M.J. Rodgers - Baby Vs. The Bar

“Yes, Your Honor,” Marc said as he stood at the plaintiff’s table. “Dr. Westbrook, do you think you will have a change of heart and at some time in the future wish to have your son meet the Demerchants?”

“Absolutely not.”

“Why?”

“As I have said before, even if I inadvertently received David Demerchant’s sperm—and I’ve seen no real proof of that—I have no intention of sharing my son with the family of some stranger. And that, Mr. Truesdale, is all the Demerchants are to me and my son—strangers.”

“Thank you, Dr. Westbrook. That’s all I have.” Marc sat down once again.

“You’re excused, Dr. Westbrook,” the judge said.

“I’d like to resume my examination of Stanley Binick now,” Marc said.

The judge glanced at her watch. “You may resume your examination after the lunch break. Court is adjourned until two o’clock.”

As Remy vacated the witness chair, Louie Demerchant grabbed hold of Marc’s suit sleeve.

“Go after her, Truesdale. I want to see that boy.”

Marc mentally took back everything he had previously thought about Remy Westbrook helping their case. In his eagerness to win this suit and see Binick pay, he’d forgotten about the emotional impact of this woman’s testimony on his client. That damaging impact wasn’t worth another million or another hundred million.

“Mr. Demerchant, please don’t put yourself through this,” he said. “Binick is just trying to give you false hope.”

“I don’t know that for certain. Neither do you, Truesdale. And you must admit, the woman seems to be telling the truth.”

“Still, it’s only Binick’s records that tie her to David. Even she doesn’t believe—”

“I don’t care what she believes. I have to know. Go after her, Truesdale.”

“You heard what she said. She’s not going to let you see him.”

“Offer her what you have to. Do what you have to, but get her to change her mind! I must see that boy!”

“You can’t know if he’s David’s just by seeing him.”

“I’ll know,” Louie Demerchant said with all the proud illogic of a hopeful great-grandparent, grasping at the smallest straw.

Marc shook his head, face-to-face with the futility of arguing with a man who was currently fully tanked up with emotion and running absolutely empty on reason. “All right. I’ll go after her and see what I can do.”

“Good man,” Demerchant said as he clapped Marc on the back.

Marc silently cursed himself for being a sap as he headed toward the back of the courtroom.

Nothing about this errand was going to be easy. Even getting close to Remy Westbrook was a monumental task. The hallway outside the courtroom was a mob scene of reporters pushing cameras and microphones at the lady as she tried to weave her way out. Marc watched and listened and waited for his chance.

“Dr. Westbrook, won’t you take a moment to talk to us?”

“No. I’ve been drawn into this spotlight against my will and I refuse to remain in it a second longer.”

“What name did you give David Demerchant’s son?”

“I didn’t have David Demerchant’s son.”

“What is your son’s name?”

“Westbrook.”

“You’re going to throw away a billion dollars?”

“Please, let me pass.”

“Are you really planning to keep the Demerchants away from your son?”

“Excuse me, please,” she said, still maintaining her mellow tone as she squeezed forward.

She squirmed through the crowd, pushed open a hallway door marked Women, and disappeared quickly inside. The sign on the door immediately halted the male reporters just outside it. They set their cameras down to wait.

Marc saw his chance and took it. He dove through the throng. Then, much to everyone’s surprise, he burst through the door with the Women sign on it.

He knew this door. It was the one he had come through this morning. Despite its outside labeling, it led to an exit stairwell as well as to the ladies’ room. Marc suspected the former was where Remy was really headed.

The moment the door closed behind him, he heard the quick click-clack of her high-heeled shoes on the metal stairs about a flight and a half below. He had been right. He hurried down the stairs after her. But even in those heels she moved fast. It took some effort to catch her.

“Dr. Westbrook, I have to talk to you,” he called.

Remy had always prided herself on keeping her cool, but this untenable situation was sorely testing her patience. She recognized the arrogant attorney’s voice right away. She kept moving down the stairs as fast as she could as she sent her response back to him. “No.”

His words followed her, as did the sound of his footsteps.

“Dr. Westbrook, I’m sorry about your being dragged into all this. Believe me, I’m on your side. I don’t think your child is David’s, either. I agree that Binick probably selected your record from his files only because the timing would sound right to the jury. He’s just using you and your child in order to try to lower the settlement Louie Demerchant will get in his suit against Bio-Sperm.”

Remy halted on the next landing and whirled on him. “If that’s really what you believe, Truesdale, why did you insist on so ruthlessly exposing my personal life on the stand?”

“Because I thought you were lying. At first.”

His deep-set, cobalt blue eyes stared at her as they had since the moment she had stepped into the courtroom. Their focused intensity was laser blue hot. His body was a tall, lean inverted triangle in a perfectly cut dark blue suit. The stairwell lights lit the thick polished brass of his hair, a color that perfectly matched his far-too-brassy manner.

But the smile he flashed her now was pure charm and overlaid that hard, finely chiseled professional face with an impossibly engaging light of boyish sincerity.

He was so obviously one of those men gifted from birth to simply fly over those obstacles that clobbered the rest of humanity. She thoroughly resented that in him. But resisting that surprisingly boyish smile was something even she was finding very difficult to do.

“Why did you think I was lying?” she asked.

“I thought you were in on this nasty scheme to get Louie Demerchant to think he has a great-grandchild. Binick knows Louie Demerchant would love to believe it’s true. He’s playing on the old man’s emotions, banking on the false hope working to his advantage. If the jury thinks there’s a great-grandchild, Binick believes they might deny Louie’s claim to damages or, at least, lower the damages.”

“I...see. Well, I’m sorry for Mr. Demerchant if that’s what Binick’s doing, but none of this has anything to do with me. Now, I really must go.”

As she turned, she heard the stairwell door a few flights up swing open. The pounding of the quickly descending footsteps told Remy that the news reporters were hot on her heels again. Should she take a chance and try to outrun them? If only she had time to change back into the running shoes stuffed in her shoulder bag!

She felt Marc’s hand on her arm.

“They’ll be here any minute,” he said. “This is the third floor. Duck in here and you can take the elevator down the rest of the way. That should throw them off.”

She nodded and sailed past as he pulled the door open for her. She got her bearings quickly and headed directly toward the third-floor elevators.

As soon as she reached the circle of elevators, she pressed the Down button. She felt Marc Truesdale move behind her, and then his hand was on her shoulder. She turned at his touch.

“Dr. Westbrook, I need to talk to you.”

His hand felt solid and strong and fired tiny trickles of warmth through her shoulder. She knew she could step back and shake it off. But she didn’t. He seemed to be on her side now. She decided she could forgive his earlier transgressions.