William Bernhardt - Deadly Justice

“Thanks, Hamel,” Crichton said. “I’ll take it from here.”

“Okay. Catch you later, Ben.” Hamel left the office.

Ben took the chair the woman had vacated.

“Sorry about that business with Shelly,” Crichton said. “Embarrassing to walk in on something like that, I know.” Crichton was an attractive man who wore his age well; the flecks of gray at his temples only accented his full black hair. He tossed himself into a chair and propped his feet up on the desk. “I hate it when a member of my staff isn’t performing up to snuff, but at the same time, I don’t believe in mollycoddling anybody. And it always seems to be the women.”

“Excuse me?” Ben said.

“Forget I spoke. I sometimes forget that I’m supposed to pretend that everyone is exactly the same these days. You don’t have a wife or kids, do you?”

Ben shifted his weight uncomfortably. “No.”

“Pity. I’m a big believer in families. My Emma is a saint; I don’t know how I’d get along without her. And my four kids are the most important parts of my life. Sure, I work hard and I’m not home a lot of the time, but everything I do, I do for them. They wouldn’t have it any other way.”

Ben wondered if they had been consulted for their opinion on this issue.

“Has Hamel taken you through the paperwork yet?”

“No. He said we’d do that later.”

“Take my advice, Ben. Let your secretary do it.”

“I wouldn’t want to take her away from important work for other lawyers.”

“Other lawyers? What kind of fleabag outfit do you think this is? You’ve got a secretary of your own.”

“My own? All my own?”

“Of course. Some of the worker bees at the bottom of the hive share secretaries—but a lawyer of your caliber? No way.”

“You know…” Ben said cautiously, “I don’t want to kill the goose that lays the golden eggs, but I can’t fathom why you’re so…interested in me.”

Crichton spread his arms across his desk. “I can answer that question in three words, Ben. You’re a maverick.”

“I am?’

“You’re a maverick, and that’s just what this maverick corporation needs. I’ve been following your career for some time. I consider it part of my job—constantly scouting for talent that can serve the Apollo Consortium. I wanted a real honest-to-God litigator. Not just some flunky to make an occasional phone call while outside counsel does all the real work. Someone to take the bull by the horns! A maverick, goddamn it!”

Ben was overwhelmed. “My preference would be to work in the litigation department. At least at first.”

“Done. And I have the perfect case for you to start on immediately. Hamel may have mentioned it—a products liability problem turned into a wrongful death suit. Rob Fielder has been working it, but he won’t mind backing off in favor of someone with your experience.”

“You know, sir, I’ve actually only been practicing for a few years—”

“The hell with that, Ben. It’s not the number of years that matter. It’s what you’ve learned during those years. You’ve got the right stuff. I can feel it in my gut.” He picked up a file on his desk and tossed it into Ben’s lap. “Here’s the case. We’re barely into preliminary discovery. Documents are being produced tomorrow; plaintiffs’ depositions are being taken the day after. I want us to get out there and win it.” He laughed. “Hell, I’d like to see the look on those poor plaintiffs’ faces when Ben Kincaid comes in to depose them! They’ll wet their pants!”

Ben listened in stunned disbelief. Had he fallen down a rabbit hole, or what? “What’s the case about?”

“Our transportation and automotive department designed a suspension system that our manufacturing department constructs and sells. They call it the XKL-1. Anyway, a local high school held a tractor pull after a football game—you know, sort of a hayride without the hay. Teenage boy fell off, got caught in the machinery, and was mangled to death. Horrible accident—but they want to blame it on us because we designed and supplied the suspension system used on the flatbed. It’s preposterous. How much do you know about cars?”

“Not much.”

“Well, here’s all you need to know. The axle is attached by U-bolts to the leaf spring, which in turn is attached to the frame of the flatbed. Subsequent examination revealed that the leaf spring—a half-moon-shaped contraption that runs the length of the flatbed—was broken. That caused the flatbed to dip to one side. The kid’s parents say our design was defective. We say they drove too fast on an uneven, bumpy dirt field.”

“We deny any responsibility for what happened?”

“Believe me, no one sympathizes with that poor kid’s parents more than me—I’ve got a boy about that age myself—but it’s just not Apollo’s fault. The parents’ lawyer went looking for a deep pocket to pick up the medical expenses, and Apollo was the only one he could find.”

“If we’re really not culpable,” Ben said, “we should be able to get summary judgment granted after we’ve taken the parents’ depositions.”

“That’s great! Brilliant!” Crichton rose to his feet. “My God, you’re winning cases for us already. I knew you were a champ.”

Ben felt his face flushing bright red. He hadn’t heard such effusive praise since he memorized “A Visit from St. Nicholas” in the second grade. “Of course, the validity of the summary judgment motion will depend on what we learn during the depositions. If the parents have a valid claim, it would be wrong to try to cheat them out of it with legal maneuvering. I believe that as officers of the court we have an obligation to see justice done.”

“Admirable sentiment, Ben, although I think you’ll find that in the corporate world most cases are somewhat less noble. Most of these lawsuits are just one asshole suing another asshole. Over money. It’s not about ethics; it’s not about right or wrong. It’s about bucks.”

Ben cleared his throat. “I’m sure that’s true in some instances, but—”

Crichton slammed his hand down on a button on his phone console. After a short buzz, Janice answered. “Yes, sir?”

“Get Fielder in here,” Crichton barked. “I want him to meet his new partner.”

“Right away, sir.” She clicked off.

“By the way,” Crichton added, “this weekend I’m taking my legal staff on a DARE retreat. I want you to be there. You don’t already have plans, do you?”

“Not that I recall. What’s a DARE retreat?”

Crichton grinned from ear to ear. “Just wait and see. And we’ll expect to see you turn out for our softball game next week, too. We’re taking on the Memorex Telex team. We’re going to clean their clocks.”

“Is Christina also invited?”

Crichton was puzzled for a moment. “Christina? Oh, she’s the legal assistant you brought on board, right? I saw a picture. What a babe—great ears on that cob. I can see why you wanted to bring her along.” He grinned again. “Hell, Ben, as far as I’m concerned, you’ve already made a significant contribution to the office! Sure, she’s legal staff, so she’s invited. I can’t wait to see her in an exercise suit.”

“Do we do a lot of these extracurricular activities?”

“Oh, yeah. I require it. Work hard, play hard—that’s what I always say. And I want you to be involved in all of it.”

Before Ben could reply, a young, athletic man in a pinstriped suit inched into the office. “You called, Mr. Crichton?”

“Yeah. Rob Fielder, meet Ben Kincaid. He’s taking over the Nelson case.”

Ben closed his eyes. Oh, thanks. This will undoubtedly be the start of a beautiful friendship. “Pleasure to meet you.”