T. Bunn - The Great Divide

“So they rioted,” Marcus said. “So?”

“So the national party knows it’s sitting on a powder keg. They ordered the local militia to come down hard. And guess where all those poor joes wound up.”

“Factory 101.” He breathed. “Who runs it?”

“Now that’s an interesting question. About as interesting as whether or not they’re in cahoots with New Horizons. And the answer to both is: I don’t know. But I’m digging.”

Marcus found himself thinking of a little brown man with impossibly merry eyes. “Think maybe Dee Gautam might know?”

“Can’t hurt to give him another shout.”

Marcus hesitated, then found he had to ask. “Do you know what happened to his arms and thumbs?”

The response came swiftly. “Never had the courage to ask, don’t know if he’d say. Bet it hurt, though.”

Marcus swallowed on the thought of Gloria Hall. “A lot.”

When the lawyers finally were permitted to file in, Judge Nicols greeted them with, “I apologize for making you people wait. But there are certain bureaucratic hoops a new federal judge must jump through.”

They were seated in Judge Gladys Nicols’ new private chambers. The office was a full thirty feet long, her desk at the far end and flanked by the state and national flags. The judge was dressed in a formal gray suit that solidified her bulk. From his lone chair by the window, Marcus thought Judge Nicols held the bearing of someone with decades on the federal bench, rather than preparing for her first trial. To the right of her chair sat her chief clerk, Jenny Hail. To her left was seated the court reporter, steno machine at the ready.

Many Raleigh trial lawyers loathed Gladys Nicols. It was common rumor among the courtroom vultures that her appointment had come about because she was the right sex and the right color at the right time. Marcus had been before her on numerous occasions, and knew her to be a harsh tactician who brooked no malingering or grandstanding. She was often sharp-tongued and detested people who sought to instruct her on the law. She was known as mean, snippish, nasty, wickedly bad-tempered. Marcus had long since decided it was the result of having to deal with white Southern lawyers whose every word and gesture dripped with a desire to see this black female judge slapped into place.

Judge Gladys Nicols was a product of poor farming parents. By dint of driving ambition and scalpel-sharp intelligence she had lifted herself to the heights of UNC undergrad and Harvard law. She had returned to the South specifically because she wanted to make a name for herself as a Southern judge. Marcus knew this because she had told him. She made no bones about her ambition. She wanted to stand as a beacon for other young black women. She taught two classes each semester, one in judicial procedure at Duke Law School and the other in civil rights history to Carolina undergrads. She was tough as nails, and if she had a heart of gold she hid it very well.

Logan offered as sincere a smile as his battered features could manage. “May I offer my congratulations on your recent appointment.”

“Thank you.” She waited through the chorus of approval from Logan’s minions, then glanced at her watch and said, “We can adjourn this until after lunch or forge straight ahead.”

“We’re ready to proceed, Your Honor,” Logan responded.

When the judge’s gaze turned his way, Marcus handed her a slim file. “This is our list of requested subpoenas for New Horizons corporate officials.”

The strong features registered surprise. “How many are there?”

“Thirty-six. I realize this is more than the norm-”

“By a factor of ten.”

“Yes, Your Honor. But there are extenuating circumstances. All of the New Horizons board members and senior executives hold joint United States-Swiss residency status.”

That pulled her up short. “All of them?”

“Every one.”

Logan could hold himself back no longer. “That’s perfectly reasonable, Your Honor. New Horizons derives almost 40 percent of total revenue from its international operations. A number of these subsidiaries are incorporated in Switzerland.” He paused for a baleful glare at Marcus. “We continue to object to these proceedings, Your Honor. There has been no connection whatsoever drawn between the plaintiff’s allegations and my clients. We therefore move for a summary dismissal.”

Judge Nicols wore gold-rimmed reading glasses, which she lowered and stared over as she would a rifle scope. “No connection to the plaintiff’s allegations.”

“That is correct, Your Honor.”

“I seem to recall hearing how you told the magistrate there was no connection between your client and the Chinese factory. ”

Logan coughed, shuffled his feet. “That happened to be the best of my knowledge at the time, Your Honor.”

The dark gaze continued to hold him. “But now you concur that there exists a relationship between New Horizons and this”-she paused to check her notes-“Factory 101.”

“Yes, Your Honor. A business relationship. They make, we buy. Nothing more.” A swift glance in Marcus’ direction. “Nothing so preposterous as what the plaintiff’s counsel has tried to suggest.”

Judge Nicols turned her attention to Marcus, who countered. “We intend to prove the relationship extends far beyond mere trade agreements, Your Honor. And that New Horizons and Factory 101 did indeed collude to make Gloria Hall and her dangerous investigation vanish. The documents and depositions we have requested will prove this connection.”

The judge’s gun-barrel gaze swiveled back to Logan, who sneered. “These motions are nothing more than a fishing expedition, Your Honor. Mr. Glenwood doesn’t have a thing to offer at this stage, so he wants to go dig through my client’s records to try to come up with some dirt.”

“It seems to me our meeting before the magistrate documented the first level of proof,” Marcus countered.

“Of what,” Logan shot back. “Of sales between a Chinese factory and a U.S. company? Not to mention the fact, Your Honor, that the plaintiff’s evidence consisted of confidential corporate documents. I feel we have a right to know how he got his hands on them.”

Judge Nicols demanded, “Are you so moving?”

Logan’s wince showed he had been fearing that question. Marcus understood why. To say yes meant proceeding beyond the frivolous-claim dismissal. To say no meant putting all his eggs in one basket a second time. Which he could not risk doing. “Yes, Your Honor,” he reluctantly allowed. “We move to question the propriety of these documents. Are there employees illegally involved? Has the plaintiff been in contact with hostile unions?”

“Absolutely not,” Marcus responded.

“Your Honor, we have a videotape of Mr. Glenwood presenting himself at corporate headquarters, claiming to be an attorney representing an unnamed union!”

Marcus shot back, “Does your videotape also show how company employees demolished my vehicle and threatened my life?”

This time Logan’s pain was theatrical. “Your Honor, this is typical of the kind of case this man is trying to bring against us, full of absurd allegations and bald-faced lies.”

“Mr. Glenwood?”

“I wanted to see their reaction. One of the allegations we will prove is a pattern of violent past practices. I wanted to view this for myself.”

She stared at Marcus. Hard. “You went to New Horizons with the intention of deliberately provoking them?”

“I did.”

“Why?”

“I had not decided whether to take the case. I wanted to see if New Horizons reacted in a manner that would suggest they were capable of kidnapping and severely abusing a young woman.”