T. Bunn - The Great Divide

But he had no choice, for when he opened the door and stormed the inner sanctum, he found Randall seated at the coffee table with a silver-haired couple. Logan held Randall with his gaze, and said simply, “Get them out of here.”

“Really, Logan,” Randall drawled, trying for a light tone. “There are better ways to get my attention than-”

“Glenwood came up with yet another surprise,” Logan snarled. “You and I are going to have it out-right here, right now. This is your last warning.”

Randall seemed to deflate, all the bonhomie and superiority flowing out with his sigh. He looked at his secretary crowding into the doorway behind Logan and said, “Perhaps you’d be so good as to show my guests down to Sandra’s office.”

The two silver heads turned as one. The male client had the cultured tone of trust funds and genteel afternoon teas. “Really, Randall. This won’t do.”

“I’m sorry, Stanley. Truly I am.” Randall struggled to his feet. “But we have an ongoing crisis here that I cannot entrust to anyone else.” When the two had left, Randall returned heavily to the sofa. “Have a seat.”

Logan remained firmly planted where he was. “Marcus Glenwood came up with documents that tie New Horizons to official complaints rising all the way to the White House, Randall. The White House.”

The older man’s gaze seemed to go vacant. “Oh my.”

“The judge has slapped a ten-thousand-dollar-per-day penalty on the State Department until the depositions are received. She has put off further testimony until Friday, at Marcus’ request. He could have asked her to tango and she’d probably have agreed. She didn’t even notice when I waived my right to cross-examine the witness.”

“Yes,” Randall said quietly to the empty space before his eyes. “I imagine Judge Nicols was rather irate.”

“Is that all you’ve got to say?” Logan had a sudden urge to lift the coffee table and send it crashing down upon this pompous balloon in a three-piece suit. “Do you have any idea what you’ve done?”

“I can only imagine-”

“No! If you did, you’d find some hole to crawl into and die!” Logan shouted the last word so loudly it seemed to stretch his throat out of shape. Not that he cared. “I fought my way out of South Baltimore, made it to the top of my law-school class, worked hundred-hour weeks, made partner, and for what? So some slimeball like you could come by and set me up for Marcus Glenwood to use as target practice?”

Randall drew his gaze upward, focused with effort, and waved vaguely at the chair opposite him. “Please sit down, Logan.”

Logan reared back and kicked the chair so hard it catapulted over the coffee table and cracked the wall paneling. The sound reverberated like thunder. Beyond the closed door, voices rose in strident concern. Logan lowered his face until it was inches from Randall’s, a fear of litigation the only thing that kept him from tearing the man limb from limb. “My reputation was on the line here, and what happens? My client puts me in the position of lying before the court again! And this time in front of a sitting jury!”

“Logan, you have-”

“If Nicols gets it into her skull that I’ve been intentionally holding back, she’ll have me disbarred!” He wiped the spittle from his chin with a shaky hand. “I’m walking. I’m off the case. I’m calling the paper and making a public proclamation. I’m telling everyone who’ll listen how I’ve come into evidence that makes me suspect that my client has not only been lying, but they might actually be guilty. And then I’m suing you, Randall. I’m going to have you stripped down to your sorry silk shorts and kicked right out on the street.”

Randall slowly shook his head, defeated not by Logan but by whatever it was graying his cheeks. “You’re not going anywhere.”

“Watch me.”

“Believe me, Logan. This is the case you’ve always dreamed of.” But there was no pleasure to the announcement. Only defeat. And worry. “I’m sorry to say.”

Logan realized his chest was hurting. And his foot from kicking the chair. “I’m listening.”

“We told you nothing because there was nothing Marcus could know.” Randall’s voice had the sound of reeds rattling in the wind, toneless and weary. “We used your ignorance like a firewall. One that could only be breached by Marcus having information he could not logically possess.”

“But he did, Randall. He did.”

“Yes.” Accepting the news aged him further still. “And what he doesn’t have yet, he will soon. He must. He’s gone too far not to come up with it all.”

“I’m not convinced of anything except you’re a lying dog.” But the wind had left Logan’s sails, and he knew his voice revealed it. “And I’m still planning to walk and sue unless you can convince me otherwise.”

Randall did not seem to hear him. “Marcus is going to hit the core issue, and at the rate he’s digging it won’t take much longer. When that happens, you and your career are both going to be catapulted into instant stardom.”

Logan backed up three paces, leaned upon the corner of Randall’s desk, and crossed his arms. “I want it all. Everything, right down to the final word.”

Randall made a vague effort at flattening his vest against his hollowed chest, and said simply, “Get ready for the surprise of your life.”

Marcus spent Wednesday and Thursday tending to legal matters that had been left abandoned since the trial began. Charlie Hayes arrived and remarked over the strange man gardening in October, then set to work beside him. Marcus waited for a call from Kirsten and ached mildly at her continued absence. Questions about Gary Loh and other secrets came and went like shadows beneath windswept trees. Even so, at times he felt ready to let the mysteries lie unresolved, if only he could have her nearer in body and spirit.

The News and Observer made much of Tuesday’s courtroom disclosure, and on Thursday morning Marcus fielded calls from both the Washington Post and the Atlanta Constitution . It took the Richmond paper until that afternoon, and the Charlotte paper did not call until he was preparing to leave for dinner. He answered with patient thoroughness, going through all he was able to substantiate by public testimony. Yes, New Horizons had undisclosed international subsidiaries. Yes, it appeared that there was some hiding of profit from the tax authorities. Yes, they were reviewing allegations that the company operated offshore sweatshops. Yes, there were indeed other cases that detailed how the company used underage, underpaid workers in Southeast Asia and exposed employees to cancer-causing materials. Yes, he had written documents to back up these claims. No, he could not make any comment with regard to the missing woman, but they were welcome to call and interview her parents.

Thursday evening he dined in with Charlie and Boomer and Libby Hayes and their eldest son, back from Wake Forest for a long weekend. They ate in the formal dining room off Spode dinnerwear custom-made with an angry Carolina ram’s head delicately painted upon every plate, saucer, cup, and bowl. Boomer made much of Marcus’ new housemate, a man whose name Marcus did not even know, who continued to sweep each room of the house daily for bugs of the metallic species. Charlie laughed much and ate little. Marcus realized that none of them wished to disturb the fragile evening’s tranquillity with anything so onerous as the truth about Charlie’s illness. Marcus marveled at their easy laughter, the friendship, and the tight bonds of a family facing something so painful they could not even bring themselves to discuss it. Instead, they showered Charlie with every possible opportunity to laugh, to quarrel, to shine. Marcus found himself with little to say, he was so caught up in observing a spirit he had assumed was lost and gone forever.