Randy Singer - The Justice Game

Why indeed? Jason thought.

The memo on Marcia Franks, Juror 7, was even more troubling. Nothing in Rafael’s investigation was wrong: Marcia was a registered Democrat with no religious affiliation, had her kids in a private academy, and proudly displayed her Obama sticker.

But what Rafael Johansen’s original report did not contain caused Jason to go weak in the knees. He had been set up. There was no longer any doubt about that.

He glumly read through the details. Marcia Franks had been through a nasty divorce more than ten years ago. She had accused her husband of hiding assets but could never quite prove it. There had been an extended custody battle, and it looked like Marcia had been the loser, receiving joint custody until their son turned sixteen, at which time he had decided to live with his father. Marcia Franks would hate Chief Poole, a man who would undoubtedly remind her of her own ex-husband.

Jason slumped in his chair, the stark reality of his dilemma hitting home. Luthor was playing it smart. Neither of these jurors had a thing in their background that would disqualify them from serving. But the toxic mixture of Chief Poole, Marcia Franks, and Rodney Peterson would guarantee only one result.

Jason could see the endgame now. If Judge Garrison didn’t grant the Motion to Strike, money would flow into short sales of gun-company stocks and put options-options that would become incredibly valuable if the stocks went down.

The justice game was in full swing. And the house held all the cards.

That evening, Luthor ran the figures one last time. Luthor had already established a number of offshore companies to hide the millions of dollars that would be flowing in when the gun companies-MD Firearms in particular-began to collapse. After Ed Poole took the stand on Monday, Jason Noble’s case would tank and the stocks would nose-dive. With any luck, Luthor’s investments would more than double.

Luthor had also considered a worst-case scenario. Plan B was premised on the unlikely scenario that Jason Noble might try to play the hero and report the blackmail scheme to the authorities. By manipulating the paperwork and forging signatures, Luthor had ensured that ownership of the offshore companies would lead to none other than Jason Noble and Kelly Starling.

Luthor knew the authorities were naturally suspicious of blackmail claims. Many times, the “victim” was, in fact, the mastermind behind the crime, setting up an elaborate scheme to bilk innocent third parties out of their cash, much like guilty mothers who tried to blame a kidnapper for the “disappearance” of a child. The feds had learned to put the person reporting the claim on the short list of suspects.

Luthor would help that predisposition along by planting some subtle references to the offshore companies in Jason’s and Kelly’s e-mail histories. There would be just enough of a trail that the feds could piece it together. Luthor would walk away with the money, but the feds would think Jason and Kelly had fled the country and were now spending their millions under new identities in exotic locations. Everyone would marvel at the audacity of the young lawyers’ plan. They would become the Bonnie and Clyde of the twenty-first century.

Rumors would surface about the two lawyers reappearing in this country or that country, but the rumors would be false.

The sad truth was that under Plan B, neither Jason Noble nor Kelly Starling would ever be heard from again.

Jason tried to focus on preparing for the Motion to Strike hearing, but his heart wasn’t in it. He kept checking the Kryptonite blog, though he knew his name wouldn’t be there. At least not yet. His mind wandered to LeRon’s family-their shock if they ever learned that their son had not been the one driving the car on the night he died. Facing LeRon’s parents was a prospect worse than facing jail time.

“How could you let us live with this for ten years?” they would ask.

The other picture that wouldn’t leave Jason’s mind was of Chief Poole taking the witness stand. Kelly Starling’s cross-examination would be devastating. Anger would smolder just beneath the surface for Marcia Franks, Juror 7. Worst of all would be the look on Case McAllister’s face as the trial went up in flames.

Plus, the more time Jason spent researching the issue, the more he realized that Judge Garrison wasn’t going to grant the Motion to Strike. Jason still couldn’t get around the precedent of Farley v. Guns Unlimited. Garrison had ruled against Jason on this same legal issue at the Motion to Dismiss hearing earlier in the case. Unless Case’s friends in the Virginia legislature had convinced Garrison to change his mind, the case was going to the jury.

Jason’s spirits were buoyed a little when Andrew Lassiter and Bella returned with the feedback from the shadow jury. They were split four to three in Jason’s favor after the opening statement. One juror had then switched to the plaintiff’s side after Blake Crawford’s testimony, but one had left the plaintiff’s side after the testimony of Agent Treadwell and was now undecided. The net result was a virtual deadlock after the plaintiff’s evidence-not a bad place to be for a defense lawyer.

Lassiter had a three-page list of suggestions that they discussed until about 11:30. Jason tried to focus on the details, but in reality, the minutiae of the case no longer interested him.

When Jason decided to pack it in for the night, Bella went into mom mode.

“Are you eating anything?” she asked. “You look awful.”

“Yeah. I had a club sandwich.”

“A trial is a long campaign,” Bella lectured. “Not a single skirmish. You’ve got to rest, and you’ve got to eat.”

“Good night,” Jason said.

Instead of going straight home, Jason decided to stop by his father’s hotel. He couldn’t explain why he felt this need to sit down and talk with his dad- really talk with him-but right now Jason was operating on emotion, not logic. The right brain had taken over.

He had decided to put it all out on the table-from Luthor’s first e-mail to the impact of the investigation his dad had just concluded. Jason was ready to suggest that they do the right thing, though he feared his dad would resist it.

In a way, Jason didn’t really care anymore. He was so tired of carrying this weight alone, so desperate to talk with someone about it, so sick of waking up and wondering if perhaps it had all been a bad dream, of wishing the nightmare that controlled his life would finally go away.

The desk clerk at the Holiday Inn Express dialed his dad’s room, but there was no answer. Jason tried his dad’s cell phone-still no answer. Jason pleaded for his dad’s room number so he could go and knock on the door, but the clerk refused, citing hotel policy. With no other options, Jason settled in at a table in the hotel lobby and waited. His guess was that his dad was out on the town.

It was 1:30 before his dad staggered in through the lobby door. Jason had seen his dad like this before, the unsteady gait and the faraway look in his eyes.

Jason was out of his dad’s line of sight and thought about just watching his dad stagger to the elevator so he could leave without saying anything.

But that was the whole problem. Avoidance. Procrastination. Running from the truth.

“Dad,” Jason said.

His father stopped, startled. He looked at Jason, as if seeing a ghost. “Did you get the stuff I left in your office?” his dad asked, leaning back.

“Yeah. Can I talk to you for a minute?”

His dad sneered and chuckled a little. “A little late for talk, isn’t it, Son?” He was speaking louder than normal, and Jason knew immediately that this was not the time.

But when would be the time?