T. Bunn - The Great Divide

Marcus repeated, “The gear comes from where, Mr. Southerland?”

“Factory 101, China.” The chairman wore a checked cashmere jacket, a hundred-dollar hair styling, and a St. Moritz tan. “As I have already explained, the distribution-center chief made a perfectly natural mistake when he did not realize where the goods originated. It is not our intention to-”

The judge broke in with, “Just answer the question, Mr. Southerland.”

“Factory 101,” Marcus repeated. He hefted the sweatshirt. The light caught the silver threads in the rainbow slash. “This sweatshirt came from there as well, did it not?”

“I just said that.”

“Yes, of course you did. And your product lines are all divided by factory, is that not correct?”

The eyes squinted, searching for the purpose behind the question. “I don’t follow you.”

“There is no overlap at all between factories, is there? What is produced by one factory is produced by no other.”

“That is standard company policy. Almost all textile companies-”

“Yes or no, Mr. Southerland.”

“Yes.”

Marcus gave Kirsten a quick nod. She was instantly on her feet and unwrapping the first group of posters. Along the railing she propped up a series of New Horizons Teen Gear advertisements.

Marcus picked up one of the shoes and approached the witness stand. “These shoes come from your joint venture with Factory 101, do they not?”

“I am not in the habit of being forced to repeat myself!”

Marcus remained unruffled. “Please answer the question, Mr. Southerland.”

“I just said so!”

“That is an affirmative answer?”

His face grew red with the effort of restraint. “All right. Yes!”

“Everything about them, right down to the design on the soles of the shoes, is copyrighted by your company, is it not?”

“Yes.”

“As a matter of fact, each component of your Teen Gear line is specially designed so that it is exclusive to your company, is that not right?”

“Yes.”

“So, for example, you have these distinctive star-and-rainbow designs stitched into the side of the shoe, branded into the rubber stripe around the base, etched into the sole, even woven in special silver thread into the laces. Is that not all correct?”

“You can see it for yourself.”

“Answer the question, Mr. Southerland.”

He turned his exasperation on the judge. “Your Honor, this is a complete and utter waste of my time.”

“If so, Mr. Glenwood is about to pay with his freedom and his career,” she responded dryly. “In the meantime, you are hereby ordered to answer counsel’s question.”

Southerland crossed his arms, clenched his jaw, said, “Yes.”

“And all of these components are produced at the Chinese factory and nowhere else?”

Logan jumped to his feet. “Your Honor, please. This has already been stipulated. The lawyer is badgering the witness.”

Marcus turned and stared at the judge. Just looked at her. It was enough. Judge Nicols responded, “The information is so stipulated and recorded, Mr. Glenwood. The items originate solely from Factory 101.”

“Thank you for the clarification, Your Honor. I now wish to show a brief segment of the digitized video, and present as evidence a still photograph taken from this twenty-second portion of the tape.”

“Once again I must protest, Your Honor,” Logan continued. “This is being done purely for its inflammatory nature.”

“Then Mr. Glenwood will shortly be halted in his tracks.” Judge Nicols nodded. “Proceed.”

Austin Hall and Charlie Hayes rose at his signal, and left the room. Together with the bailiff they wrestled the television stand back into the courtroom and slid the digitized tape into the VCR. Gloria Hall’s image sprang into cruel focus on all four screens. Austin remained crouched over the machine, seemingly untouched by the voice and the image. Only Charlie turned and looked at the New Horizons CEO. And gave him a death’s-head grin.

“Send money,” Gloria dully intoned, and at Marcus’ signal Austin hit the switch, freezing the image.

Marcus accepted the final poster from Kirsten’s hands, keeping it turned so that the picture remained facedown as Alma unfolded the easel.

Then one of the jurors cried aloud. She rose in her seat, pointed at the television screen, and shouted, “Look! It’s right there! It’s been there all along!”

The CEO squinted and leaned forward, searching for what he could not see.

Marcus turned the poster-sized photograph around, revealing a blown-up image of Gloria Hall. Kirsten passed copies to the judge and the defense. This time the entire jury box erupted. Followed by the entire courtroom.

Gloria Hall was bound to her chair so tightly the flesh of her arms and neck ballooned out around the bonds. She was fettered about her chest and neck and arms and hands with long cords. The cords were all made from uncut shoelaces bearing the New Horizons logo.

Marcus caught the movement just in time. He rushed over and steadied Austin with a hand on the man’s shoulder and a quiet, “Go sit down.”

Austin quivered taut and raging beneath Marcus’ hand. He showed the New Horizons chairman a feral snarl. James Southerland cowered in the witness box, recoiling as much from the photograph and the video image as from the man himself.

“Turn that off!” Logan Kendall’s cry was almost shrill. “Turn that thing off!”

“You just shut up and sit down!” Judge Nicols pounded for order, and turned her growl on Marcus. “Proceed, counselor.”

“So, Mr. Southerland,” Marcus said, guiding Austin back to the table and into his chair, patting his shoulder one final time. “It appears that we do in fact have a perfect connection between your factory, the video, and the missing young woman. Wouldn’t you say that was the case?”

The man looked as haggard as one who had just shaken hands with death itself. “I–I-I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“By your own admission, the laces that are keeping Gloria Hall captive are made by Factory 101 and nowhere else.” Marcus watched as Alma turned slowly, almost creeping about, then pegged the Chinese general where he sat. Marcus waited until he was sure it was a look and nothing more before continuing, “I could have the records read back to you if you wish.”

“It was … I don’t have any understanding … I wasn’t there … I haven’t been there in years.”

“But this is your joint venture, it is your product, it is your factory, is it not, Mr. Southerland?”

He pointed a finger at General Zhao. “That’s the man you have to ask. Not me! I don’t know what you’re talking about!”

“But I suggest that you did know, Mr. Southerland.”

“No! I didn’t-you want to blame somebody, go after Randall Walker! It was his plan!”

Marcus moved forward and stood so that Southerland had to turn toward the jury, or turn away. “I submit that you knew all along. You knew, so you had your people attack me at your Rocky Mount plant.”

Logan shouted so hard his voice cracked. “Objection!”

“Sustained.”

“You had Randall Walker scare off the first attorney the Halls hired by granting him a partnership. Is that not so?”

“Objection!”

“Sustained.”

“You had your people trap me here in the courthouse and beat me and break my arm. You tried to burn down my home.”

“Objection!”

“You ordered the murder of Ashley Granger, did you not.” He leaned up closer still, hissing, “Just like you ordered the murder of Gloria Hall.”

“Your Honor! I object to these unfounded accusations and incendiary theatrics!”