Gray Mountain: A Novel(63)

“Sue them in federal court.”

Mattie pondered this for a moment and finally said, “I don’t know. I’m no expert on that type of litigation. You’ll have to ask Donovan.”

There was a knock on the door but neither made a move. It was after six, almost dark, and they were simply not up to another drop-in. Someone knocked again, then went away. Samantha asked, “So how do we proceed with his claim for benefits?”

“Are you taking his case?”

“Yes. I can’t walk away from it knowing what I do now. If you’ll help me, I’ll file it and go to war.”

“Okay, the first few steps are easy. File the claim and wait for a medical exam. After you receive it, and assuming it says what we expect, you’ll wait about six months for the district director to award benefits, which are about $1,200 a month now. Lonerock will appeal the award, and the real war begins. That’s the usual routine. However, in this case we’ll ask the court to reconsider in light of new evidence and seek benefits dating back to his first claim. We’ll probably win that too, and Lonerock will no doubt appeal.”

“Can we threaten the company and its lawyers with exposure?”

Mattie smiled and seemed amused by her response. “Some people we can threaten, Samantha, because we’re lawyers and our clients are right. Others we leave alone. Our goal is to get as much money as possible for Buddy Ryzer, not to crusade against crooked lawyers.”

“It seems like a perfect case for Donovan.”

“Then ask him. By the way, he wants us to stop by for a drink. All the testimony is in and the jury should get the case by noon tomorrow. According to him, things have gone his way and he’s feeling very confident.”

“No surprise there.”


They were sipping whiskey around a cluttered table upstairs in the war room, with coats off, ties undone, the looks of weary warriors, but smug ones nonetheless. Donovan introduced Samantha to his younger brother, Jeff, while Vic Canzarro fetched two more crystal tumblers from a shelf. To her recollection, Samantha had never tasted a brown liquor, straight up. There could have been a few, heavily mixed into a concoction at a frat party, but she had not been aware of it. She preferred wine and beer and martinis, but had always shied away from the brown stuff. At that moment, though, there were no options. These boys were enjoying their George Dickel straight, no ice.

It burned her lips and scalded her tongue and set fire to her esophagus, but when Donovan asked, “How is it?” she managed a smile and said, “Fine.” She smacked her lips as if she’d never tasted anything so delicious while vowing to pour it down the drain as soon as she could find a restroom.

Annette was right. Jeff was at least as cute as his older brother, had the same dark eyes and long unruly hair, though Donovan had tidied up a bit for his jury. Jeff wore a coat and tie, but also jeans and boots. He was not a lawyer, indeed according to Annette he had flunked out of college, but according to Mattie he worked closely with Donovan and did a lot of his dirty work.

Vic had spent four hours on the witness stand the day before, and he was still amused by his arguments with Strayhorn Coal’s lawyers. One story led to another. Mattie asked Jeff, “What’s your take on the jury?”

“They’re all in,” he said without hesitation. “Maybe with one exception, but we’re in good shape.”

Donovan said, “They offered half a million bucks to settle this afternoon, after the last witness. We got ’em on the run.”

Vic said, “Take the money, you idiot.”

Donovan asked, “Mattie, what would you do?”

“Well, a half a million is not much for two dead boys, but it’s a lot for Hopper County. No one on that jury has ever seen such a sum, and they’ll have a hard time handing it over to one of their own.”

“Take it or roll the dice?” Donovan asked.

“Take it.”

“Jeff?”

“Take the money.”

“Samantha?”

Samantha was breathing through her mouth, trying to extinguish the flames. She licked her lips and said, “Well, two weeks ago I couldn’t spell ‘lawsuit,’ now you want my advice on whether or not to settle one?”

“Yes, you have to vote, or we’ll cut off the booze.”

“Please do. I’m just a lowly legal aid lawyer, so I’d take the money and run.”

Donovan took a small sip, smiled, and said, “Four against one. I love it.” Only one vote counted, and it was clear the case would not be settled. Mattie asked, “What about your closing argument? Can we hear it?”

“Of course,” he said, jumping to his feet, straightening his tie, and placing his tumbler on a shelf. Along one side of the long table, he began to pace, staring at his audience like a veteran stage actor. Mattie whispered to Samantha, “He likes to practice on us when we have the time.”

He stopped, looked directly at Samantha, and began, “Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, a pile of money will not bring back Eddie and Brandon Tate. They’ve been dead now for nineteen months, their lives crushed out of them by the men who work for Strayhorn Coal. But money is all we have to measure damages in cases like this. Cold hard cash, that’s what the law says. It’s now up to you to decide how much. So let’s start with Brandon, the younger of the two, a frail little boy, only eight years old and born two months premature. He could read by the time he was four and loved his computer, which by the way was under his bed when the six-ton boulder arrived. The computer, too, was found mangled and without power, as dead as Brandon.”