Jeffers curled his lip. “I’m offended by that remark. I’m an attorney and, unlike you, bound by strict rules of ethics and honor.”
Liam brushed him off with a wave of his hand. “Spare me. If your client’s here, let’s get the meeting going.”
Jeffers laid a printed document on the reception room table. “A few ground rules, if you please. Before you is an agreement that today’s meeting is absolutely confidential. With the exception of your lawyer, Mr. Solomon, and,” he sneered, “perhaps Mr. Taggart here, nothing you say or Mr. Rosenzweig says in this meeting may be disclosed to anyone, nor may anything be repeated or used in any way by either party in any proceeding. As you can see, Mr. Rosenzweig has already signed it.”
Ben looked to Catherine, who nodded her approval. He signed the bottom of the page and handed the paper to Jeffers. “We’d like a copy,” Catherine said.
“Of course.”
Jeffers left and returned a moment later with a burly man. His blue blazer fit snugly over his large chest and shoulders. He carried a security wand.
“Mr. Kruk is here to verify that Mr. Solomon is not wearing any eavesdropping devices.”
“Bring out Rosenzweig,” Liam snapped. “We want the same verification.”
Jeffers nodded, rolling his eyes with a theatrical show of ennui. “As you wish.” He left to fetch Elliot. “Petulance,” he muttered under his breath.
Elliot followed Jeffers slowly into the reception room. Elliot’s blue eyes, like those of an aged jungle cat, settled first on Ben and then on each of Catherine and Liam. He stood with his arms out while Kruk waved the metal detector. When the muscular security guard finished, he turned to Ben. After wanding him with no beeps, Kruk shook his head. “No guns this time, Mr. Rosenzweig,” he said.
“Let’s get this started,” Liam said.
The two were led into a small conference room and the door was closed behind them. In the center was a round glass table surrounded by four black, webbed chairs. Elliot sat directly across from Ben. For a long moment, they sat in silence, their eyes locked upon each other’s face.
Finally, Elliot took a breath, leaned forward and folded his hands on the tabletop. “Mr. Solomon, you have sued the wrong person. I want you to dismiss the lawsuit. And in exchange I am prepared to pay you whatever you think was stolen from your family during the war. I’ll write you a check today. All you need do is concede you have made a mistake.”
“Is that all?”
“Correct. Giving you the benefit of every doubt, and valuing your property at its highest and best amount, I am willing to pay you twenty million dollars. Today.”
“Twenty million? That’s five times more than I’ve claimed.”
“Call it generosity. Call it the price of peace. It’s worth it to me, Mr. Solomon, to preserve my reputation and be done with you.”
“Just concede my mistake?”
“That’s all. You don’t even have to apologize. Just admit you’ve made an error and withdraw your lawsuit.”
Ben raised his eyebrows. “I’d be a fool not to agree.”
“Excellent. In anticipation of your response, I have taken the liberty of having my attorney draft a settlement agreement and I’ll ask him to bring it in.” Elliot stood.
Ben leaned back in his chair. “Fuck you, Otto.”
“What?”
“You and your bullshit façade. You can’t buy me off.”
Elliot remained unflustered and retook his seat. “Twenty million dollars, Mr. Solomon. That’s an extraordinary amount of money. You can live comfortably for the rest of your life. You can give it away to charity. Think of the good that you can do. Give it to your Jewish causes.”
“Will twenty million dollars wash your hands, Otto? Will it cleanse you from the thousands you condemned?”
“I have condemned no one, sir. My name is Elliot Rosenzweig.”
A sardonic smiled twisted Ben’s lips. “You are truly without conscience. A soulless envoy of the devil. But I will never relent, so you can forget the offer.”
“This mad pursuit of yours, will it bring back your family? Will it change the past?”
“Nothing can change the past, Otto, but your conviction and public condemnation will serve to keep mankind mindful of the evil that snakes like you are capable of.”
Elliot lifted his hands to his forehead. He spoke softly.
“Give it up, Ben.”
“Never. Not as long as I have breath.”
Elliot swallowed hard and spoke plaintively. “I had no choice. Don’t you understand? It was you and your father that forced me to join the National Socialists. I didn’t want to. I stood in your living room and begged not to become involved. It was your father that insisted I take a posting. What did you expect me to do? If I didn’t follow orders, if I wasn’t an obedient soldier, I would have been killed. They were ruthless people. Don’t you see, I had no choice?”
“Are you looking for mercy? Do you dare petition me for absolution? For a man who murdered with enthusiasm? What kind of a man executes the only family he ever had without a second thought?”
“They were already dead, Ben. The Gestapo would have killed them in the church if I hadn’t. You saw them all looking at me for my pronouncement. Do you think I could have freed them? I did your father a favor, a quick death rather than torture in a camp.”
Ben sat tall in his chair. “I will not recant. You will get what you deserve. This case will be your judgment day.”
Elliot’s jaw quivered in anger. He scoffed, “Don’t be a fool. You can’t win this case. Do you think we’ll ever let you get to trial? Are you so simple that you think our judicial system is about evidence and justice? Ha! It’s about money and power and politics. This case will never come to trial. You’ll never get a public platform. In the end you’ll be humiliated and disgraced. Take the money, Ben. It’s your last chance.”
“I’ll die first.”
Elliot shrugged and walked from the room. “Just another dead Solomon.”
* * *
“Twenty million dollars?” Catherine pursed her lips and made a soft whistle.
“I had the feeling he’d pay much more than that,” answered Ben. “You know, as we sat there, I kept wanting to ask him questions, to make some sense of the unfathomable, maybe to satisfy a macabre curiosity. Like those who interview serial killers – what made you do it? How can you live with yourself? I wanted to know how he could sleep at night with the wails of thousands of innocents screaming in his head. But I already knew his answer.”
* * *
“You offered twenty mill and he turned it down? Christ, Elliot, what the hell does he want? Did he give you a counter?”
“It’s not about money, Gerry. He’s a fanatic on a mission. He’s carrying the banner for six million Jews and he’s chosen to make me his Pascal lamb.”
Jeffers looked down at his suit jacket, smoothed his lapel and bloused his azure pocket square. “Everyone has his price. If it’s not currency, then it’s something else. What would it take to purchase Solomon? What does he really want?”
Elliot shook his head and wrinkled his forehead. “Why can’t you get it through your thick skull? He is getting what he wants. An audience. A platform. World attention.”
Jeffers crossed his legs and, with the back of his fingers, brushed a speck of dust from his highly polished shoes. “Well, that certainly complicates matters.”
“Gerry, we cannot give him a podium. As much as I hate to place myself in the hands of others, especially lawyers, I am relying on you to do everything in your power to prevent a public hearing. This case must not go to trial. We cannot give the public free access to his maniacal rantings. Use every resource available. Money is no object. Do I make myself clear?”
“Crystal, Elliot, crystal.”
Chapter Fifty-three
Chicago, Illinois February 2005
It was the Bar Association’s custom on committee meeting nights to schedule an intermissio
n for coffee and cookies at the half way point, and so at 8:30 there was a pause in the proceedings of the Court Rules Committee to enjoy the refreshments. Jeffers found an opportune moment and approached Judge Ryan as he was filling his cup at the coffee urn.
“Hello, Chuck, how have you been?”
“Just fine, Gerry. Although your fifty-three page motion sure makes for a long work week.”
Jeffers laughed. “I apologize for the length. We just had a lot to say.”
“Understood. When is Lockhart’s brief in opposition due?” Judge Ryan said quietly.
“Fifteen more days by court rules. How soon can we expect your decision?”
Ryan shrugged. “Haven’t finished reading and researching. This is a high profile case. Who knows?”
Jeffers leaned forward and whispered quickly to the judge.
He smiled, nodded and replied, “Tomorrow is Wednesday. I have some time after my calendar call. Come see me then.”
The committee meeting was called to order and the committee members took their seats.
Chapter Fifty-four
Catherine walked into The Gavel restaurant shortly before noon on a busy Friday. The old Chicago watering hole, kitty-corner from the courthouse, had borne witness to countless deals, settlements and trade-offs, not to mention thousands of post-verdict whiskeys in celebration of victory or in consolation of defeat, and Fridays started early. Catherine struggled to adjust her eyes to the dark of the bar. A raised hand in the corner caught her attention and she nodded.
In a burgundy vinyl booth set into the darkest part of the room, sat a thin man in a short sleeve white shirt and narrow black tie. His suit coat was neatly folded on the seat beside him. A half-empty highball glass held an amber liquid. No ice. Sunglasses hid the red in his jaundiced eyes. A porcelain ashtray was filled with the detritus of chain smoking, testimony to the morning’s passage of time.
“Hello, Mickey.”
He patted the booth. “Slide in, Cat.” He pointed to his drink. “Can I get you something?” He raised his eyebrows and seeing Catherine’s hesitation said, “Coffee, maybe?”
“Coffee’d be fine.” He lifted an index finger and a waitress materialized from the darkness, took the order and disappeared.
“Damn, Cat, you’re looking good.”
“You too, Mickey.”
A wry smile appeared along with a short nasal chuckle. “Don’t kid an old bullshitter, I look like the wrath of God.”
Catherine’s eyes misted and she turned to face him. “It’s been a long time, Mickey, and…so many times…I tried to pick up a phone, find the words to tell you how sorry I was…that I walked out on you…that I left you with all my baggage…that I trashed our relationship…I tried to find some way….”
He held up his hand like a stop sign. “Don’t go there. You did what you could do at the time, baby. You were sinking, and we all saw it, but like the Titanic, the rift was too big to fix. We couldn’t save you. All we could do was watch.” He took a swig and finished his drink. A fresh one replaced it moments later.
“It’s all ancient history, Cat. You’ve come back stronger than ever.”
She shook her head. “If you only knew. The hurt I caused to you and to others…still haunts me. Every day.”
“Let it go, Cat.”
Catherine nodded slightly and sipped her coffee. “I was surprised to hear your message on my voice mail” – she mimicked his gravely voice – “‘Hey, Cat. Meet me at The Gavel tomorrow at eleven. It’s important.’ So what’s up?”
Mickey swirled his drink. “The fix is in.”
Catherine felt the bile rise in the pit of her stomach. “The Rosenzweig case?”
“Yep.”
“How do you know this?”
He shrugged his right shoulder slightly. “Doesn’t matter. Old Mick’s still got his contacts.” He took a swallow and stared into the darkness. “Ryan’s always been for sale. He’s due to step down at the end of the year and peddle his influence to some big firm. He and Jeffers struck a deal Wednesday. Cash now, partnership later.”
“And my case?”
“He’ll pitch it. Jeffers has a motion for summary judgment. After you file your answer, Ryan’ll toss the case.”
Catherine’s heart thumped hard in her chest. “Shit, Mickey.”
“Sorry, Cat.”
“What if I SOJ Ryan – get the case away from him before he decides the motion?”
“Substitution of judges? You can try. But you know the law as well as I do. An SOJ has to be brought at the earliest possible time after the alleged prejudice is discovered. He’s had the case for weeks. Besides, if he’s made any substantive decisions, he doesn’t have to grant your motion. He’ll fight hard to keep the case. It’s a big payday.”
“There have been no substantive decisions. He’s only ruled on procedural matters.”
Mickey shrugged again, as if to say, “Like that’ll really matter.”
Catherine banged her fist on the table. “Damn! What can I do, Mickey?”
“You can start drinking at ten in the morning, like I do. It’s a great cure for disillusionment.”
Mickey lit another cigarette; Catherine gazed into her coffee cup. Conversations and laughter in the bar raised the background noise.
“What about Murphy?” Catherine said finally.
“The chief judge? He’s no crusader. He didn’t get to his position by rocking boats.”
“Can you help me, Mickey?”
He sadly shook his head. “I’ve passed along the bad news. It’s all this old drunk can do.” He raised his hand to signal the cocktail waitress and Catherine knew the meeting was over. She gave him a peck on the cheek.
“Cat. If you have to, and it does you any good, you can use my name.”
“Take care of yourself, Mickey,” she said and walked out into the glare of the noonday sun.
Chapter Fifty-five
Catherine knew the only chance they had was to get the case away from Ryan. She immediately began to draft a motion to transfer the case to another judge. She was aware that according to Illinois law, such a motion was routine and was usually granted without a hearing. Judges were not permitted to inquire into the basis for the claim of prejudice. It was only necessary that the litigant allege that he could not get a fair trial because the judge was prejudiced against him.
However, Catherine also knew that Illinois disapproved of flagrant forum shopping. Appellate case decisions held that if a judge had made a substantive ruling, a decision based on the merits of the case, such a motion should be rightfully denied. The line between substantive and procedural decisions was often blurred. If a judge wanted to deny the transfer, he’d likely claim there had been substantive rulings.
Catherine filed the motion and set it to be heard as an emergency Monday morning before Ryan’s regular call.
* * *
Judge Ryan placidly read the motion while Catherine and Jeffers stood before his desk in his chambers.
“What makes you think I’d be prejudiced against Mr. Solomon, Catherine? I’ve given you a fair shake every time you’ve appeared before me.”
“You know you can’t make that inquiry, Judge.”
Ryan nodded and looked over at Jeffers. “Gerry, what’s your position on this motion?”
“We oppose it. I think it’s outrageous that, at this late date, after the matter has been pending before you for weeks, Ms. Lockhart suddenly wants to go judge shopping. We have a trial setting and a motion for summary judgment pending. Our recent settlement conference was unsuccessful and now Ms. Lockhart wants to delay the inevitable. It’s as plain as the nose on her pretty little face.”
Judge Ryan wagged his finger in reproach.
“The bottom line, Your Honor, is that you’ve made substantive rulings,” Jeffers continued. “It’s too late to bring this motion. It’s no longer timely.”
“What substantive rulings, Gerry? I think they’ve all been procedural, haven’t they Ca
therine?”
Shocked at Judge Ryan’s amenability, at the thought that he might actually grant the SOJ, and that Mickey might have had bad information, Catherine harbored second thoughts. But she responded, “That’s correct. The only matters before you have concerned settings.”
“Oh, not true,” Jeffers said. “On December 20th we appeared before you with four motions, one of which was to accelerate the case for trial. At the time, we examined the heinous allegations of the complaint and I think you stated that we were entitled to ‘nip it in the bud’ if we could. It was for that reason you gave us an early trial date. Now Ms. Lockhart is seeking to have you reverse yourself and buy more time to fabricate a case against my client.”
Ryan raised his eyebrows and looked to Catherine for her reply.
“A trial setting is procedural,” she said. “There have been no substantive rulings.”
Ryan set the motion down on his desk and looked thoughtfully at Catherine. “On most occasions, I’d be inclined to agree with you. But here, I’m afraid I view this motion as a delay tactic. There were good reasons for me to accelerate the case for trial. Illinois law cautions me not to grant a substitution where its main purpose is to effectuate a delay. I’m going to deny your motion. The trial date will stand. I advise you to have your answer to Mr. Jeffers’ motion for summary judgment filed on time. I will grant no extensions.”
* * *
Catherine met Liam for lunch.
“Can’t you appeal Judge Ryan’s decision?” he asked.
Catherine sighed. “Not at this time. I’d have to wait until the case is over, until after Ryan has granted Jeffers’ motion and dismissed the case. By then the newspapers and television stations would be having a field day, ridiculing Ben and praising Rosenzweig, ‘Chicago’s Treasure.’ I think the appellate courts would be pressured to leave the case alone. Besides, any appellate rulings would be years away.”
Liam watched Catherine as she took a bite of her salad. She should have looked defeated. But, on the contrary, Liam saw no despair.
Once We Were Brothers Page 34