T. Bunn - The Great Divide

“I object,” Logan said, but weakly. “This is further trial by ambush.”

“It has taken us this long to unearth these documents, Your Honor. As I said, it is all newly discovered evidence.”

“I am going to allow it,” Nicols said.

“Your Honor-”

She stopped Logan with one black-robed arm. “Proceed, Mr. Glenwood.”

Marcus returned to the witness stand and walked the witness carefully through all the documents, concluding with, “So what we have here are official documents lodged with the federal government in Bern. These documents state that a Swiss subsidiary of New Horizons is now the forty-nine-percent owner of Factory 101 in Guangzhou, China. The Chinese signatory, representing the controlling interest in the joint venture, is a certain Zhao Ren-Fan. And that payment for New Horizons’ share was made in the form of equipment and sales contracts.”

“Yes,” Hans Klein emphatically agreed. “All is stated exactly so.”

Marcus decided to risk one further question. “Can you tell the court why New Horizons would choose to go this route and incorporate in Switzerland rather than in the United States?”

“Objection. Requires conjecture on the part of the witness!”

“I submit this witness is an expert in this field, Your Honor,” Marcus responded, “and can reply from a wealth of experience.”

Judge Nicols leaned over her desk and asked the young man, “Do you fully understand the nature of this question?”

“Oh yes, judge.”

“Very well, you may respond. But only to the exact question.”

Marcus repeated, “Why would the company choose to incorporate in Switzerland?”

“Usually there are only two reasons,” the man replied brightly. “Because our taxes are very low and all corporate records are held as secret documents-they are not shared with anyone in the company’s home country, not even the tax authorities. Not by us, I mean. What they choose to do themselves is their business.”

“No further questions.” Marcus retreated from the witness and the one question he could not ask: How did the young man know Dee Gautam?

Logan gathered his forces and fought back. “Mr. Klein, what you have in front of you are photocopied documents, is that not correct?”

“Yes.”

“Have you ever seen these documents before this morning?”

“No.”

“Can you guarantee their authenticity?”

“No, well, perhaps, but it is hard, you see-”

“Could these documents not be forged, Mr. Klein?”

“It is hardly likely, because-”

“Yes or no, Mr. Klein: Could these documents be forged?”

“Yes, of course, anything is possible.”

“Yes, of course, they could be forgeries.” Head down, Logan tracked his way toward the jury box, as though intent on ramming home the fact. “How much business background do you have, Mr. Klein?”

“I am a graduate of the Bern School of Diplomacy, a part of the University-”

“A diplomacy school. So you are a civil servant. A federal bureaucrat. With no actual experience in business whatsoever. Is that correct?”

The young man’s eager demeanor was swiftly fading. “I went straight from school into our foreign service.”

“Do you know anything whatsoever about New Horizons’ operations in North Carolina, Mr. Klein? Are you aware they employ four thousand people in this state, most of them in one of the poorest areas in the Southeast United States, and are in fact the largest employer in the region?”

“I’m sorry, I don’t-”

“Are you aware of the charitable activities this company undertakes on behalf of young people playing organized sports nationwide?”

“I have seen their advertisements,” he responded lamely.

“Their advertisements. How nice. Is it not true, Mr. Klein, that all you really know about this company is this one document, shown to you by the plaintiff, possibly forged, given to you for whatever motive the plaintiff might have dreamed up?”

“I …Yes, I suppose-”

“No further questions, Your Honor.” Logan wheeled about and stalked by Marcus’ table. As he passed he landed a single flaming glance, a swift warning shot across the bow. Marcus understood perfectly. Logan was bloodied, but far from beaten. This was only the first round.

" You’ve made a total shambles of this from the beginning.” The silver-maned gentleman at the head of the table glared down at Randall. “Which I suppose should come as a surprise to no one present.”

“The cameras aren’t rolling, Sidney, and the press isn’t here.” Randall played at a nonchalance he did not feel. “You can stuff that censure back in your pocket.”

“Now look here!” Before being forced into retirement, the chairman of the China Trade Council had run a seventeen-billion-dollar corporation. He was used to people jumping when he barked. Randall’s slow drawl left him bilious. “I don’t take that from anybody, especially not some gun-for-hire, two-bit shyster like you!”

“Calm down, Sidney.” This from the deputy chairman, himself the former chief executive of a Fortune 50 company. “This is getting us nowhere in a hurry.”

The opulent suite of Washington offices would have better suited a private club than a firm of lobbyists. But this was no common lobbying group, and the men gathered here were not mere mortals. The table was ringed by nineteen retired executives, all white, all over sixty, whose retirement packages had all exceeded twenty-five million dollars.

The China Trade Council had started life as a quasi-official arm of the International Chamber of Commerce. It had soon come to the council’s attention, however, that it could operate far more effectively if it were independent. And secretive. Its chieftans included the top executives of over three dozen of the largest corporations in the United States. Membership in the council cost them 250,000 dollars per year. The board itself was selected on the basis of contacts within the current administration. Members of the council’s board accompanied the President on trade missions, attended top-level Commerce Department strategy sessions, represented American industry before the Senate Foreign Relations Committee, slept in the Lincoln bedroom. As far as Randall Walker was concerned, these men had held power for so long it had rusted along with their brains.

The council’s chairman attempted to rein in his rage. “I told those bozos at New Horizons they were making a mistake to entrust you with something this explosive.”

“What would you expect,” grumbled another board member. “Coming from a company that sells glow-in-the-dark tennis shoes.”

“And pays a million bucks a year to some yahoo because he can jump,” sneered the deputy.

Randall ignored the jibes because he was concentrating on another sound, the only one he could clearly hear. The China Trade Council’s boardroom table was ringed by the noise of sharpening knives. “New Horizons pays their dues the same as you. They appoint their representative, the same as your own companies. That representative happens to be me. As per our rights as a council member, we are requesting your help.”

“Help that should have been requested weeks ago! Back before this lawsuit became a public brawl!”

The deputy turned his placating tone on Randall. “You know how we hate publicity. Especially when the Vice President has a trade mission in the pipeline.”

Randall smiled, and wished he could reach over and strangle the man. “I find it absolutely amazing how everybody at this table has such perfect hindsight.”

The chairman barked, “I told you from the beginning to destroy the Hall girl’s files.”

Randall sighed. “And just exactly when was that supposed to happen? Back when we didn’t know there were any files, or after we realized she must have locked them in a safety deposit box?”