Private Agendas: A Victoria Rodessa Legal Thriller

by Katherine Smith Dedrick

  Adam refused to be ignored. “I want certain assurances before we leave this topic.”

  Lowering his glass and looking directly at Adam, Trever asked, “What exactly do you want, Adam?”

  “Is our usual backup in place for this judge?”

  “Adam,” Trever growled, “I love you like a brother. I really do. But you need to let it go. Believe me when I tell you there is an overabundance of information in the vault on her. If she ever thinks about opening her mouth, for even one second, she’ll be crushed under a mound of shit. Are you going to trust I have this handled, as I’ve done for the past fifteen years, or do you want to know the details? Keep in mind that the burden on you and your potential liability, should any of this become public knowledge, only increases if I enlighten you.”

  “Trever, we each have our specialties and burdens. I just wanted to ensure you were taking it seriously.”

  “It’s under control,” Trever answered as he passed around their monthly profit and loss statements. “Adam, as much of a pain in the ass as you can be”—Trever paused to clink his glass with Billy over their shared opinion of Adam, just to yank his chain a bit more—“you’re to be congratulated on the inroads you’ve made in Asia. The increase to our bottom line because of your new clients has already allowed us to surpass our projections for the year.”

  “Yes, well. Neither of you are a walk in the park,” Adam answered, giving his pithiest response. He hated the way Billy and Trever always acted superior to him, especially since he had the highest IQ of all of them. He was currently off the charts on revenue produced this year, and if he maintained this pace, he was going to insist on having the final say in all firm decisions. Since their inception, that role had belonged to Billy, but Adam had been chomping at the bit to take control and in the time-honored way of law firms, whoever brought in the biggest book of business, ruled the roost. Adam expected to be leading the firm into the next decade, but now was not the time to discuss the changing of the guard. “Take a look at my forecast through the end of the year. I’m projecting another increase, and it’s primarily due to my Asian connections. In fact,” Adam continued, deciding now was as good a time as any to let them know, “I won’t be flying back with you. I’m making a few stops to meet with new clients in Singapore and Thailand.”

  Billy and Trever couldn’t quite figure out how Adam had gotten such a toehold in the Far East. Trever raised his glass once again. “Well, Adam, I’m impressed. When it comes to Asia and business, it seems you can find a whisper in a whirlwind.”

  “Yes, congratulations,” Billy said. “By the way, we all need to get our final projections for the next year in by the beginning of November. The firm’s annual meeting committee needs to compile them to let our attorneys know how many hours they’ll need to work and bill next year. Adam, would you consider speaking to the associates at the annual meeting about how you’ve forged a new path into Asia over the past two years?”

  Adam smirked. “No thanks. You know I hate speaking at those events. That’s Trever’s show.”

  “That’s fine. I enjoy whipping our little widgets into billing frenzies,” Trever responded, still sucking on his unlit cigar. “While we’re on the subject, would you like me to make some of those stopovers with you? If some of those companies will hire our strategic consulting group to help grow their businesses, we can get two bangs for our buck.”

  “You can’t seriously be continuing with your consulting business after the insurance company fiasco,” Adam responded, shocked.

  “Of course I am. It was a huge moneymaker. And, our strategic advice was taken totally out of context by a board that wanted more than a fair rate of return,” Trever said with a straight face, looking directly at Adam, begging him to challenge his statement.

  “Whatever you say, but I’ll tell you one thing. You’d better hope that’s the case ‘cause I have no intention of going down with that ship.”

  Billy had watched enough of the accelerating schoolyard behavior between them. Picking up his bag, he stood up.

  “Gentlemen, may I remind you that we are all in this together. There is no backing out now. Whatever one of us knows, so, too, do the other two. Now, I suggest we table this and get on our flight. It’s time to make Japan our newest income stream.”

  CHAPTER

  20

  LOOKING AT HER reflection in the cracked mirror, she was shocked to see so many bones sticking out everywhere. She couldn’t remember a time she had been so thin. No, not thin, she thought, emaciated. And her hair was…what? Disgusting was the only word that came to mind. She had been OCD about lice since she was about ten years old and began itching after wearing a wig for a school play. She still clearly recalled the night she’d been reading in bed and scratched her head, only to see a louse drop and scurry across the page. Even now, the thought made her want to vomit.

  “Where the hell is everyone?” she groaned out loud, frantically scratching and shaking her head to see if anything would fall out. She could feel the panic building over the past—what—weeks, months? She had tried to maintain her composure, understanding that losing her sense of self would give whoever did this an advantage. “Someone must be looking for me. They must know I never showed up at the meeting.” She’d heard somewhere that the best thing to do to keep your sanity in solitary confinement is talk out loud. She had no idea what that did, or if it even worked. But she sure as hell was going to try it. “Why hasn’t anyone come to get me out of this hellhole?” Surely, some of my clients have contacted the US office by now. “Where are the Marines and the American Embassy?”

  Without warning, tears began to slide down Serena’s cheeks. Except for an aunt she saw every few years, she had no family. Her parents had died when she was in college and she’d been so busy traveling the world, she’d had little time for relationships. Her chances of being missed by anyone other than her peers or clients were slim. That’s what scared her the most.

  Hearing the door bolt click, she quickly wiped at her eyes and sat up as best she could. An expensively dressed and well-kept woman stepped inside. Her hair swung long and red, ending in soft curls around her waist. She had almond-shaped eyes that slanted distinctly up toward the outer corners of her face, but it was their color—a mosaic-like mix of sea green, emerald, and moss—that was most striking. Judging the woman to be in her early fifties, Serena was amazed she still had the presence of mind to wonder how much Botox had been pumped into that face. Feeling stronger at that thought, she stared straight back at the woman.

  “Well, well. I see the reports are accurate. You still have your composure and spine, not always good things to hold on to in your new line of work,” the woman said, holding her newest asset by her chin, turning her head from one side to the other. “Lovely features. I understand you’re older than I prefer although you don’t look it. What are you? Thirty-two? Four?”

  “Listen. I don’t know who you are or what this is about, but I’m an American citizen. You sound American. Please, help me. I’ll reward you a hundred times over,” Serena heard herself begging, and didn’t care.

  The woman was silent until she finished her 360 degree inspection. “Oh my. I’m afraid you’ve mistaken me for someone who gives a shit. And while I have a definite interest in my financial well-being, I make more than you could ever possibly pay me. Finally, to wrap up our little meeting, whatever my country of origin, my allegiance is to me, myself, and I.” Dusting her hands together as if to knock off any filth she may have picked up while in the room, she paused and tilted her head. “Let’s talk about what I’m interested in, shall we? I make money selling girls and sex. And you, my smelly thing, were given to me to use as I see fit. My my! You must have twisted someone the wrong way.”

  “You can’t be serious. I’m a lawyer with a large international firm. I came here on business. There’s been a mistake,” Serena said with tears in her eyes, beginning to feel desperate.

  “No, no
mistake,” the woman replied calmly. “We’ve been expecting you for some time. I think I’ll put you in the general farm to start. Resisting only makes it worse. In fact, resisting often ends up forcing me to sell you to a rather violent but well-paying class of men. Up to you, of course. I’ll give you forty-eight hours to consider how you’d like to begin your service with me.” She turned and looked back at her new asset. “I suggest you pull yourself together. You’re going to need all your strength. The sooner you accept your situation, the better off you’ll be.”

  Hearing the door shut and the lock snap back into place, Serena rushed to the door, sobbing and pounding on it until her knuckles were bloodied. She banged her head against it over and over again until she felt herself fall listless to the floor and was rewarded with darkness.

  CHAPTER

  21

  JACK PRIDED HIMSELF on his ability to see around corners. He had worked years to earn his reputation as hard-hitting, aggressive, and eerily clairvoyant. He was one of a handful of trial lawyers Fortune 500 companies turned to when their reputation or bottom line was threatened. While he handled a wide range of matters, his specialty was employment cases, particularly those involving discrimination; racial, disability, age or any other type a clever plaintiff’s lawyer could conjure up. His favorite, however, involved gender.

  Leaning back in his custom-made, caramel-colored leather chair, he gazed at the far wall of his office. Doing so always brought immense satisfaction. At least twenty different magazine covers and articles hung there, each framed with a plaque touting the name and date of the piece. He perused some of his favorites: “The Trial Lawyer’s Lawyer,” “The King of the Courtroom,” “Do Female Jurors Stand a Chance?”

  Jack pushed his chair back from his desk, walked over, and took one of the frames off the wall. He read out loud to hear the words and allow them to permeate his soul.

  Plaintiffs’ counsel admit to wondering whether they should ever have women on their juries if Jack O’Leary is at the defendant’s table. After a jury returned a verdict against a female plaintiff, one of the jurors confessed, “With those dark brown eyes, coal-black hair curling just above his shirt collar, and easy charm, it’s hard to resist whatever story he tells.”

  Placing the plaque lovingly back in its place, Jack opened his door and stuck his head out just far enough. “Molly, call a meeting for the associates assigned to the firm matter. Two o’clock this afternoon.” Jack shut the door before he even heard an acknowledgement, knowing his word was her command.

  * * *

  Molly made certain all the associates were seated in the conference room. She knew her boss, and he had made it perfectly clear when she’d first started working for him that it was his time that mattered. She had kept him waiting on the phone once while trying to get his client on the line, but she never made that mistake again. Knocking and opening his door, Molly leaned in. “They’re waiting for you in the war room. Would you like me in the meeting?”

  “No, but get me out of there in sixty minutes. No more, no less,” Jack ordered as he walked past.

  Jack never carried notes or an electronic device. He believed it to be a sign of weakness. “If you’re going to be a trial lawyer,” he often pontificated when he lectured the firm’s incoming class of wannabe litigators, “you can never depend on pen or paper. Everything you need must be in your head.” Of course, what Jack never told the new associates was that he was one of the rare 2 percent of the population that had a photographic memory. That quality, of course, was particularly handy for cross-examining a witness or rehabilitating one of his own during trial.

  Walking into the war room, he shut the door loudly. Without a welcome to his team, he barked, “Okay, where do we stand?”

  The associates who chose to stick it out with Jack were stressed out of their minds. Half of them either drank heavily or were partial to prescription medication. Each of them hoped for litigation fame and fortune and so, dutifully followed in Jack’s wake. While he didn’t require his team to function without pad or pen, many tried with the hope of impressing him so he would choose them as second chair on one of his trials.

  Samantha responded. “We’ve found that over the past five years, the firm has lost more than forty female lawyers.”

  Holding up his hand, Jack barked, “Speak deliberately. What the hell do you mean by lost? I doubt you mean we’ve misplaced them.”

  Samantha had been on Jack’s team for three years now and while used to his bullshit, she had never gotten comfortable with it. “Right. No, of course not. At least forty female lawyers have left the firm. All but one of them—the plaintiff in the case, Victoria Rodessa—quit of their own accord.”

  Jack interrupted Samantha’s dissertation. “What is the norm, for firms our size and the next size down, number of associates that leave? What number of them are women, and how do we compare?”

  Jason stood. “That’s my area.” Clearing his throat, he began to tick off the information. “There are currently thirty US firms with more than five hundred attorneys. Of that thirty, we are the only firm that has experienced such a large attrition of female associates. The next closest firm has almost one thousand lawyers, and they’ve had sixty associates leave over the past five years, but only twenty were female. Our female attrition rate is almost double that of the firm that is the closest comparison. After that, the comparisons get even worse.” Jason turned to the associates sitting beside him and passed out the chart he created. “If a picture is worth a thousand words, then this picture comparing our firm’s stats to others is War and Peace,” he finished. While Jason knew he was grandstanding, he had worked with Jack for more than seven years and figured it was now or never for partnership.

  Jack examined the chart and furrowed his brow. Getting up, he went over to his favorite prop, the white board, and drew one simple symbol:

  ?

  Tapping it with his black marker, he asked, “Why? What’s the explanation we’re going to give the jury? What’s our theme?” Jack looked around at the lawyers at the table. Not one of them moved. “Well, well, isn’t it exciting to be in this brain trust?” Without warning, the marker sailed across the room and slammed into the wall. With all eyes riveted on him, Jack continued in a menacingly calm voice, “Judging by your responses, your answer is you have no fucking idea. That’s perfect! I couldn’t agree more! We’ll tell the jurors that we have absolutely no fucking idea why all these women left the firm. Then, with that solid and persuasive storyline, we’ll finish with, ‘Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, while we have absolutely no fucking idea why all these women on the cusp of promising careers left our firm, believe us when we tell you it’s all their fault, not ours.’ Or, maybe we go with the tried and true, ‘They got pregnant, didn’t want to work those hours, or wanted work-life balance. Believe us when we tell you there’s nothing to see here. And with that riveting defense, we ask that you rule in favor of our firm and throw Ms. Rodessa’s case out,’” Jack finished, almost breathless as he had run his sentences together.

  There was complete silence in the room. The associates had seen these micro temper bursts build to crescendo many times. They always began the same way: unexpectedly. The game they all played now was to wait and see who would be the first to cave under the pressure of the utter silence that followed, and speak.

  “Jack, we just got this information. We haven’t yet developed our theme of the case,” Samantha vomited out, then inwardly sighed, annoyed she’d been the first to break the silence. Unless someone else jumped in, she’d be Jack’s target. One minute, Jack was a fantastic mentor and the litigation team had all their oars rowing in the same direction, and the next, he was an absolute nutcase, shoving them all overboard, leaving them pushing each other underwater in a race to reach the shore.

  “Are you seriously telling me that for the twelve months this case has been pending that this is where we are?” Jack looked at Samantha with a calmness everyone in the
room knew wasn’t real.

  “Jack, a good six months was spent waiting for you to green light our investigation because you thought you could get her to drop her claim,” Jason burst out, surprising himself. Shit, he thought, realizing he had just placed the blame squarely on Jack, a definite no-no in any law firm world. Tag, I’m it. Jason could feel his peers move ever-so-subtly away from him as he maintained eye contact with Jack.

  “Ah, I see,” Jack responded, nodding his head in acknowledgement as he held a viselike stare to Jason’s eyes. The tension grew in the room in direct correlation to the length of the silence. Suddenly, a loud knock on the door sounded like a cannon shot. No one moved. The knock came again, and this time Molly peeked around the door. “Jack, your next meeting is waiting in your office.”

  My God, not again, she thought as she looked around the room. You could smell the fear. Molly had seen these cult-like scenes too many times over the years: utter silence in a room full of grown-ups, all waiting like trapped animals for one person to explode.

  Jack ignored Molly, looked slowly around the room, and said, with an eerie calm, “I want our theme within forty-eight hours.” Then, he shot out the door, leaving behind a room full of mentally rattled and stressed out lawyers.

  CHAPTER

  22

  “MARY, WOULD YOU see if Jenny is available? Once you get her on the line, come into my office, and the three of us will review the calendar for the next three weeks.”