Sparring Partners(63)

“I know, I know. But they’re gonna be devastated when they leave here with nothing.”

“So you smell a big win for the home team?”

“Sure. Malloy got greedy and alienated the jury. You could see it in their eyes.” He nodded to the far end, toward the Brewsters. “But it’s not their fault. Let’s get them a million bucks to cover some of their expenses.”

Bancroft scoffed at the idea. “Malloy would just take all the money. Those poor folks wouldn’t see a dime.”

“It’s the fair thing to do, Luther.”

“I’m surprised at you. It was a trial, and since when are we concerned with fairness? This is about winning and losing, and we’re about to kick Malloy’s ass. Buck up, ole boy. This is hardball litigation and it’s no place for the sympathetic.”

Bancroft huffed away. The associate took one last look at the family, then followed his boss.

The Brewsters ate their sandwiches, in another world, oblivious to the conversation far down the hallway.





(15)


Rusty held a bottle of champagne and offered to pour more around the table, but everyone declined. So he filled his own glass for the last time.

Rocco stopped by and said, “Dessert, Mr. Malloy? Today’s special is chocolate mousse, your favorite. It is delicious.”

Ben grabbed his phone, gawked at it, and blurted, “It’s the clerk. The jury has a verdict.”

Dessert was instantly forgotten as the four exchanged looks. Rusty said, “Sorry, Rocco, we need to hustle back to court. The jury is ready.”

“Very well. I’ll fetch the bill.”

Rusty looked at his team and said, “That was quick, don’t you think?”

Their nervous glances said it all.

Thirty minutes later, they were in place at the plaintiff’s table, with the Brewsters close by. A door opened and the bailiff led the jurors to their seats. As they settled in, not a single one dared to look at the plaintiffs and their lawyers.

The judge pulled his mike closer and asked, “Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, have you reached a verdict?”

The foreman stood and said, “Yes, Your Honor. We have.” He handed a slip of paper to the bailiff who, without looking, handed it up to the judge. He read it without expression, and, taking his time, said, “The verdict appears to be in order. It is unanimous and it reads: ‘We the jury find for the defendant, GateLane Hospital.’?”

The courtroom was silent for a few seconds, until Mrs. Brewster collapsed into her husband’s arms. Rusty closed his eyes and tried to absorb the disaster. Then he glared at the jurors and wanted to lash out.

The judge said, “Both sides will have thirty days for post-trial motions. Again, ladies and gentlemen of the jury, thank you for your service. You are excused. Court’s adjourned.” He tapped his gavel and disappeared from the bench.





(16)


Kirk stood at his window, hands on hips, staring at the glass, staring at nothing, speechless. Diantha sat in one of his leather chairs, looking at her phone, as if the bad news might somehow change into something good.

Kirk mumbled, “Another two hundred thousand dollars down the drain. We can’t afford his career as a high-flying trial lawyer.”

Diantha said, “We have to keep him out of the courtroom.”

“We need to keep him out of this law firm. Any ideas?”

“Nothing short of murder.”

“I’ve thought about that too.”

Kirk turned and walked to his desk and fell into the executive swivel. He looked at her with disgust and said, “When is his next trial?”

“I don’t know. I’ll check the calendar. Hopefully it’s a few years from now.”

“At the rate he’s losing, no defense lawyer will offer him a dime in settlement. Would you?”

“I don’t know what I would do, Kirk. I really don’t. This place is spinning out of control.”

“Well, maybe so, but when you see the old man tomorrow you gotta keep things positive.”

“He’s not stupid. I’ll go tomorrow, Kirk, but never again. It’s up to you and Rusty to visit your father in prison. It’s not fair to dump it on me.”

“I understand.”

“Do you?” She got to her feet, walked to the door, and left without another word. Passing through the hallway on Kirk’s side of the firm, she caught a few glances from the staff. By now everyone knew that Rusty had bombed with another jury. It took only a matter of minutes for the news to spread. On his side of the building, things would be even gloomier.

Diantha needed to stay away from there. She had a desk covered with paperwork and her phone was ringing, but she needed to hide somewhere for a few minutes. She got on the elevator and punched the button for the seventh floor. When the door shut she closed her eyes and breathed deeply. A bell rang as she passed each floor. The first three were Malloy territory, the fourth was a real estate company, the fifth was a bunch of architects and accountants. As she went up and got away from the firm, the air seemed to lighten as the tension decreased. The seventh floor was a hodgepodge of small suites leased to engineers, insurance agents, and any number of professionals who came and went.

At the end of a long hall was the office of Stuart Broome, the unlicensed accountant who kept the books for Malloy & Malloy. Old Stu preferred the seventh floor because it was as far away as possible from the rest of the firm. He was not an elderly man but moved about as if he longed to be. He was sixty-two, to be exact, but with his unruly gray hair and white bushy eyebrows and waves of wrinkles across his forehead, he could easily pass for a man twenty years older. Tall by nature, but with a hump in his back, he worked standing at a treadmill desk that never moved. Someone should have suggested that Stu turn on the damned thing so he could burn some calories, as was the design, but they were not being burned and he had been adding at least five pounds a year for decades. With the potbelly up front and the hump in the rear, Stu was a model of human deformity and tried to conceal it under an oversized black blazer that he refused to take off. He wore it every day, along with a white shirt and the same black tie, same black trousers, and same unpolished black shoes.