by Dave Daren
“Just answer the question,” I stated.
“I was feeling grief,” she said.
“After the will reading, what were you planning to do?” I asked.
“I had a plane to catch,” she said.
“And where were you going?” I asked.
“I had an engagement for work,” she said.
“Work? And what do you?” I asked.
“I’m a model,” she said.
“What agency do you model for?” I asked.
“Well, I’m a freelance model,” she said.
“Uh-huh,” I said. “How many shoots, would you say you book on average?”
“I don’t know,” she said. “It varies.”
“Of course,” I said. “All freelance work does. Give me a ballpark. Three or four shoots a month?”
She instinctively laughed. “No, no. I would never do that much.”
“No?” I asked. “Not three or four a month? That’s about once a week. You’re saying you work less than one day a week?”
“Well,” she said. “There’s so much other stuff.”
“Uh-huh,” I said. “Go ahead. We’re all listening.”
“Well,” she said. “You know, appearances and stuff, at galas and stuff.”
“You receive financial compensation for that?” I asked.
“Sometimes,” she said.
“Sometimes,” I repeated. “Ms. O’Brien, give me one good reason why that fifty million should go to a woman who works less than one day a week.”
“No, no, you see,” she said. “He’s trying to discredit me and take away from the real issue.”
“Discredit you?” I asked. “How am I discrediting you?”
“You’re making me sound like I don’t work or anything,” she said.
“I’m not making you sound like anything,” I said. “I’m just pointing out your work schedule.”
“No,” she said. “You are doing that red herring thing, trying to distract from the real issue. My father was not of sound mind.”
“Yeah,” Emily yelled out. “He was drugged. Somebody had to have put something in his drink or something. Did they check his poison levels, or whatever?”
Judge Thatcher banged his gavel.
“Order,” he said. “Order.”
Emily calmed down.
“No,” I said. “I think he was of sound mind. Because, after what I just laid out, you yourself said it made you sound like you don’t work. You said I was discrediting you. Why would you think that? Why would pointing out the simple facts of your work schedule make you look bad to all of us, who are presumably of our right minds? So if that is what even you, yourself see, then I argue that Mr. O’Brien was in his right mind.”
“Okay, I don’t know what he just said, but my father was sick,” she said.
“But you don’t have any kind of doctor’s proof.”
“No,” she said. “But I can get that.”
“Are you sure about that?” I responded.
“Yes,” she said. “I can call Dr. Wallis now.”
“Well,” I said. “No need. I did that for you.”
“What do you mean?” she asked.
“Your Honor,” I said, as I pulled the affidavit from Dr. Wallis out. “This is a signed statement from Mr. O’Brien’s longtime primary care physician, stating that he saw nothing in Mr. O’Brien’s medical history that would hinder him from making a sound judgment.”
I handed the document to the bailiff, who then handed it to the judge. The judge put on his glasses and read the document.
“Your Honor,” Aiden interjected. “I understand that the medical doctor may not have seen any scientific reason that would cast doubt on Mr. O’Brien’s mental faculties.”
“What other reason is there but scientific?” the judge asked. “Supernatural?”
“My clients believe that Mr. O’Brien suffered from undiagnosed mental health conditions, and that he refused to seek mental health care,” Aiden said. “His eccentricities are well known in the community.”
“This is Sedona,” I said. “Eccentricity is our bread and butter. Who would we have left if we locked up all the eccentrics?”
I noticed the judge emit a barely perceptible snicker as he continued to look over the document.
“Mr. O’Brien’s eccentricity was well beyond acceptable behavior,” Aiden argued. “Mr. Irving’s presence here himself is evidence of that fact.”
“On what basis is that?” the judge asked.
“Mr. Irving represents the estate of Alister O’Brien based solely on Mr. O’Brien’s rash and juvenile decision to dismiss his long time attorney, Thomas Earhardt,” Aiden said.
I felt my blood boil, and I turned to Aiden, who raised an eyebrow at me in victory. I just shook my head.
“The complex dynamics that occur between an attorney and client,” the judge said, “are of a confidential nature and could not be construed as any indication of mental health either way. Since Mr. Earhardt is clearly absent from the court, I trust that he has declined to testify?”
“You are correct, Your Honor,” he said. “But, his reasons were more of a personal nature, given his grief-stricken state. The unresolved conflict concerning the client he had for more than four decades has left Mr. Earhardt inconsolable and unfit to testify.”
“Do you have a statement of any kind from Mr. Earhardt to this effect?” the judge asked.
“Yes,” Aiden said. He produced a page that the bailiff presented to the judge. I was unaware of this development, and the judge looked it over.
“This states that Mr. Earhardt found Mr. O’Brien ‘exceedingly’ difficult to work with, and the abrupt end to the relationship caused Mr. Earhardt to seek mental health counseling,” the judge summed up the page.
“Be that as it may,” I argued, “Without his court appearance, it is impossible to determine on what basis the relationship was terminated. We have no way of knowing if the client felt Mr. Earhardt’s counsel was overall subpar. We have no way to know if what appeared to be a rash and juvenile act was, in fact, a calculated business decision that was long overdue.”
I thought about Quentin’s comment that Thomas was a “dick head.” I didn’t know what exactly he meant by that, but the relatively smooth transition I had made into their inner circle was a clue in.
“Perhaps,” I continued, “Mr. O’Brien had long ignored Mr. Earhardt’s continued incompetence out of personal loyalty? Without Mr. Earhardt himself to defend his position, there is not a clear indicator either way. ”
“Mr. Earhardt’s statement,” Aiden said, “Mr. O’Brien’s known eccentricities, and the testimony of his very own children who lived with him for years, day in, day out, along with his lovers who expressed their care and concern in his final years, all paint a solid picture of a very unstable man.”
“This is all conjecture,” the judge said. “Conjecture has no place in my courtroom.”
“I understand, Your Honor,” Aiden responded. “But this was a man who was too proud to admit he needed help. And his children and lovers speak for him beyond the grave.”
“His children have not lived with him in many years,” I said, “and the lovers? They have such a skewed sense of values and disconnect with reality, that they think being asked to dress respectfully in a court of law is a violation of women’s rights. And you are basing a mental health assessment on their opinions?”
“Wait, what?” Emily asked aloud. “What’s going on, is this good or bad?”
“Young lady,” the judge thundered, “One more outburst like that, and you’ll join your ‘sister wife’ out in the hall.”
I smirked and caught eyes with Aiden who just looked away.
“Further,” I continued, “I would say that Mr. Earhardt’s decision to seek counseling is appropriate behavior for anyone dealing with loss, particularly where there were unresolved issues with the deceased. This should be in no way an indicator of Mr. O’Brien’s capability of draft
ing a will many years prior. I would further argue that it was Mr. Earhardt himself who oversaw the preparation of the will in the first place. If Mr. Earhardt had concerns about his client’s capability, he had professional and legal obligations to make his objections known at that time. Since he clearly did not, we can take it as an implied legal admission that Mr. Earhardt believed Mr. O’Brien was of sound mind. I would also call into question Mr. Earhardt’s motives for the statement in the first place. The statement lacked direction, clarity and argument. Any decent lawyer, particularly one with the decades of experience that Mr. Earhardt has, would know how weak and lackluster the statement was. I would conclude that Mr. Earhardt had no intention of smearing Mr. O’Brien’s name, as in fact, his deliberate absence today suggests. As for the statement, I believe he had some ulterior motive for writing it.
“What kind of ulterior motive are you suggesting?” Aiden bellowed.
“I don’t know,” I said. “But it’s worth mentioning that the statement comes sight unseen, at the hands of a lawyer that has been implicated in a number of fabrication schemes over the years.”
“Well,” Aiden’s face turned red. “I never! Are you suggesting that I tampered with evidence?”
“No! No! I would never...” I replied, “But now that you bring it up--”
“Oh, you snot-nosed little twit!” Aiden slammed his fist on the table, and I was slightly concerned that he would attack me.
“Order, order,” Judge Thatcher banged the gavel. “Get control of yourself, Mr. Prescott, or I will hold you in contempt. The court finds Mr. Earhardt’s statement inconclusive and inadmissible, and will continue to hear testimonies from the witnesses present. Counsellor, continue with your witness.”
I sauntered to the witness stand, and my eyes bored into Shannon. She looked away.
“Ms. O’Brien,” I said. “Look at me. Don’t look at Mr. Prescott, don’t look at your brother, look at me.”
Her green eyes focused on me, and I saw fear and confusion.
“In your opinion,” I turned to Shannon, “was your father crazy?”
She looked like a deer caught in the headlights and then glanced around at Aiden and Gareth and then back at me.
“Well, I--I-never said,” she stammered, “Well, Cindy said… and well, Thomas said… ’cause Dr. Wallis--”
“No, Dr. Wallis said that in his professional medical opinion, Mr. O’Brien wasn’t crazy at all. As for Thomas, no one even knows what he really said, so whatever the heck that was, the judge just threw it out. And Cindy, well Cindy just held a gun to a man’s head three days ago. I doubt she’s in any position to diagnose someone’s mental state. But, just for giggles, let me play a piece of the video that we have saved for Cindy’s criminal trial.”
I clicked the remote for a projector that I had synced to my tablet and queued up a video. I dragged the time bar to a pre-selected point and played it. The video had a small obscurity under Bill’s hat, and shook as he moved, but it was clear. There it was, in Zed Walker’s field. Me, in center view, and Bill’s vision flipped back and forth to Cindy.
“But I just can’t hand you money,” I said. “You’ve filed a lawsuit, and the hearing is actually in a couple of days--”
“Oh, shut up,” her voice came from off camera on Bill’s side,. “You know that lawsuit’s bullshit. We don’t have a chance. This is the only chance for me to get what I deserve for me and my son.”
I clicked the video off and left Cindy’s blurry, deranged expression in still frame on the overhead screen staring over the courtroom. “So, that’s Cindy’s opinion, for whatever it’s worth. What do you say, Shannon? It’s you and your dad in the ring, and he’s not here to defend himself. You can call him a lunatic now, and the rest of us will go home and forget these words. But you, you will forever have to live with the fact that you stood in a courtroom and stamped a label on your father’s memory. So think carefully, because you will have to live with this moment for the rest of your life.”
I clicked off the projector, paused for dramatic effect, and let my words sink in.
“Shannon, O’Brien,” I continued. “In your good conscience, can you tell me that you believe your father was crazy?”
“I don’t know,” she stammered looking up at the black screen and back at Aiden.
Suddenly all the pieces of this puzzle fit together for me, and I felt a smirk playing about my lips. I knew the whole story now. I just needed to play these next few moments right.
“Thank you, Ms. O’Brien,” I smiled, and she rose to exit the stand.
“You did a good job on the stand today. I know that was hard. It’s a sensitive topic, and you held up nicely.”
She looked at me quizzically, and then I feigned a light bulb moment.
“Oh, just, just one last thing real quick for my records, though,” I snapped my fingers as if recalling, and then tapped away on my tablet in a bluff. “And how much was it that you paid Cindy Greenwood to release the tiger, could you give me that amount? It was uh…”
I casually hovered my fingers over the tablet, as if I were about to record it in a spreadsheet.
“It was $25,000,” she said matter-of-factly.
I smiled, and everyone in the court gasped.
“Thank you,” I said.
“I mean, no,” she stammered. “No what, what I meant was--”
“No further questions your honor,” I said and returned to my seat.
“Bailiff,” Judge Thatcher said. “Please escort the witness out of the courtroom for arrest on charges pending.”
“Arrest?” Shannon said. “No, wait, I said the wrong thing. It was all--”
She burst into tears. “Mr. Prescott told us to do it. He said we wouldn’t get caught, and it would ensure that the will was overturned.”
Everyone turned to Aiden, who looked like smoke was coming out of his ears.
“I assure you, Your Honor,” he said. “That is simply not true.”
“Yes, it is,” she sobbed. “He said that it would make Mr. Irving look like he didn’t know what he was doing, and no one would trust him because he’s an outsider from L.A., and we would have a much better chance of getting the will overturned.”
“Well,” the judge said. “Aside from the fact that that is terrible legal advice, what you are implicating is highly illegal and if true, would render Mr. Prescott disbarred at the very least.”
“Your Honor,” Aiden chimed in. “These allegations--”
“Are likely very true,” Judge Thatcher interrupted. “Mr. Prescott, you’ve been in a thorn in the side of this town for years. How you have not been disbarred up to this point is beyond me.”
Aiden cleared his throat and tried to regain his composure and appeared to be framing a response. The judge cut him off and turned to Shannon.
“Young lady,” Judge Thatcher said. “That tiger escape cost this city tens of thousands of dollars in work stoppages and public safety concerns. I was on the city council for many years, and their concerns are something I take seriously.”
“But,” she said, “they caught it, no one got hurt. It was just a prank.”
“A prank?” the judge exploded. “You call that a prank? A whoopie cushion on a chair is a prank. Putting sugar in a salt shaker is a prank. What you did was put the lives of everyone in Sedona at grave risk.”
“That’s not what I intended,” she said quietly.
“Not only that,” the judge continued, “people couldn’t get to work because we had to block off the roads. We had to evacuate all the parks and outdoor areas, and this is Sedona. The state parks and national preserves are the lifeblood of our town. Who knows what we lost in tourism that morning? We had to keep the school children inside all morning as well. We had school officials working on a plan for what to do if the tiger escape didn’t get resolved by the end of the school day, how we were going to send these kids home. They did that all morning, instead of their normal duties of keeping the district going.”
The judge couldn’t see, but I saw her roll her eyes, as if the whole thing was overblown.
“And those brave animal control officers who saved us all,” he continued, “they deserve every penny of the hazardous pay bonus we paid them. I could go on and on. But you have no idea what you did with what you thought was a harmless prank. You’re going to go to jail and spend some time thinking about your life, young lady. Start taking some responsibility and start taking yourself seriously.”
Shannon was sobbing by now, and the bailiff escorted her out. I felt sorry for her in a way, because she was so clueless about what she had done, or the hard knocks she was finally starting to take in life. But, there was no excuse for her not to know these things like the rest of us.
Judge Thatcher turned to Aiden, “Call up your next witness, counselor,” he barked and rubbed his temple.
Gareth and Aiden whispered to each other animatedly for a few minutes.
“Is there a problem?” the judge said.
“Yes, your honor,” Gareth stood up. “Is it okay if I don’t testify?”
“Your case will be dismissed then because I honestly don’t see how the girlfriend has any prayer of overturning this will,” the judge said.
“Yes, your honor, I understand,” Gareth said.
The judge sighed and looked at Gareth. “I didn’t know your father that well, so I couldn’t say, but I can look at this case and tell you exactly why he did what he did. You don’t have a fraction of the work ethic he does. I have an arrest record for you from a bar fight the day of your father’s will reading, you don’t have a job to speak of, and there are multiple drug citations, and there is a child support case. A child support case, and you don’t even have a job?”
The judge threw down his glasses and shook his head at Gareth.
“You’re a father for Christ’s sake,” he barked at Gareth. “You’re too damn old to be living off daddy’s money, and certainly way too old to be demanding it after he clearly said no. You’re too old to be getting in fights and table dancing in bars. You know what dads are supposed to be doing? Dads are supposed to be at home with their kids, every single night! Tucking in them in, asking about their day.”
