Betrayed (Rosato & DiNunzio, #2)(52)

“Why don’t you believe it was her performance?”

“Because Morrell reviews her performance and his view is tainted, and any employee review is subjective in itself.” Judy glanced at her phone to make sure her mother wasn’t calling from the hospital. “Also, when I look at the personnel files of other women in the department, they tend to be reviewed more harshly than men would be in the same position.”

“Oh no.”

“Oh yes. That’s not easy to prove, but that’s what makes it a lawsuit. Conflict. Difference of opinion. Dispute. Understand?”

“Yes.”

“Bottom line, I’m going to soften Govinda up and see if I can get him to wobble and give up a little of what Morrell said. It’s a long shot because it would cost him his job, and he’s not going to admit it. Unless he’s drunk, which actually happened to me once.” Judy looked over as the buzzer sounded on her desk phone, signaling a call from the reception desk, and she picked up. “Yes, Marshall?”

“Opposing counsel and the witness are getting off the elevator right now. The court reporter’s already here. The boxes are in the conference room. What do you want me to do?”

“Please set us up with some coffee and send out for the good Danish, so they feel the love. I’ll come out and greet everybody.”

“On it.”

“Thanks.” Judy hung up, rising. She gathered up her file, laptop, and phone, checking the screen for the umpteenth time. “Let’s roll, little one.”

“Exciting!” Allegra popped to her feet.

“Not hardly,” Judy told her, but she was already skipping out the door.





Chapter Twenty-four

Judy tried to pick up the pace after the preliminaries, like name, address, and employment history, even though she already had some of the information from the personnel file. She was getting a feel for Devi Govinda, a somber Indian-American man in his mid-forties, with a stilted air and round, excessively vigilant eyes behind beaded, gold-rimmed glasses. His glossy jet-black hair was neatly trimmed, albeit thinning, and he was slightly overweight, so that his neck spilled over the stiffness of the light blue collar, which he had on with a worn patterned tie and a nondescript dark suit.

“Mr. Govinda, you work at the Narberth branch of PennBank, is that correct?” Judy continued, trying to find a rhythm to her questions. She’d started the way she usually did, with softballs, so she could get a lot of yesses in response and build a nice momentum. It wasn’t working so far because she couldn’t keep her eyes from straying to her phone or her thoughts from Aunt Barb, lying on the operating table only ten blocks away.

“Yes.”

“And what do you do at the branch?”

“Do you mean what is my job?”

“Yes.” Judy could see that Govinda had been well-coached and also that the cheese Danish wasn’t working its carbohydrate magic. His lawyer, Richard Kelin, was equally silent, a short, squat lawyer from Prendergast Manning, a notoriously jerky firm. He had on a dark suit, an Hermès tie with little orange H’s, and horn-rimmed glasses. His face was pudgy, and his gray-eyed gaze fixed outside the window, even though the view was only of the air-conditioning ducts and fans atop the building next door.

“I am a financial consultant at the branch.”

“Tell me what that means.”

“I’m not sure of your question.” Govinda pursed fleshy lips. “I don’t understand.”

“Sorry, perhaps I could be more clear.” Judy couldn’t find her groove. “What are your job duties as a financial consultant?”

“I sell various banking products to customers who are interested in instruments or potential investments over $100,000.”

“How long have you worked in the branch, in that capacity?”

“Five years.”

“And Linda Adler, the plaintiff, was a financial sales consultant in the Narberth branch, for the past three years. Is that correct?”

“Yes.”

“Let’s talk for a moment about the corporate structure at PennBank, just so I’m clear. The Narberth branch is one of fifteen branch banks in the Philadelphia area. Is that correct?”

“Yes, though we call it the Philadelphia Metro Region.”

“Thank you.” Judy made a mental note that Govinda was precise. She’d have to step up her game. The clock on the credenza said it was 9:25, so they were into her aunt’s operation. “And there are no other financial sales consultants in the branch. Is that also correct?”

“Yes.”

“How many licensed financial sales consultants are in the Philadelphia Metro Region?”

“Four others, five total.”

“How many are women and how many men?”

“Four men, one woman.”

“And what are their names?” Judy looked over as Allegra glanced up from her legal pad, then returned to her note-taking. It reminded her of the days when she’d sit next to Mary and they’d write each other notes on their pads. She wondered if that would ever happen again, but the answer was staring her in the face from the far wall of the conference room, where some boxes from the damages trials had been stacked, a cardboard wall of associatehood.

“Stan Barstal, Jerry Moore, and John Morales.”