Dave quietly stands and starts making his way along the wall to the back of the room. He throws me a look like “holy shit” and gets himself behind the police. Smart guy.
I’m about to follow, when I see a familiar bounce of red hair flash at the back of the courtroom. What the fuck? She’s supposed to be home watching my triumphant downfall on TV, not about to get flattened by a fucking riot.
For a moment the crowd parts and I see her face. She’s watching me with a mix of confusion and terror, and then the next thing I know, she disappears in a wave of angry workers who break through the doors and flood into the room. Jesus Christ. The only danger I’d planned for was to my career. Where the fuck did she go? I scan the room. Not among the press, not at the door, not at—
A loud shriek cuts through the rumble, and I recognize her immediately. The surging mob crashes against the police officers and she’s right in the middle of it. I don’t think twice before throwing myself into the center of the mob. The crowd’s too dense, though. I’m not getting there fast enough.
There’s no time to deal with working my way through. I dodge around a furious guy with a bushy beard, wearing a t-shirt that reads WELDERS DO IT HOTTER, and leap at my chair, using it to jump to the top of the railing and then launch myself into the air above the crowd.
Claire
A large body shoves me from the side, pushing me up against a bench and knocking the breath out of me. My lungs work hard, gasping while I clutch my stomach with one hand and steady myself against the railing with the other. This is insane. Another person slams into me, and I’m surprised I don’t hear my ribs crack when I hit the wooden back of the seating. I shriek from the pain.
When I was little, I got caught in quickly moving water once. I’ll never forget that feeling of going from confident, to nervous, to terrified as my muscles tired and I realized “just swim a little harder” wasn’t going to work that time.
Standing there trying to make myself as small as possible to avoid the crush of much larger bodies, I feel just as helpless.
I don’t actually see Declan coming. It’s more like a tingle of awareness. What I do hear, is his roar. Startled, I look up, and all of a sudden I know what it’s like to be a rabbit on the receiving end of a tiger’s leap. Declan is literally flying through the air over the angry workers between us, his face a mask of angry concentration. I freeze, unsure if I’m about to be rescued, or flattened.
“What the fuck?” The guy next to me tries to dive out of the way, but still ends up going down with a thump as Declan lands on top of him.
Nobody is paying attention to who is on whose side anymore, and the flattened gentleman recovers quickly, rearing up to bring pain down on his recently airborne attacker.
“Sorry!” I scream as I kick him in the side, grabbing Declan’s arm as he springs to his feet and shoves the guy away.
“Thanks, babe.” Even in the middle of the chaos, he flashes a grin and in a moment of relief I laugh at the absurdity of our situation. At least until one of the other rioters charges him. Declan steps aside and grabs the guy by his collar, throwing him past like he weighs nothing. “How about we get out of here? I think I’ve overstayed my welcome.”
“Riordan!” Cooper’s somehow managed to get free, and charges at us, eyes wild and his face streaked with blood from his nose. “This is all your fault!”
He’s charging Declan, but I’m closer. Swinging hard and putting my shoulder into it, I place my fist right in his face with a crunch. God, I hope those weren’t my fingers. That hurt like crazy, but wow, did it feel good.
It stops Cooper dead, and he howls with rage and pain, hands covering his face.
Declan looks at me and laughs. “Fuck, Catholic school must be a rough place.” Then he grabs Cooper by the shoulders, spins him around and sends him back into the crowd which swallows him up eagerly like a piece of meat tossed to a pond full of hungry alligators.
With absolutely no thought to our current personal differences, I throw myself at Declan, clutching him for safety. “We need to go. Like, now!”
He laughs. “I’ve got you, babe. Just don’t expect me to let go again later.”
I don’t have it in me to spend time analyzing what he means, but his words make my stomach flutter, and not in a bad way. He wraps one arm tightly around my waist, and as much carries as drags me along, clearing a path through the angry crowd with his other arm held out like he’s breaking through a scrimmage line.
There’s no doubting his strength as he moves us steadily towards freedom. A couple of cops barrel past us when we get to the doors, driving into the crowd and then suddenly we’re on the other side. The riot has expanded into the hall, but everyone is trying to get to the courtroom, so it’s not hard to break out to the side and escape the mass of people.
We round a corner and lean up against the wall, both of us breathing heavily.
“You okay?” he asks.
I shake my head but give him a weak thumbs up. “Been better, but I will be.”
“Shit, I think I fucked up again. Sorry.”
Claire
Guards and more police pass by without paying us more than the occasional glance. We probably look like innocent refugees from the fight, instead of the match that lit the whole damn thing on fire.
Declan grabs my arm. “Come on.” Dragging me behind him, he pushes the door open into an empty courtroom across the hall. The door slams shut behind us, and the sound of the chaos deadens to a muffled clamor.
He spins me to face him, then pins me up against the wall, dragging my hands above my head. I should push him away and remind him it’s over between us, but my blood is running hot after our escape, and the dark intensity of his eyes shows it’s the same for him.
“I’ve fucked up a lot of things. All my life. I don’t usually mean to, but it happens anyway. I’ve got no one to blame but myself.” He takes a deep breath. “I usually don’t care, but us? I don’t want to fuck this up. Please don’t let me fuck this up.”
My chest goes tight, constricting my heart, which is beating a mile a minute. “Declan... I don’t know. The two of us? It’s just so—”
/>
His fingers tighten around my wrists, burning against my skin and holding me in place. “Please. Let me finish.”
I open my mouth to argue, but shut it again and nod. I should have listened to him the day of the wedding. Or answered one of his calls. Or swallowed my pride and gone to him.
His clear blue eyes hold me in place as firmly as his hands. I can see that this is difficult for him, and I’m not proud of it, but I’m glad it is.
Difficult means he cares.
“I can be a jerk. I know that, and it’s probably not going to change overnight.”
“This is you convincing me?
“This is me being honest. You want pretty and fake? That’s not me.”
“No! I want to believe you wouldn’t hurt me. I want to go back in time and not see you standing there watching my sex tape!” God, it hurts. I close my eyes at night and see that image in my head.
Him at the laptop with my video playing.
“You don’t think I want that too?” he shouts. “I want to kill your douchebag of an ex-boyfriend for even touching you, let alone filming it. You might not have noticed, but I don’t share well. I wasn’t watching, I was turning it off.” Declan’s voice vibrates with anger.
Heaven help me, I believe him. I look into his eyes, and I see a man tortured by my own pride. “I’m sorry,” I whisper.
He jerks back like I’ve slapped him. “I’m that hard to believe?”
“No, I mean, I’m sorry for running. I’m sorry for avoiding you. I’m just... sorry.”
Declan’s body relaxes slightly. “I didn’t make it easy on you, did I?”
“No,” I answer honestly. “But I should’ve at least listened.”
“So why did you come? You could’ve watched me make an ass out of myself on TV like you were supposed to.” He’s so close it’s hard to breathe.
I turn my head, breaking eye contact. I came because the instant I heard his opening speech, I knew what he was doing. I’ve read his opening. Hell, I helped write it.
What we wrote together wasn’t what he said.