William Bernhardt - Deadly Justice

“There’s no need for sanctimonious—”

Ben flung the report into Crichton’s face. “These ten pages are the documents you removed from the production to the Nelsons and their attorney. You misrepresented the contents of the documents to me, and based upon that misrepresentation, I got summary judgment against them. If the Nelsons had received these documents, as they should have, they would have blown me out of the water.”

“Litigation is a cutthroat business. We play hardball at Apollo. We have a duty to our shareholders—”

“This is the most cynical, cold-hearted exercise in unrestrained greed I’ve ever heard of! Corporations should use their vast resources to help people. Instead, you let this anything-for-the-bottom-line mentality fester until it creates monsters like Rob Fielder and the XKL-1.”

Crichton pushed himself out of his chair. “You’re so goddamn naive. This is corporate America, Kincaid. Everyone does it! Why do you think soft drink companies still use those bottle caps that poke people’s eyes out? Why do so few cars have airbags? Corporations don’t exist to contribute to the common good. They exist to turn a profit.”

“Well,” Ben said, “since you feel so righteous about this, you won’t mind if I take my information public.”

Crichton folded his hands in his lap and settled down. “All right. What do you want?”

“First, I want you to go before the Board and tell them the XKL-1 has to be scrapped, and all existing models must be recalled.”

“That would cost millions—”

“And you’ll do it! Or I’ll go public with these documents, and you’ll have consumer groups, government agencies, and probably a class action suit breathing down your neck.”

Crichton’s teeth rattled together. “Very well. What else?”

“Five million dollars to the Nelsons. No strings.”

“That lawsuit is over.”

“That lawsuit is over because you lied to me. If you hadn’t misrepresented the nature of the missing documents, we’d still be in court, and they’d be in line for one of Apollo’s quarter of a million dollar Christmas presents. Five million won’t make up for the loss of their son. But it’s better than nothing.”

“All right. What else can we do for you, Kincaid?”

“You can pay Gloria Hamel’s medical bills. Including her plastic surgery. And give her some money to carry her through this period of mourning and recovery. Two hundred thousand ought to do it.”

Crichton’s eyes widened. “Surely you’re not suggesting Apollo is responsible for what happened to her?”

“No, not directly. But she needs help and you can give it to her. Consider it compensation for all the misery you’ve inflicted since the XKL-1 was implemented.”

“Fine.” Crichton checked his calendar. “The Board meets tomorrow morning. I’ll present your package to them then.”

“I’ll be waiting to hear the result.”

“And if they refuse?”

“Then I go public with the documents.”

“You are a lawyer representing the Apollo Consortium. You owe us a duty of zealous loyalty. In fact, those documents are covered by the attorney-client privilege. It would be a gross ethical violation to disclose them to the general public.”

“I don’t give a damn. If the Board doesn’t cooperate, I’ll send copies to every newspaper in the Southwest.”

“I’ll see that you’re disbarred.”

“And I’ll see that you’re arrested. Negligent homicide. Aiding and abetting, at the least.”

Crichton laughed, but the laugh sounded very hollow. “That will never stick.”

“Do you really want to take the chance?”

There was a long silence as the two men stared at one another across a much too small expanse of carpet.

“Have you no sense of propriety at all?” Crichton asked. “No sense of loyalty?”

“To you? No.”

“You were hired to assist the Apollo Consortium.”

“I wasn’t hired to be a patsy.”

A hideous grin spread across Crichton’s face. “You still haven’t figured out why you were hired, have you?”

Ben raised his chin. “What do you mean? I was hired to work on your litigation team.”

Crichton shook his head. “You stupid fool. Blinded by your own egotism. Surely you didn’t believe all those nauseating compliments I paid you?”

“I…don’t know what you mean…”

“You were hired because we learned you had represented the Nelsons on a prior personal injury matter. Period. We were searching for something we could use against them in their suit against Apollo—something to force an early settlement and ensure their silence thereafter. We learned from the court records that your lawsuit for the Nelsons involved mental injuries as well as physical. If we could find a doctor’s report, or perhaps a deposition transcript, indicating that one or both of them had mental problems…well, obviously, that would undermine their credibility. It would reinforce our argument that the Nelsons were paranoid, unbalanced people desperately searching for a scapegoat.”

“Surely you didn’t think I would give you access to any incriminating records from a prior lawsuit.”

“No, I didn’t. Not a self-righteous snot like you. Not if you knew. But you may recall, one of the first things Howard Hamel did after offering you this job was to arrange for the transfer of your files.”

Ben pressed his fingers against his temples. “That’s why your attitude toward me changed after I won the lawsuit.”

“Did you think I would shovel out that nauseating crap forever? It made me sick, believe me. But we needed your files. Or so we thought. Little did we know, you were such a stupid, unquestioning soldier, so eager to please your new masters, you won the case on your own. You didn’t need the medical files; you did it with some fancy legal footwork. No matter—the result, was the same. But as soon as the case was over, I assigned you to Harry and put you on the track the hell out of here.”

Ben could feel the bile churning in his stomach. “You’re disgusting, Crichton. And the worst thing is, you’re a perfect exemplar of this whole disgusting operation.”

Crichton made a tsking noise. “Sticks and stones.”

“I’ll be calling tomorrow as soon as the Board meeting ends. And I’ll be calling from the lobby of the Tulsa World .”

“I’ll be waiting with bated breath.”

“You may consider this my resignation.” Ben stood up and started toward the door.

“Fine. Of course, we’ll give you the customary two weeks.”

“Don’t bother,” Ben said, “I’ll leave today.”

54

“SERGEANT TOMLINSON, I’D LIKE you to meet my friends Ben Kincaid and Christina McCall.”

After Mike introduced them, Ben extended his hand to the lean figure lying on the St. John’s hospital bed. He still had tubes attached to his nose and mouth, the lower half of his body was in a cast, and dark circles underscored his eyes. His coloring was fairly normal, though, and he appeared strong. “Glad to meet you.”

“I want to congratulate you on that astonishing undercover work you did,” Ben said. “You showed a lot of promise as a homicide detective.” He nudged Mike. “Didn’t he, Mike?”

“Huh? Oh, yeah. I suppose.”

“I should be congratulating you,” Tomlinson said. “I understand you found the creep after I let him get the best of me.”

“You saved a girl’s life by doing what you did.” Ben kept his inevitable tag to himself: saved her life for another three days.

“How are you feeling?” Christina asked.

“Much better,” Tomlinson replied. “Still sore in places. Legs ache when I try to move them. If you see my wife outside, though—don’t mention it to her. Karen tends to worry.”