T. Bunn - The Great Divide

He said, “I don’t want you to go back to Washington.”

“All right.” The words were a whisper, nothing more. But the hand still clutched his jacket, and when she blinked, she pushed out another tear. One Marcus felt might just be for some reason other than mere sorrow.

“Mr. Glenwood, you may now conclude your closing remarks.”

“Thank you, Your Honor.” Marcus walked over in front of the jury box, picked up the podium, and moved it to one side. He now stood open and defenseless before the gathering of twelve. Behind and to his right stood two easels, one holding the photograph of Gloria Hall laughing in her evening dress, the other displaying the blowup made from the video, of the same woman tied and beaten and drained of life and hope.

“Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, I will not take long. This is not the time for histrionics. Nor is it the time for mourning. Not yet. The memorial service for Gloria Hall cannot begin until her body is recovered.”

“Objection! Those comments are the worst sort of inflammatory-”

“Overruled.”

Marcus continued, “The judge in her instructions will charge you with regard to the specific legal issues. You will also have certain factual questions called interrogatories spelled out. These you will answer yes or no. We believe there is substantial evidence justifying a yes vote on each and every one of these questions. After you have answered these questions, you will be asked to assess damages.

“We shouldn’t be swayed by glib apologies. The defense’s claims of ignorance have come only after their earlier strategy of denial did not work. The judge will instruct you that ignorance is not an acceptable defense, not if they had the means to know. Which New Horizons most certainly did. They could have made a difference. They could have stopped this series of actions long before Gloria Hall ever traveled to China. They chose not to. Instead, they empowered their partners.”

“Objection!”

“Overruled.”

“They empowered General Zhao with their willful ignorance.”

“Objection!”

“Overruled.”

“We therefore ask that you find all these defendants liable. All of them.” Marcus looked toward the defense table for the first time since beginning his arguments. “Those present and those not present.”

“Your Honor, I protest.”

Judge Nicols showed a genuine reluctance to even turn his way. “Mr. Kendall, do not even begin to go down this road.”

“What road might that be, Your Honor?”

Her voice grated with irritation. “The road,” she replied, “of thinking you can disrupt the plaintiff’s arguments with unnecessary objections. Try it and I will find you in contempt.” She did not even wait to see if he took his seat again. “Proceed.”

Marcus had stood inspecting his shoes throughout the exchange. When he glanced up, he could see by the look in their eyes that the jury agreed with him on some very deep level. This time he sensed that these were not people who needed further convincing. So he dropped everything he had planned to say except, “We must address the issue of damages. That’s really all I feel I should do at this point. Anything more would only detract from what you already know.”

To his left stood a third easel, this one holding a white drawing board. As he turned toward it, he caught sight of Judge Nicols glaring down at Logan, holding him in his seat. He picked up the grease pencil and wrote the single word actual . “We are just going to assign a number here because we have to. How anyone could set a dollar value on the life of a young woman so full of joy and intelligence and promise is beyond me, so I’m not even going to try.” He wrote out the number, and said as he did, “So we’ll just say one hundred thousand dollars.”

Below that he wrote a second word, punitive . “Punitive damages are damages in addition to the actual damages. Here there can be some differences in culpability. You can ask yourselves: Who acted in a malicious manner? Who was more directly responsible for Gloria’s kidnapping and imprisonment and torture, and is therefore subject to the more substantial punitive damages?

“You may decide that the U.S. company merely colluded in making this happen. I suggest to you that the evidence has shown otherwise. I propose that their attitude has been very consistent. Whenever anything appeared to threaten their market share or profits, their response was whatever it takes . They have never objected in any way to the actions of their partners. They are and always have been concerned with one thing only-their bottom line. No concern was given to the people who suffered at their hands, directly or indirectly.”

Beside the first word he wrote New Horizons . “Their annual statement shows that the company’s turnover last year was just over one billion, eight hundred million dollars. Their profit before taxes was about three hundred and twenty-seven million. They have had a run of several good years, and they currently hold over two hundred million dollars in cash and other liquid assets.” He wrote these figures on the board, then stepped back, giving them all a chance to ponder what they meant.

He then stepped up to the easel and wrote China . “This morning’s Wall Street Journal stated in a front-page article that U.S. financial institutions currently hold frozen Chinese government assets to the tune of eighty-one billion dollars.”

“No!” The sound tore through the silence like a sword. All eyes turned to where the general stood behind the defense table, his fist held like a gun aimed straight at Marcus. It was the first time Marcus had ever heard the man speak. Only he was not speaking now. He roared the words over the sound of Judge Nicols gavel. “You cannot do this! It is against international law! You must be stopped!” He turned to the judge and shouted, “You have power! Stop this insane man!”

“You sit down!” When the man merely dropped his arm, she pointed the gavel at a uniformed officer. “Bailiff, if he won’t be seated, cuff him to the chair.”

“Ah, you are crazy.” He rammed himself down, muttering furious incantations.

Marcus returned to his board, started to speak, shook his head. He turned back to the jury and merely said, “Thank you.”

Judge Nicols allowed the moment to linger, as strong a courtroom accolade as Marcus could ever recall receiving. She then turned to Logan and said, “All right, Mr. Kendall.”

He sprang up as though ejected from his seat, and strode to center stage with Suzie Rikkers in fretful attendance. Together they dismantled the easels and stowed the photographs. Logan did not wait for Suzie to resume her seat before launching into his rebuttal. “Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, the question now is the same question we started out on. That question is: What in the world are we doing here? What in the world have my clients done to justify this circus?”

The silver pen was out and waving like a sparkling baton, but the jury had the look of a band not certain which tune they should be playing. “These guys have drawn up some charges and thrown them against the wall to see what sticks. But you mustn’t forget, ladies and gentlemen of the jury, that they have a serious credibility problem here. They have no reliable witness tying anybody to the alleged incident. Remember that. It is crucial.”

He paced toward the empty witness box, made a fist and planted it softly upon the railing. He said a final time, “No credible witness. No one to tie the abuses you have seen to my clients.”

He then lowered his head a fraction and bulled forward. “I have a story I could tell you, a tragic tale about a factory with conditions so bad it would make you weep to hear about them. Only this factory was not over in China. No. It was here in North Carolina, and the case against this particular factory was tried just twenty-three years ago. Here in our beloved state, ladies and gentlemen of the jury. Less than a quarter of a century ago, we ourselves had factories that were run like prisons.”