Brad Meltzer - The Tenth Justice

At approximately nine in the morning, the restless crowds were finally led into the building. While the groups were herded through the Great Hall and two separate metal detectors, Ben and Lisa walked straight into the main courtroom. “I love this,” Lisa said as she watched the lines of tourists who were slowly being seated.

Ben was hardly enthusiastic to see Charles Maxwell’s impending victory, but he had to acknowledge the excitement of a decision day. Reporters swarmed into the tiny press area on the left side of the courtroom. It was the only place in the room where observers were allowed to take notes, although there were no recording devices allowed. Armed guards escorted tourists and other observers into the twelve rows of benches in the center of the room, where they all eagerly awaited the arrival of the justices. Everyone spoke in hushed whispers, which added a buzz of energy to the room. On the right was a seating area reserved for family and friends of the justices, as well as a small private area for the Supreme Court clerks.

“They’re all sheep,” Ben said, looking at the packed courtroom. “They just come to see the spectacle and then they leave. They don’t care about the consequences. To them it’s just a tourist attraction.”

“Lighten up,” Lisa said. Still thrilled by the pomp and circumstance, she watched the clock tick toward ten.

Ben fixed his eyes on the marble frieze over the main entrance, which the justices faced. It displayed the Powers of Evil-Corruption and Deceit-offset by the Powers of Good-Security, Charity, and Peace, with Justice flanked by Wisdom and Truth.

Following Ben’s gaze, Lisa asked, “So, does art imitate life?”

“Funny,” Ben shot back.

At exactly three minutes before ten, a buzzer summoned the justices to the conference room, where they prepared to enter the courtroom. Behind the burgundy velvet curtain, the justices ceremonially shook hands with each other. It was a custom instituted by Chief Justice Fuller early in the Court’s history, to show that “harmony of aims if not views is the Court’s guiding principle.” At precisely ten o’clock, the marshal banged his gavel, and every person in the room rose to his feet.

“The Honorable, the Chief Justice and the Associate Justices of the Supreme Court of the United States!” the marshal announced. Within seconds, the nine justices strode through openings in the curtain and moved to their respective chairs.

No matter how many times she saw it happen, Lisa was always awed by the simultaneous arrival of all nine justices. “I love this,” she whispered to Ben. “It’s like watching the arrival of the All-Star team.”

“Shhhh!” Ben said, unable to remove his eyes from center stage.

The room faced the nine chairs of the justices. Made of matching black leather, the chairs were specially designed to fit each justice’s particular body type. As the justices took their seats, the marshal announced, “Oyez! Oyez! Oyez! All persons having business before the Honorable, the Supreme Court of the United States, are admonished to draw near and give their attention, for the Court is now sitting. God save the United States and this Honorable Court!” Once again the gavel fell, and everyone took his seat.

Chief Justice Osterman sat in the center seat. “Today we will be handing down the decisions in United States v. CMI and Lexcoll, as well as Tennessee v. Shreve. Justice Blake will be reading both of our decisions today.”

“Thank you, Mr. Chief Justice,” Blake responded. Appointed to the Court nearly ten years ago, Blake was a South Carolina judge whose Southern drawl was still as strong as the day he first took the bench. Primed for the CMI decision, the spectators held their collective breath. Reading from the prepared statement sheet, Blake said, “In the case of State of Tennessee v. Shreve, we find for the plaintiff and uphold the decision of the Supreme Court of Tennessee.” Knowing full well that the crowd was starving for the CMI decision, Blake took his time announcing the findings of the Court.

When Blake finished the Tennessee case, he sat back in his chair and shifted his weight. Clearing his throat, he reached for one of the pewter mugs that were in front of every justice. He poured himself a glass of water and prepared to read the next case. Wiping the corner of his mouth with a handkerchief, Blake smirked. “In the case of United States v. CMI and Lexcoll, we believe that although the two companies will become a major communications conglomerate, there is no predatory conduct with the intent to monopolize. For this reason, the merger of the two corporations does not violate the Sherman Antitrust Act. We therefore find for the defendant and affirm the decision of the Court of Appeals.”

A sharp murmur shot through the crowd as observers acknowledged the cunning of Charles Maxwell’s recent decision to increase his holdings in Lexcoll. Then, seconds after the decision was read, the Clerk’s Office turned off its intercom to the courtroom and notified the Information Office that the decision had become public. Immediately, the seven-person staff of the Information Office handed out copies of the official decision to the assembled reporters who waited in the basement office, while two computer staffers posted the decision on various legal computer networks. Inside the courtroom, the print media took notes on the mood of the justices. Outside the Court, at least two dozen television reporters vied for stand-up space, hoping to be the first to break the story on air. By the time Justice Blake had finished explaining the Court’s reasoning, more than 3,760 people had their own copies of the decision, while 6 million people had heard the outcome of the case. As the marshal officially closed the session, the media were exhausted, Charles Maxwell was a genius, and Ben was devastated.

“Crap,” Ben said as he and Lisa walked through the mob of people exiting the courtroom.

“Why are you surprised? You’ve known the outcome of the case for months.”

“Let’s just get out of here,” Ben said, pushing his way through the crowd. As they swiped their I.D. cards through a small machine, two bulletproof doors opened, and the co-clerks were granted access to the first floor’s private office area. Taking one of the less-trafficked staircases, they walked upstairs and returned to their office. “I just can’t believe it,” Ben said as soon as the door closed behind him. “Maxwell becomes a captain of industry because a schmuck law clerk couldn’t keep his mouth shut.” Taking off his suit jacket, he hung it on the back of his chair. “Maybe Eric was right. Maybe I should go to the press.”

“No way,” Lisa said. She grabbed a brown folder from her desk and walked to the back of the office. Turning on the paper shredder, she fed the entire stack of paper to the machine. She never destroyed her old versions of an opinion until the opinion was actually announced. “First, you have no proof, so they’ll think you’re crazy. Second, if they do believe you, you’ve just sacrificed your entire career.”

“But Maxwell would be revealed.”

“Are you crazy? You’d give up your life just to be spiteful?”

“It’s the right thing to do,” Ben said, slumping on the office sofa. “I can’t find Rick; we may never see him again; it’s impossible to track him. It’s the only way to resolve this mess.”

Lisa walked over to the couch and stared down at Ben. “What the hell is wrong with you? You’re acting like the whole world is about to end. It was a mistake. You blew it. You got conned. But you didn’t do it on purpose. You were outsmarted-”

“And that pisses me off,” Ben shot back, sitting up straight.

“Is that it? You’re mad because someone finally outsmarted you? This whole feeling-sorry-for-yourself deal is based on the fact that you were intellectually beaten?”