T. Bunn - The Great Divide

“Your Honor, please, this is all news to me.”

“Is it.” The judge’s gaze sought to peel back the man’s skin. “Is it, indeed.”

Logan glanced at the file in his lap. “I respectfully request time to prepare a rebuttal.”

“Motion denied,” Willoughby snapped.

“Your Honor …” A single glance was enough to reveal that further entreaties were pointless. “I object to opposing counsel’s possession of confidential company documents.”

“Overruled.”

Marcus unzipped the gym bag and delved inside. He came up with a sheaf of folders, one set for the judge and another for his opposition. “Your Honor, these are my motions for evidence, disclosure, and witnesses respectively.”

“Fine.” Willoughby settled a proprietary hand over the pile, and announced to Logan, “You are hereby granted three days to respond.”

“Three days!” Logan’s shriek half-pulled him from his chair. “Your Honor, that is utterly-”

“You demanded a swift pretrial hearing,” Willoughby said, his gaze as hard as his voice. “You got it. Three days.”

Logan Kendall stalked the length of the conference room at Kedrick and Walker. Walls on either side of him were floor-to-ceiling glass. The inner glass overlooked the reception area. The outer wall looked out to the Research Triangle Park, which from this viewpoint appeared as virgin green. Logan saw none of it. He paced along the inner glass wall, roaring blindly, seeing none of the fearful glances cast from outside. The reception area was packed. Every eye was upon them. Every single one.

Logan could not have cared less. “How could you have done this?”

“It was a terrible mistake.” Randall Walker occupied the hot seat, the middle station on the table’s opposite side. “I offer my most heartfelt apologies.”

“Like that’s going to change a thing now.” Logan turned and shouted, “What possessed you to instigate such a totally asinine maneuver? And at my expense?”

“It was a mistake.”

“It was more than that, buster! It was an absolute total shambles!”

“Because of me.”

“I’ve got half a mind to bring suit against you for false representation. We’re talking my reputation here!” Logan reached the end of the room and punched the oiled wood paneling. Turned and stalked again. Suzie Rikkers was the only other person in the room. She sat at the far end of the table and tried not to flinch every time he glanced her way, every time he paced in her direction. “I sat there and told the magistrate exactly what you told me. You know what I said?”

“That New Horizons and Factory 101 had no connection whatsoever.” Randall Walker appeared painfully contrite. His coat was off, his collar unbuttoned, his tie down two notches. “A terrible error in judgment. I freely admit it.”

“You instructed me to go in there and grind Glenwood to dust. Fine. No problem.” Logan paced the chamber as he would a boxing ring. It was good Randall remained so remorseful. Otherwise the man would have long since been knocked over the ropes. “Only you give him a gun, load the ammo, aim it for him, and …”

Logan halted. Midstride, midbreath. Just stopped.

“It was absolutely the worst judgment call of my entire professional career.” Randall extracted a handkerchief from his jacket pocket and mopped his brow. “Terrible.”

Through the fog of his rage, Logan saw his surroundings for the first time. He checked the way Randall was seated, the open curtains, the watching throng. And understood.

“As a result, I have held you up for public ridicule,” Randall went on. “It was a calculated risk. One that backfired horribly.”

Logan’s rage drained away. He nodded. Public ridicule demanded public contrition. Which Randall had skillfully arranged. This was not a conference room. It was a stage. Logan was expected to rant and rage. Word would get out, both of how he cowed the big man, and how Randall then begged him to stay on. All on Randall’s terms. Word had to spread. A young partner from another firm blows in and publicly demolishes Randall Walker? Within the Carolina legal fraternity, this was headline news. Word would get back to Judge Willoughby. Logan’s standing would be restored. Blame would fall upon Randall Walker.

Which meant there was a purpose behind this carefully orchestrated performance.

Logan inspected Randall, took in the dramatic precision of his expression, the carefully disheveled appearance, the crumpled handkerchief, the abject tone, the contrite way he said, “What a chaotic mess I’ve made.”

Logan stalked around the table and pulled out a chair next to the man himself. Moved in close. Knees almost touching. And said simply, “All right. The show’s over.”

Randall jerked back as far as his chair would allow. “I beg your pardon?”

“You heard me.” Logan settled one foot behind Randall’s chair leg, locking it in tight. He felt Randall try to push away, saw the uncertainty flash across those polished features. Spotted the instant Randall realized he had lost control. Felt the first bit of pleasure since the debacle in the magistrate’s office. “Question one: Did you arrange this to get me off the case?”

Randall sighed his acceptance of the new situation. “Absolutely not.”

Logan felt the eyes still on him. Good. This was now his aria. The rest had just been the warm-up. “You hired me to go after Marcus. Does that still stand?”

“Most definitely.” Randall’s voice had lost its abject tone. And his expression had altered. Logan realized it was the first time the man was treating him not as a tool, but as an equal. “That is our express goal.”

“All right. Here’s how it’s going to work.” Logan moved closer still, until his knees struck the corners of Randall’s chair. “From now on you are going to walk the straight and narrow with me. Clear so far?”

“Yes.”

“Good.” There was no need for volume. Nor a need to laden this ultimatum with doom. Logan had his own theatrical tools, honed before hundreds of juries and hostile witnesses. “You are going to supply us, your defense team, with everything we need to prepare and win this case. Starting with the absolute truth.”

“Yes.” Randall tried to push his chair away. “All right.”

Logan halted the motion by setting his hand upon Randall’s armrest. “And you are going to present to me one of the senior board members of New Horizons. Not just some PR dodo. Somebody who has full signatory powers.”

Randall stilled. “That is not going to be possible.”

“Why not?”

“The board is meeting in Geneva.”

It was Logan’s turn to back up a fraction. “Geneva, as in Switzerland?”

Randall gave a tight nod, then chose his words carefully. “The international division of New Horizons is incorporated in Switzerland. They oversee all twenty-nine foreign operations from there. Once each year, the entire board gathers in Geneva for a detailed overview.”

“When are they returning to this country?”

Randall met Logan’s gaze square on for the first time since he had drawn himself up close. “They are in Switzerland.”

The conversation between Randall Walker and Hamper Caisse, which began immediately after Logan’s departure, did not go well. “What do you mean, you didn’t find anything?”

“That’s not what I said.” The little gray man droned so softly and subtly it was easy to believe he had nothing to hide, nothing whatever to do with anything evil. “I’m telling you there is nothing to find. Nothing.”

Only today Randall was not willing to slide under the man’s quiet spell. “Well, is that a fact.”

“That’s what you pay me to deal in. Facts.”