William Bernhardt - Primary Justice

“I understand that,” Ben interrupted. “I’m a lawyer. What’s more, I’m your lawyer. At Raven, Tucker & Tubb. We represent Sanguine Enterprises. Anything you tell me is protected by the attorney-client privilege.”

“Nonetheless,” Brancusci insisted, “I’m afraid I can’t provide that information unless I have express authorization from Mr. Sanguine himself. Shall I connect you with his office?”

Ben felt his blood pressure rising. “Can you explain why Sanguine’s annual expenditures and distributions don’t equal the total amount of gross profits?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Brancusci snapped. “Sanguine has over a dozen accountants here in Tulsa alone, and I can assure you that every record is checked and double-checked—”

“Why were you talking to Jonathan Adams just before he was murdered?”

The voice on the other end broke. Brancusci sputtered for a moment, then said, “It was business. Ours. And none of yours.” The receiver on the other end of the line slammed down.

Ben sat motionless in his chair, listening to the dial tone. I blew it, he realized. I should have gone over there in person, so he couldn’t blow me off so easily. Now he knows everything I know. He’ll find some way to explain it away. And I’ll be right back where I was before.

Nowhere.

21

DEREK STRODE INTO HIS office and hung his jacket on the brass hanger behind the door.

“Sorry I’m late, everyone. I’ve been at the clinic playing Stump the Surgeons. Damned idiots haven’t the slightest idea what’s wrong with me.”

Ben and Christina sat in the chairs opposite Derek’s desk. Maggie was sitting on the sofa parallel to both.

“Let me get straight to the point.” Derek threw himself into the chair behind the desk. “I suppose you’ve all heard that we won the trade dress motion before Judge Schmidt.”

There was a general chorus of congratulation.

“We’ve already received a written order of judgment. Receiving a written order from Judge Schmidt so soon after oral argument is truly amazing. I thought to myself, Schmidt must have really taken my arguments to heart. So I decided to reexamine our brief, to see what might’ve persuaded Schmidt so effectively.”

Derek took a copy of the brief from his desk and began thumbing through the pages. “Upon rereading this brief, I found two misspelled words. One on page fourteen and another on page thirty-two.” Derek ripped out the offending pages and slid them across the desk and under Ben’s nose.

“It’s a forty-page brief, sir.”

“Yes, Kincaid,” Derek said, his voice rising, “and it has two typos in it! This brief has my name on it! This brief is now part of the public record ! And it’s a public embarrassment. In the eyes of my peers—and, moreover, in the eyes of Judge Schmidt.” The tone of his voice became increasingly nasty. “What is Judge Schmidt going to think when he looks at this brief and sees—” He pointed at the word interim , misspelled with a u between the i and the m .

“Inter-ee-um?” Ben offered.

Derek glared at him. “This isn’t a joke, Kincaid. I hope you understand just how serious this is.” Derek sunk back in his chair. “You wrote this mess, Kincaid. When was the last time you proofread it?”

Ben thought back. “On the Monday before the hearing. Then I gave it to Christina for cite checking.”

Derek raised an eyebrow. “Passing the buck, Kincaid?”

“N-no, I was—I was just answering your question, sir.”

Derek turned his attention to Christina. “What’s your story, McCall?”

Christina shrugged. “I did all my checking vis à vis case citations, marked my corrections, and gave the red-ink copy to Maggie.”

Derek turned and stared at Maggie. Her eyes were huge, and she looked as if she might burst into tears at any moment. “What about it, Maggie? You’re supposed to do the final proofread on these things.”

Maggie was so flustered she could barely speak. Her neck was covered with red blotches, and beads of sweat were forming along her hairline. “I … I’m sorry … I … you know how busy I am. I have to be at the phone in case you call, and … and now all the extra work for—” She jerked her head in Ben’s direction.

The poor woman was melting like the Wicked Witch of the West. Ben sympathized. Maggie had been Derek’s faithful servant for six years, and her reward was a public trip to the woodshed. A more merciful master might have interrupted her babbling, but Derek said nothing. He waited until she had thoroughly humiliated herself.

“Maggie, I want you to take this brief home over the weekend and read it, word for word, page by page. I want you to mark every typo, every miscitation, every misspelling—everything! Then, on Monday, we’ll prepare a corrected brief and ask leave of court to amend.”

Maggie nodded and took the brief.

“But, Mr. Derek,” Ben said hesitantly. “If you ask the court for leave to amend our brief, the other side will do the same. We could end up reopening the entire motion. And we’ve already won!”

Derek raised his chin. “I’d rather lose a motion than live with this blight on my record.”

Ben fell back against his chair. It was impossible.

“Maggie, you and Miss McCall may leave now. I’d like to speak to Mr. Kincaid in private about another matter.”

Maggie found her feet and walked to the door. Her knees seemed weak and barely able to support her. Tears had finally sprung forth and were rolling down her cheeks. Christina quietly followed her out of the room.

“And shut the door behind you.”

Christina shut the door.

Derek scrutinized Ben in silence. Ben wondered what his punishment would be. Copying dictionary pages, perhaps, or maybe he’d have to stay in during recess.

Several uncomfortable seconds elapsed before either of them spoke.

“How old did you say you are, Kincaid?”

“Twenty-nine.”

“Mmmm.” He sank back and stroked his chin. “I think I was older than you when I was twenty-nine.”

Ben bit his tongue.

“You grew up in Nichols Hills, right? In the suburbs.” Derek chuckled. “I’ll bet your father never spanked you when you were a kid.”

Ben kept on biting.

“I’ll get to the point, Kincaid. I don’t think you’re going to cut it here. This isn’t something that just occurred to me. I’ve been concerned about this since you arrived. I try to help the people I work with, Kincaid. I care about people. But I look across at you and I think: does this kid have the fire to be a successful litigator? And every time, I come up with the same answer: no.”

Ben continued to stare back in stony silence.

“It’s as if you don’t know how to fight. You’re not willing to be mean. I’ll put it to you blunt, kid—in litigation, sometimes you have to be a bully, an out-and-out asshole. When you’re a litigator, you’ve got to remember that every second of misery you can bring to the opposition is a second that will make them consider settling. Being an asshole is always in your client’s best interest.” He shifted positions. “But I don’t see you doing that. You’re too damn nice .” He shook his head and formed a steeple with his fingers. “I guess I just don’t see the fire .”

After a few silent moments, Derek continued. “You know the adoption hearing is tomorrow morning.”

“Yes.”

“I want you to handle it. I don’t mean just on paper. The whole shebang. Witnesses, argument, everything. Start to finish.”

Ben’s eyes grew to twice their normal size. “But, sir, I’m not prepared—”