Randy Singer: Fatal Convictions

This was the room where Alex had rehabbed just last year. The room where Nara Mobassar had walked out of his life, leaving him confused and melancholy. Alex smiled to himself when he thought about that day. It might have been the drugs, or the intense emotions of the case, or the fact that he had come so close to dying. Whatever the reason, his reaction to Nara’s confession and departure confirmed to Alex that he should never try to make major life decisions while semiconscious and lying in a hospital bed.

At the time, Alex had desperately hoped Nara would not go back to Beirut. He had asked her to stay. Somehow, he had thought, the two of them could make it work. In hindsight, he recognized just how incompatible they would have been. And the more he thought about her deception, the more he realized that she had probably never cared for him as much as he had cared for her.

Alex and Khalid had stayed in touch. The imam had published his book and was now a leading voice in the effort to discredit those who had hijacked the Muslim faith with their violent interpretation of jihad. Nara had returned to America only once, to testify at the sentencing hearing for Fatih Mahdi. The jury had given Mahdi multiple life sentences without parole; his case was now winding its way through a labyrinth of appeals.

During Nara’s visit, Alex and Shannon had eaten lunch with Nara and Khalid and had listened to Nara’s recounting of her advocacy work in Lebanon. Alex was happy for her, and they parted with a polite hug. But the spark was gone. Alex had moved on. He sensed that Nara had as well.

They promised to keep in touch. But the only time she popped into his mind was on days like today, when he headed to Room 4154. And even now, he had no regrets about the direction his life had taken.

Alex Madison had never been happier. He had left the practice of law and thrown himself into his work at the church. Over the past year, the small congregation had turned into a medium-size fellowship, with all the good problems that accompanied growth. At first Alex felt guilty leaving his grandfather’s firm. Slogan number ten on his grandfather’s list came to mind often: If you’ve been called to be a lawyer, don’t stoop to be a king. But eventually he realized that the sentence really wasn’t about practicing law at all. It was about finding your calling-the one thing that God created you to do.

And Alex had found his.

Rosa Gonzalez, the patient in Room 4154, was a wiry woman with a swollen face and the usual assortment of tubes hanging from her body. Given the amount of painkillers flowing through her veins, she was surprisingly lucid and talkative. She opened up to Alex about the challenge of raising her two sons, and she teared up when she admitted that she didn’t know what she would do now.

Alex stayed ten minutes longer than he had planned and assured Rosa that everything happened for a reason. He said it with the conviction of someone who had been in that very bed, recovering from serious trauma himself. He told Rosa as much, and he prayed with her before trying to leave for the third time.

“Wait,” Rosa said. “I thought I recognized you. You’re that lawyer who defended the Muslim guy. I knew I’d seen you before.”

“Guilty,” Alex said. He always blushed a little when people recognized him like he was some type of celebrity. It was happening less and less these days.

“That case was incredible,” Rosa said.

Alex hoped Rosa wouldn’t want to spend another five minutes talking about the details of it. Everybody had an opinion. There were some who still believed Khalid was guilty.

“Do you think you could take my case?” Rosa asked. “I was thinking about hiring this guy who called me earlier today, but I’d rather have someone like you.”

Alex thanked her for the compliment and reached into his coat pocket for a Madison and Associates business card. Just because Alex had left the firm didn’t mean he could no longer share in the profits. He handed the card to Rosa and told her that she should never hire somebody who had the audacity to call her at the hospital.

“The least he could do is show up in person,” Alex joked. But his humor was lost on his new friend. Rosa took the card and put on her reading glasses.

“She’s the best lawyer in America,” Alex said proudly. “Maybe the world. She helped me out in that case we were just talking about.”

“Oh yeah, I remember her.” Rosa held the card between her thumb and forefinger, staring at it through her glasses. “She was some kind of gymnast or something. But the name doesn’t ring a bell.”

Alex couldn’t resist a small grin as Rosa scrunched her forehead, as if trying to remember, then read the name out loud. He liked the way it rolled off her tongue.

“‘Shannon Madison, Attorney at Law.’”