Whipped: An Arthur Beauchamp Novel(99)
Arthur paced the corridor, feeling uncomfortable with the media wolf pack over there, salivating for news. There was much stirring when Sam Puhl joined the plaintiff’s team. He would be eager for a quick settlement to protect the behinds of his two subpoenaed investigators.
Arthur returned to the nearby empty courtroom, where Margaret was alone, reading Alice Munro, Too Much Happiness.
She bookmarked her page. “What do you suppose they’re up to?”
“They’re wishing they’d brought a straitjacket for Emil.”
“Seriously.”
“Farquist is desperate to avoid public humiliation, so they’re likely struggling over the wording of a confidentiality clause.”
She frowned, and he hastened to explain: it was also known as a non-disclosure clause, a consensual gag order, common in litigation. Persons privy to the terms of settlement risked stiff monetary penalties for any breach, however careless.
“Why would I agree to it?”
“You needn’t, darling. But there may be profit in doing so.” Or not. He dared not remind her of her infamous laxness of tongue.
“All the profit I want is his complete fall from grace. He put me through hell.”
The burden of representing his beloved was weighing heavily on him. He must fully take on the role of dispassionate counsel.
“Margaret, you have the power, and maybe the right, to destroy Emil Farquist. That will happen if we deny them confidentiality. But that could mean dragging out these abysmal proceedings for months, maybe to trial and even appeal if they’re stubborn, and it will be painful and costly.” He spoke the next words with care. “You may be concerned about how the public views you.”
She looked at him thoughtfully, then said, “Okay, I hear you — bad optics. I’d be the vindictive, sharp-tongued witch out for revenge. Also, small potatoes in the context of a world facing flood and famine. I have better things to do.”
Thinking like the politician she was.
“I’ll take your advice, of course, darling . . . Darling — am I allowed to say that?”
Arthur laughed, relieved.
“So what kind of profit is earned by agreeing to non-disclosure?”
He was about to explain, but Cowper entered the courtroom looking exhausted. He beckoned Arthur, and they strolled toward the barristers’ lounge, keeping well away from the wolf pack.
“How did they get in here?” Cowper said, annoyed. “The building is closed to the public.”
“They talked their way past security. The deputy registrar doesn’t want to make a scene.” Arthur didn’t want to admit they’d followed him in. Or that he had not discouraged them. Cowper would think he’d invited them, a pressure play. Maybe it was.
They shared a few comments about their deplorable lunches; Cowper had suffered through a takeout pizza. Finally, Arthur said, “Where are we, George?”
“Very well, Emil remains convinced, if I may be blunt, that the rear end depicted in the beginning sequence is not his. We don’t believe Sabatino is a reliable witness. We will, of course, need to test the tape with our own experts. As you know, for every expert who has an opinion, there will be another who offers the opposite.”
Cowper remained deadpan but Arthur could tell his heart wasn’t in it — he’d promised Farquist to make this last, desperate pitch.
“I would truly enjoy taking this to trial, George. I can almost promise your client will be arrested for perjury after I have a go at him. What is your offer?”
“Although he is adamant that the tape is bogus, my client wishes to put this matter behind him. Each side to pay its own costs, no admission of liability, non-disclosure of the video recording and all evidence taken on discovery, and we will withdraw the suit.”
Non-disclosure was all that was left to salvage. The remains of Farquist’s good name.
Cowper added, “Mr. Sabatino will have to be a party to any confidentiality clause, of course.”
“Sorry, George, I can’t bind him to that. He is already committed to having a long sit-down with police investigators. With the video.”
Cowper sagged. “Well, that’s . . .” A search for the appropriate word. “Awkward.” He pressed his temples, as if to soothe a headache. “That can’t be avoided?”
“I gave them my word.”
It took Cowper several seconds to recalibrate. “Surely, they would be discreet. Nothing in that tape points to any criminal misbehaviour on Emil’s part. Politically damaging, maybe, but that’s none of their business.”
Cowper had been a fair and honest foe, and he didn’t deserve to be forced to his knees. Arthur was prepared to give him the small reward of confidentiality, for what it was worth, given Lou wouldn’t be bound. He would not mention Lou’s plan to write a tell-all memoir.
“Quite frankly, George, there’s zero advantage for us to agree to confidentiality. Emil Farquist’s sins deserve to be known: the perjury, entertaining a Russian informer with classified papers lying about, and, not the least of them, laying a false complaint against my wife and creating untold misery for her. Margaret declines to be vindictive, but she deserves recompense.”
“What are your terms?” A resigned tone.
“Non-disclosure of the evidence taken on discovery. Its transcripts to be sealed, not to be opened up except by order of a justice of the Queen’s Bench. Payment of the defendant’s solicitor-client costs on double scale. I’m afraid our investigator’s fees are quite handsome. You may be looking at, let us say, six hundred thousand dollars, but let’s peg it at half a million.”