Carrie Vaughn - Dreams of the Golden Age

If she trusted Anna this far, she had to trust her daughter’s instincts about this as well. But it wasn’t easy.

Out in the kitchen, the girls had finished breakfast and were gathering their things to head to school. The usual, perfectly normal weekday morning chaos of the house. Celia paused, just to listen—Suzanne clearing away juice and cereal, the girls arguing back and forth about who put whose uniform sweater where, and where their books were. Bethy was already at the elevator. Anna was moving more slowly, lingering by the kitchen table, rearranging books in her bag. The school uniform made her look younger, and Celia had to remind herself that she was almost an adult. Almost full grown.

“Hi,” Celia said. Then just stood, watching.

Anna looked at her sidelong. “Hey, Mom.”

Whew, deep breath, stay calm. “If you have time after school today—do you think we could have a talk?”

Her daughter froze, just for a moment. And what must she be thinking? She seemed to shake herself back to the moment. “Yeah, I can do that.”

“Good,” Celia said. Her relief was physical, the tension of weeks draining away. “Looking forward to it.”

Anna flashed a nervous smile. “That hearing about the lawsuit’s today, right? How do you think it’s going to go?”

“I think it’s going to be just fine. I expect the whole suit to get thrown out. We got some last-minute information that really pushed our case over the top.” Thank you. After school today, she’d be able to just say thanks.

“Good. That’s good,” Anna said, totally straightforward. She’d learned her poker face from her father, after all. “Well, good luck with it all.”

“Thanks. I’ll be glad when it’s over.”

“Don’t forget,” Anna said, “you promised a vacation when you’re done with all this lawsuit stuff. I’m holding you to it.”

“I haven’t forgotten.”

“Anna, we’re going to be late!” Bethy shouted from the next room.

“I’ll see you this afternoon,” Anna said, waving as she peeled into the foyer to the elevators.

Anna was going to be just fine. Maybe Celia wasn’t a terrible mother after all.

“Vacation,” Suzanne said, wandering in from the kitchen. “I like the sound of that.”

Celia smiled. “Yeah, so do I.”

“Is everything okay?” her mother asked, gaze narrowed.

“No,” Celia said, before she could edit herself. It just popped out. Then she realized that saying no was a relief. No, everything was not okay. She’d said it, it was out there. Good. “I have to be at court in an hour, and you know how I feel about court appearances.”

“And who can blame you?” Suzanne said, putting on a cheerful face. “I’m sure it’ll be fine.”

Celia sighed. She’d made it this far, she could get through today as well. Onward.

For a long time, Celia had hated courtrooms.

She still had bad dreams—hard to call them nightmares, when they were vague and nerve-racking rather than terrifying—about the trial of Simon Sito, the Destructor, where she’d been called as a witness and her brief foray into juvenile delinquency as one of the defendant’s hench-idiots had been exposed to the world. The revelation destroyed her budding relationship with Mark Paulson, damaged her friendship with Analise, and cemented her reputation in the city as the completely useless bag of flesh who’d failed her amazing parents, the Olympiad. Yet oddly enough, her testimony started to repair her relationship with her parents. They stood by her during those rough weeks. Arthur stood by her.

Courtrooms were fraught. On one hand, they were a symbol of bureaucratic tediousness. On the other, they destroyed—and repaired—lives. On the whole, she preferred that her confrontation with Danton Majors was going to take place in the formal, controlled atmosphere of a courtroom rather than come to a head in the kind of showdown that her parents would have faced back in the day, bolts of fire and laser beams blasting destruction across the sky. Courtrooms were always better battlefields, and she’d come to embrace them. Even though they still gave her hives. They smelled like paper and cheap floor polish.

Midmorning, Celia led her team into this particular courtroom like a general at the head of her army. Motions and countersuits, all lined up. She was high on painkillers and caffeine, but no one needed to know that. If this went as planned, she wouldn’t have to say a word. Just sit there looking serene and in control. Bored, even, if she could manage it. Without actually looking sleepy, which she might not be able to manage. Security wouldn’t let her bring one more cup of coffee into the courtroom, alas.

Danton Majors was in the gallery, seemingly out of innocent curiosity, but she thought he might look a tiny bit worried. He sat a little too still, and his gaze was a little too focused. He glanced toward her when she came in, and his reply to the bright smile she gave him seemed somewhat pained. One of his aides from the committee meetings had accompanied him, a young man—another monkey in a suit. Protégé, lawyer, secretary? Bodyguard? Or did Majors just like having minions around?

On the plaintiff’s side of the courtroom, Superior Construction made a good show of appearing to be legitimate. The central figure, a large man in a light gray suit, was the on-paper owner of the company. The gray-haired shark to his left was McClosky, of McClosky and Patterson. Celia’s team had learned that Patterson had retired five years ago, and McClosky maintained the skeleton of the law firm for exactly this sort of purpose—fronting shells, corporate smoke and mirrors. Right now, McClosky only had one client: Delta Ventures.

More men in suits accompanied them, giving every sign of presenting a strong front. Aides, clerks, additional staff, whatever. Records would show they’d been hired in the last month, about the time the initial suit was filed. Nothing in the up-front admissible evidence would show any double-dealing. Which was why Celia’s investigation had gone through back channels: payroll tax filings, building permits on record. Walk through the door of Superior, you’d find nothing but bare wooden struts holding up the pretty front.

This was all theater, anyway.

A bailiff called them to attention, and the judge entered. She was a no-nonsense woman who would get through this quickly and without fuss, Celia hoped. She declared the session opened, called opposing attorneys to the bench, gave instructions, papers were exchanged, quiet conversations held. The performance continued.

Her team was the best money could buy, but the secret to a successful business was that you couldn’t actually buy the best. You had to earn their loyalty by winning them over. By bestowing your own loyalty, by promising them you’d look after them, protect them, and then making good on the promise. Make it infinitely worth their while to do their very best work for you. Money had very little to do with those considerations in the end. Celia’s employees worked hard for her because they loved working for West Corp. They respected her. She worked hard to earn their respect. When her lawyers prepared their arguments and countersuit, they weren’t just doing it for her, they did it out of pride in the company. They felt like they had a stake in it all. Of course they worked hard.

Such a small investment of her own respect and loyalty, with such endless rewards. These hired puppets working for Danton Majors didn’t stand a chance.

Her frame of mind was solidly in a state of offense and attack, so she had to remind herself that West Corp was the defendant here, and she didn’t get to just stand up and reveal all. The case was read, antitrust complaints brought by Superior Construction, monopolistic practices, so on and so forth, suing for seven figures of damages and a stay on any bid made by West Corp or any of its subsidiaries.