Friction

by Sawyer Bennett

  I hope he's a supreme asshole to Leary. She can handle herself, and any animosity she builds up against Dr. Summerland will help ease the blow I'm going to deliver later on in the case.

  Leary doesn't waste any time in laying out the history of Dr. Summerland's treatment of Jenna. She goes right in for the kill. "Dr. Summerland, can you tell the jury your educational background?"

  His chin goes up and superiority oozes off him. "Yes. I did my undergraduate degree at UCLA, medical school at Vanderbilt, and my internship and residency at Emory."

  "And you're board certified, correct?" she asks politely.

  "Yes."

  "In general surgery?"

  "Yes," he says, not willing to elucidate.

  "You're not, however, certified in plastic surgery, are you?" she asks him as she leans back casually in her chair.

  "No, I'm not."

  "Plastic surgery is very different from general surgery, wouldn't you say?" she asks demurely.

  "In some respects, but in others we do some similar procedures."

  "Like what?" she asks, tilting her head and sounding generally intrigued and curious.

  "Like mastectomies," he says firmly.

  "But the types of mastectomies you do are very different from a plastic surgeon's, correct?"

  "Well, the concept is the same," he starts to say, but she cuts him off.

  "When you do a mastectomy, it's for women who opt not to have reconstruction, correct? They just want the offending tissue removed?"

  "I suppose that's one way to look at it," he grumbles.

  "And plastic surgeons . . . when they do mastectomies, it's for the purposes of reconstruction so they can build back up the woman's breast through implants, correct?"

  "Yes, that's what they do."

  "Dr. Summerland, do you recognize the New England Journal of Medicine as an authoritative medical periodical?"

  "Yes, I do. I read it faithfully," he says confidently. "In fact, there's an article in a 2009 issue that discusses mastectomies performed by general surgeons."

  Leary dramatically raises her eyebrows in delight and smiles at Dr. Summerland. "Well, isn't that terrific?" she says jovially as she waves a document in her hand. "I just happen to have that article here. May I approach the witness, Your Honor?"

  Judge Henry nods and Leary stands up smoothly from her chair. She walks up to the witness stand, the jurors all following her with avid interest. She hands Dr. Summerland the document. "I'm handing you what's been marked as Plaintiff's exhibit one. Does this look like the article you mentioned?"

  Dr. Summerland flips through it and nods. "It does."

  "And on the last three pages of the article, it gives photographs of acceptable results from a nonreconstructive mastectomy, doesn't it?"

  Dr. Summerland leans in and peers at the pages she referenced. "Yes, it does, although they're in black and white and it's a little hard to see, since this is a photocopy."

  "Well," Leary says dramatically as she walks back to her table and reaches over the low wall that separates the main seating area of the courtroom. She pulls back a huge thirty-by-forty-inch piece of foam board, keeping the front of it concealed. She walks over to me and turns it so only I can see it. I give it a quick glance, trying hard not to start laughing hysterically now that I see what she's doing, and give her a nod of acceptance. Leary's required to show me any demonstrative exhibits before she uses them.

  She carries the board back up to Dr. Summerland, keeping it concealed until she reaches him. She stands in front of the witness stand and says, "Dr. Summerland, I took the liberty of getting the original photos from the New England Journal of Medicine and had them blown up so you can see them more clearly. Now, I'd like to know . . . do these photographs accurately represent the results of a typical mastectomy that you would perform as a general surgeon, and without hope of having reconstruction done?"

  Leary turns the large board around so both Dr. Summerland and the jury can see it, and the two female jurors actually gasp.

  It's a huge blowup of a woman's chest after her breasts have been removed. Horrid, angry scars line the bottom, her nipples and areolae are gone, and most obvious are several large, pitted areas left behind.

  Dr. Summerland doesn't understand where Leary is going with this, so he gives a confident smile and says, "Yes. This is what a typical nonreconstructive mastectomy would look like that I would perform in my practice."

  "And your patients, you would actually have them prepared for these types of results, right?"

  "That's right."

  "They wouldn't be shocked to see something like this, because they really hadn't intended to have reconstruction and implants put in, correct?"

  "Yes, correct."

  "Thank you," she says and tactfully places the board against the edge of her counsel table so the jury can still see it. She turns away from Dr. Summerland and walks back behind her table and reaches over the low wall again, grabbing another foam board. She walks it to me, I glance at it and nod my head, and she heads back to Summerland.

  "Now, Dr. Summerland, you performed a breast-reduction surgery on my client, Jenna LaPietra. Correct?"

  "Yes, I did," he says confidently.

  "And as we discussed, you're not a plastic surgeon, are you?"

  "No, I'm not." Another cocky grin.

  "You don't have any advanced training like plastic surgeons do, say, in the contouring or shaping of tissue, do you?"

  "No," he says, his smile sliding just a tad.

  "You know what my client does for a living?"

  He nods but doesn't answer. She doesn't press him but instead asks, "You know she's a topless dancer?"

  "That's right," he says and actually sneers a little.

  "Let me show you what I've marked as Plaintiff's exhibit number two."

  Leary turns the board so Summerland and the jury get a simultaneous look at the huge color blowup of Jenna's chest. Summerland isn't affected by it. He's seen this picture before, so his face remains bland.

  The jury, however, is horrified. They wince and grimace, and one woman covers her mouth and turns her head away. Dr. Summerland still doesn't understand how horrible the results are.

  "Now, Dr. Summerland," Leary says politely, "what is this a picture of?"

  "That would be your client's chest postsurgery," he says calmly.

  "And is it just me," she asks sarcastically as she points to the other board that's resting against the table, "or do these results look a lot like those of the mastectomy photo we just showed the jury?"

  Now he gets it. I see understanding filter in.

  He starts stumbling. "Well, actually, you can see I left a lot of breast tissue in Miss LaPietra's case. She didn't want them totally removed, you see--"

  "And yet, the results look eerily similar, don't they?" she prompts, but doesn't wait for him to answer. Instead, she attacks. "I mean, look here at the craters left in Jenna's breasts. Same as on the mastectomy photo. And the scar contractions pulling the skin? Same as well, right?"

  "Yes," he says angrily. "Those do look similar, but there are a lot of differences if you want to--"

  "Dr. Summerland," Leary snaps at him, and his eyes widen in surprise, "can you honestly look those jurors in the face and tell them that these are acceptable results for a topless dancer? Well, for any woman, really, who wants to keep her breasts?"

  I look over at the jury and they're all glaring at him, daring him to say Jenna's results were acceptable.

  Leary will go on to grill Dr. Summerland for another three hours and twenty minutes, but this moment will mark the beginning of Dr. Summerland's breakdown into the worst testimony in the history of forever. He takes her attack so personally that he starts arguing with her. The judge has to reprimand him four times, even once calling a recess to dress him down in private.

  By the time Leary gets done with Dr. Summerland, I have to restrain myself from not standing up, putting my fingers in my mouth, and giving a wolf whi
stle, followed by a slow clap of respect. By the time Dr. Summerland gets off the witness stand on shaky legs, I know every single juror hates the man with an undying passion.

  I just hope they hold on to that feeling, because we still have days and days of trial to get through. This trial will go on for at least two weeks, maybe more. It's a lot of time for them to forget what an utter douche my client is. I hope they remember how badly he fucked up and don't focus instead on the testimony they'll end up hearing last.

  Because my witnesses will say that Jenna LaPietra was a paid prostitute.

  CHAPTER 21

  LEARY

  "Thank you, Dr. Calloway," I say politely as I sit back in my chair. "I have no further questions."

  Judge Henry looks over to Reeve. "Any re-cross, Mr. Holloway?"

  "No, Your Honor," he says with a polite smile. I didn't expect he would. Dr. Calloway is my expert witness, a general surgeon from Duke. During my direction examination of him, he told the jury in no uncertain terms that Dr. Summerland had no business whatsoever in attempting a breast reduction. He told the jury that general surgeons are not qualified to do that type of surgery. He told the jury this after he made it clear that he taught a course in advanced medical ethics for general surgeons at Duke, and that Dr. Summerland actually took that course a few years ago as part of his continuing-education requirements. I tried hard not to look at Dr. Summerland when Dr. Calloway actually pointed at him from the stand and said, "Dr. Summerland should remember that we specifically discussed the boundaries that general surgeons are not to cross."

  It was freakin' glorious.

  As expected, Reeve's cross-examination of Dr. Calloway was short. He did his best to poke holes in his firm stance, even getting Dr. Calloway to admit there was no law or rule against what Dr. Summerland did. It was an effective cross, as much as he could expect against this type of expert, but he knew not to push more when Judge Henry asked him if he had any further questions.

  The judge releases Dr. Calloway, who gives a polite smile to the jurors as he steps off the witness stand. I start to stand up to call my next witness, Dr. Franklinton, who's a plastic surgeon at Duke. His testimony is going to focus on how complex a breast-reduction surgery is, and how it's imperative to gently and delicately remove the tissue, paying fine attention to sensitive shaping of the remaining breast. I expect it will highlight just how inept Dr. Summerland was when he butchered Jenna.

  "Your Honor," Reeve says as he stands up and I turn to look at him in surprise, "may we take a small break before the next witness?"

  Judge Henry looks at me. "That's fine with me."

  "Then we'll take a ten-minute recess," Judge Henry says, and rises from his seat to probably take a potty break of his own. The bailiff escorts out the jury members, who look grateful for the slight reprieve in testimony.

  Reeve doesn't leave, though. Instead, he huddles at his table with Dr. Summerland, Tom Collier, and two of the other insurance representatives. I can't hear what they're saying, but it doesn't matter. I'm flipping through my notes to make sure I'm up to speed on everything I want to get out of Dr. Franklinton when he takes the stand.

  I get so immersed in my work, I jump in shock when Reeve taps me on my shoulder. I look up at him, immediately covering up my notes with my hand. It's not that I don't trust Reeve--it's just a habit I've developed in the courtroom. And to prove how much I do trust him, I remove my hand just as quickly.

  He gives me a tight look and says, "If you have a moment, I need to talk to you and Judge Henry privately in his chambers."

  Surprised but curious, I get up from the table and follow Reeve into the back hallway and to Judge Henry's office. Mary is not at her desk, but the judge's door is open and Reeve knocks lightly to announce our arrival.

  Judge Henry is sitting at his desk and looks up with a smile. "Come on in."

  We enter and Reeve closes the door behind us. He doesn't waste a moment's breath when he says, "Your Honor, in light of Dr. Calloway's testimony just now, as well as expected similar testimony from Miss Michaels's next two experts, my clients, Dr. Summerland and TransBenefit, have given me authority to make an offer to settle this case."

  My eyebrows raise in surprise.

  Not that an offer is coming in general. That often happens in the middle of a trial when the case is going especially well for the plaintiff.

  No, I'm surprised that an offer is coming in this particular case, since TransBenefit has been so adamant they won't discuss the possibility. I don't respond but wait for Reeve to lay out the terms.

  "They're authorizing me to offer five hundred thousand dollars to settle the case in its entirety--two hundred thousand in up-front money, and the remaining three hundred thousand in the form of an annuity administered by TransBenefit. Of course, they will also want Miss Michaels and Miss LaPietra to sign a confidentiality agreement."

  "That's quite a jump," Judge Henry says, and I couldn't agree more. It's a serious offer, but it's not the amount I want for Jenna. I'm prepared to also call to the stand a vocational-rehabilitation expert to discuss Jenna's unemployability, as well as a life-care expert and an economist to discuss the economic damages her inability to work will project out over the future. Their preliminary figures are in the seven-figure range.

  So, while $500,000 isn't anything to sneeze at, it's also a zero shy of what's really fair for Jenna.

  "Miss Michaels," Judge Henry says, "this is a good offer. Go talk to your client and discuss it. I think it's something she needs to seriously consider."

  I nod at the judge and Reeve and turn toward the door.

  "Oh, one more thing," Reeve says, and I can tell by the look on his face that he's hesitant to say what comes next. "TransBenefit wants me to make clear this is a one-time-only offer. If it's rejected, there won't be a counteroffer and the current offer will be pulled from the table."

  Wow. Hardball bastards. "Understood," I say, then I head out to find Jenna. I'm sure she's downstairs smoking.

  After a quick bathroom break, I catch her in the hallway outside the courtroom doors. I pull her away and am relieved that no one else is around, the jury having been called back in and seated in the box. I'm sure Judge Henry has advised them that the break has been extended, but he won't tell them we're discussing a settlement. He wouldn't want to bias the jury with that information.

  "We have an offer," I tell Jenna quietly, and her eyes widen.

  "How much?"

  "Five hundred thousand, with two hundred up front and three hundred paid in installments. But trust me, they'll pay the five hundred thousand in cash if we push them."

  Jenna nibbles on her lower lip while she stares at me. "That's a lot of money. What do you think we should do?"

  And here is where my job gets tricky. If it were my breasts that were mangled and my autistic son who was suffering because of my inability to earn a living, I would want more. I'm a risk taker by nature, and I'd tell them to shove it. I feel good about this jury. I feel great about this case.

  I would tell them to go fuck themselves.

  But this isn't my case. Those weren't my breasts, and I most certainly don't have an autistic child. I will go home every night, comfortable and secure, not having a worry in the world when it comes to paying my bills or covering medical expenses.

  "I can't tell you what to do, Jenna. I think this amount is unfair. It doesn't adequately compensate you. Hell, a good chunk of that money would be eaten up by reconstructive surgeries."

  Jenna shakes her head. "I don't need the surgeries. Every bit of that would go for Damien."

  I nod in understanding. And she will get every bit of it. When Jenna first came to me about this case, I immediately got Midge's approval to handle it pro bono so I wouldn't be taking a legal fee from the offer. But I still need to make sure that Jenna is properly advised. "Even so, five hundred thousand is not going to last your and Damien's lifetimes. It will provide you with less than half of what you're going to need to survive and pay
for his treatment."

  Jenna turns away from me and walks a few paces. Her hands come to her head and she rakes her fingers through her hair. Giving a sigh, she turns to me. "What's your honest opinion about how it's going?"

  "It's going well. The jury is with us, I believe. Summerland was horrible. Your testimony was fantastic. The experts are clear. I think they're going to find that Summerland was negligent in causing your injuries. The question, though, is what they'll compensate you. It could be more, it could be less. It just depends on how inflamed they are toward him."

  "Such a crapshoot," she murmurs to herself.

  "It is."

  Jenna walks up to me and takes my hands. "I can't repay you for all the hard work you've put into this case. Without you, I would have never been able to tell this story to a jury."

  "Jenna," I say quietly, "this is nothing. I would do this a million times over for you, because you deserve it. And let me tell you now, no matter what happens in that courtroom, I swear to you that I will not let Damien go without. If we lose, you do not have to worry about your child. I will always be there to help."

  Jenna shakes her head, denying my offer, but I squeeze her hands and tell her urgently, "Yes. I will always be there. Don't be afraid of the future."

  Tears spring to Jenna's eyes and she pulls me in fast for a hug. As she clings to me, she whispers, "Turn down the offer. Let's see what the jury will do."

  As I pull away, I search her eyes to make sure she's clear on what she's telling me to do. She looks back at me with resolute courage, and I give her a nod.

  "Can I go smoke another cigarette?" she asks.

  "Sure," I tell her. "It's going to take a few minutes to convey this to opposing counsel and the judge, and see if they stick to their guns and don't make a counteroffer."

  Jenna heads toward the elevator while I head for the side door that goes to the back hallway. As soon as I swing it open, I see Reeve standing there by himself, leaning with his back against the wall.

  His head swings my way and his eyes are worried. "What's she going to do?"

  I walk up to him, giving him a small smile, and say, "I'm sorry. She won't take it."

  Reeve turns his face away and mutters a curse. When he looks back at me, he reaches out and grabs one of my hands. Leaning in, he says in an urgent voice, "You need to take this offer, Leary. It's good money. It will give her a new life."