Rogue Divorce Lawyer

by Dale E. Manolakas

  Friedman ended the news conference. “I don’t know who these women are and what axes they have to grind. I’m a woman, I’ve dealt with Mr. Stockton repeatedly, and he’s never done anything remotely improper with me or anyone I know.”

  “But would all these young clients make advances on their own lawyer, specifically Mr. Stockton?” The sharp L.A. reporter dug his teeth in. “You are stating that all the young attractive women wanted a physical relationship with Mr. Stockton?”

  “Stranger things have happened.”

  The crowd rumbled and questions flew, unanswered now as Friedman hustled Gary back into her office building.

  * * *

  “What the hell was that?” Friedman shut her office door. “What do you think you were doing out there, going off script?”

  “I was taking care of myself.”

  “You were putting yourself in prison. Now’s not the time for you to grandstand and publically admit to having relations with those women. I told you the District Attorney is looking at filing criminal charges and civil suits are coming from women with claims against you where the statutes of limitations haven’t run.”

  Gary’s face was ashen. “I only meant to—”

  Friedman viciously silenced him. “I told you they are all possibilities and probabilities. You’re a lawyer. I shouldn’t have to slap you across the face with prison time and financial ruin to get you to keep your mouth shut.”

  Gary looked down. He was afraid. For the first time, he was truly afraid. This female yelling at him was right—and more than that, she didn’t have a clue that he was a triple murderer, too—if you included Skip’s wrongful conviction and its aftermath. In shock, it finally struck him. The bloodbath. If Gonzalez found evidence that Gary had framed Skip, he might even be prosecuted for the murders of all the people killed in the courthouse melee. He would face civil suits from their survivors. His ruin would be total. He would spend the rest of his life in prison. He rose from his chair, and, numb to the core, left Friedman’s office. After wandering aimlessly, trying to remember where he had parked it, he finally found his car.

  * * *

  Back at his stucco sanctum, Gary walked silently by Vicky. For now, she was still what remained of his money-making-machine. A machine that was thwarted by the fewer clients he had left but still producing.

  Gary unlocked the door to his inner sanctum.

  “I don’t want to be disturbed.”

  “But you have messages. Detective Gonzalez called. And your wife.”

  “I’m not here for anyone. Understand? Especially that cop and my wife.”

  “But your wife—“

  He slammed his office door and locked it, shutting out Vicky’s running mouth.

  “Wife?” Gary pounded his fists into files on his desk. “Leech. Bloodsucking whore.”

  So what if Vicky heard. Gary slumped into his chair, stared at the door. How much did she really know and how much would she tell? He became nauseous, and sat, unmoving, staring blankly into space.

  * * *

  Gary’s carefully compartmentalized secret life, his kingdom, was imploding. He was looking at civil suits, disbarment, jail time for assaults, and possibly the discovery of his murders. Not to mention that bitch Friedman building her practice while she billed him into the poorhouse.

  He wanted to run—to Micronesia, Serbia, anywhere without an extradition treaty with the U.S. Yeah, right. Without real money running was impossible. The few dollars left were being doled out weekly to Friedman. His wife had spent or gifted to the kids every cent he had earned over the years—or he had gambled it away.

  I should have killed her years ago. He sense-memoried the simplicity and adrenaline high he had experienced killing his problems—literally.

  He took a deep breath and unlocked the top drawer—the drawer with the mementos of his true, cherished life. He had to dispose of them soon. They were damning evidence that would corroborate his assaults and ultimately make the detective’s case for him. They were also windows to his murders.

  He spread his hands over the three stacks of intimate questionnaires. As he touched his little treasures, his hands shook, his heart swelled, and the sweat on his forehead belied his coveted conquests.

  “I can’t.”

  Gary slammed the drawer shut and locked it. He couldn’t part with them, not yet, even though criminal charges would bring a search warrant.

  I have time. I have time.

  ⌘

  Copyrighted Material

  Chapter 56

  The Monday after Gary’s admissions at his news conference, the salacious story catapulted on television, in print, and on the Internet in San Bernardino, Los Angeles, and all of California. Eliana not only read about it but saw her picture splashed everywhere—beauty wronged by the proverbial beast was always a hit. She was distraught at the media pile-on and hounded Angela and Kurt to have it stopped. She didn’t care that other women were named. She only saw what was written about her—what her relatives would see.

  Dee and her team had quite the opposite reaction. They were delighted at the publicity and landed a television spot on Gloria Chavez’s news segment. She was a respected anchor known for her strong advocacy of women’s rights. She agreed to a pro-plaintiff approach in return for a follow-up exclusive with Eliana. Kurt promised to deliver—for more free publicity and to promote Eliana’s case. With Stockton’s admissions, trying the case in the public arena could not hurt them and would reveal and underscore the bias in Judge Vega’s rulings.

  * * *

  Kurt called Eliana.

  She was adamant. “No. I don’t want to. Why do people care?”

  “Because you’re a victim of sexual harassment. It’s the flavor of the month for the talking heads and the millions of lemmings who follow them. Sex sells. You’re a big girl. You know that.”

  “I didn’t have sex with him.”

  Kurt stroked this dumb female—yet again. “Look. You can help other women here. Chavez is in your corner. We need this. I sent her copies of the same victim’s letters I sent you. She’s contacting them, too, but your bravery is the real story.”

  “She can contact anyone she wants, but I won’t do it. What about my boys? They’ll see it.”

  “They’re too young. They won’t understand anything.”

  “What about William?”

  Kurt thought, William? Her ex? He’s history. What about me and my billable hours you ignorant ingrate?

  Eliana blabbered on, “Besides, they trick people like me on TV”

  Kurt held his temper and ignored the “me” dialogue with the sister of a woman he no longer wanted in his condo, his bed, or his life.

  “You’re the hero and there will be other victims there too.”

  Eliana wouldn’t budge.

  He was sick of her and her ungrateful psycho-babble. He had promised Dee and Jim he would get Eliana on the show and he would. He needed to deliver for Dee and his firm. His only concern was his partnership vote in one year.

  Kurt called Angela. This was on her. Angela had no choice but to get it done. She owes me big time. She’ll do it or I’ll kick her ass out.

  * * *

  The appellate opinion rebuking Judge Vega and the media storm surrounding Gary, his clients, and the issue of lawyers having sex with their clients spread to broader legal arenas as well. The American Bar Association ran an article on sex with clients showcasing incidents across the nation. Many incidents—far too many. It was even a topic of conversation in the U.S. Congress. An uncomfortable one for far too many in those august halls, many of them lawyers themselves.

  * * *

  Closer to home, the opinion festered privately with the judges on the San Bernardino Superior Court. Judge Vega was oblivious to the rumblings and continued to reign supreme in her courtroom where her word was literally the law. Nothing could touch her—or so she thought.

  * * *

  The media reports about the Thurston case and St
ockton’s public admissions prompted first a trickle, then a stream of letters to the office of San Bernardino’s Presiding Judge Luther Alexander. He was a tall, impressive fifty-year-old African-American who had graduated cum laude from UCLA and then Stanford Law School. Letters came from lawyers in the County Bar’s Family Law Section, clients, and even local reporters who covered the courts.

  While they varied in tone, the themes were consistent. Judge Vega had an undeniable record of ruling in favor of men in family law matters. That was especially so when the wife was attractive. She also played fast and loose with the law and the local rules of the court in order to force settlements and pad her case disposition statistics.

  * * *

  The Monday before Thanksgiving, Presiding Judge Alexander held an in-chambers and very private meeting with his assistant Presiding Judge Sheila McGregor. Judge McGregor was a forty-something redheaded Irish-American, a Pepperdine University law school grad appointed out of the District Attorney’s office.

  At the meeting, Judge Alexander shared Judge Vega’s statistics and the thick packet of the letters with Judge McGregor.

  “We don’t really have much choice here do we, Sheila?”

  “No. We have to be careful, though. It can’t appear as though we’re retaliating against Fatima for giving us a black eye with that appellate ruling.”

  “Or that we’re stepping on the independence of the judiciary.”

  Judge McGregor said. “Right. That’s sacrosanct … Fatima’s freedom to follow the law and apply it as she sees fit. But I think I have a solution.”

  “What?”

  “The sole Superior Court judge in Barstow is retiring December 1.”

  “Yes, I heard, but—.”

  “Listen. We, and we can transfer Fatima there.”

  “Who will take her caseload?”

  “I’ve already talked to Judge Leilani Kwok out in Santa Clara County about coming here. The presiding judge there would hate to lose her, but Leilani has a sick father who lives alone in Rialto.”

  “What are you thinking, Luther?”

  “First, that you’re bucking for my job.”

  They both laughed.

  “Kwok heads the Family Court in Santa Clara and has a great reputation for her innovative approaches. We’ll tell Fatima we’re consolidating all family law matters in one department and Judge Kwok brings the experience necessary to head it in the most efficient and effective manner. See where I’m going?”

  McGregor chuckled. “So we’re exiling Vega to the Barstow boonies where she’ll handle nothing but simple civil harassment orders, small claims, and traffic court. She lives in Redlands. That’ll be one long commute. Of course, she can always move there.”

  McGregor grinned.

  “Perfect. I hope you never want to get rid of me, Sheila!”

  “So we’re agreed?”

  “We are. Great solution. In fact, Machiavellian.”

  “Let’s get her in here at lunch and dispose of the problem today.”

  “I’ll be here.”

  * * *

  On her lunch hour, which Judge Vega always stretched to two hours, she ate a Tuna sandwich in her chambers catching up on a TV series on her iPad. Her afternoon calendar was empty that day thanks to her rigorous and self-serving case management. With Thanksgiving and the holidays looming, lawyers and their clients were always more amenable to settlement—with a little judicial incentive. Her system was a well-oiled machine that got results—her expedience served justice raw and rotten but got it done.

  A call from Judge Alexander interrupted her program and her open-mouthed mastication of her tuna on white—not lettuce no pickles, no tomato.

  “Luther, good afternoon.” Vega swallowed her bite. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

  “I need to discuss something with you. If you’re not busy, could you come up to my chambers?”

  “Sure. Give me ten.”

  Vega wiped her mouth, popped in a mint, and went up to Judge Alexander’s presiding-judge-worthy chambers. She anticipated a nod for keeping her calendar flowing so expeditiously. To her, the appellate reversals, including Eliana’s, were trivial compared to her stellar administration of her courtroom and her clearing cases off the calendar. She wanted to be acknowledged for her numbers and someday considered for the position of presiding judge. In fact, she expected that.

  * * *

  There was an extra spring in her step as she walked through the door into Alexander’s chambers. Then she stopped—why was Sheila there too?

  “Luther … Sheila. What’s up?”

  “Sit down, please.”

  “Sure.” Vega’s elation waned as she looked back and forth at two deadpan faces.

  As Vega sat next to McGregor, the chair creaked with her weight.

  Judge Alexander wasted no time with pleasantries. “We needed to let you know as soon as possible that we’re reorganizing the court, and have a new assignment for you. It’s in keeping with your independence and stalwartness.”

  “Oh?” Vega sat tall with pride as she thought, Finally, some recognition.

  “For some time now, Sheila and I have been deciding how best to address the increasing volume of family law matters here.”

  Vega said, “I’ve been clearing cases like mad and doing my part.”

  “Yes, we’ve noticed. But the problem is broader, and we’re centralizing all the cases in a new Family Law Department.”

  Vega smiled. “I think that’s a great idea. I’d love to head such a department.”

  Alexander and McGregor exchanged a look.

  Judge Alexander cleared his throat and explained their plan—couching Vega’s transfer as a promotion.

  * * *

  Stone silence filled the room. Vega felt the hair rise on the back of her neck as the hatchet came down.

  The judicial world knew that early in his stumbling judicial career, Judge Eliott Abner had been deported to Barstow. That’s how the other judges viewed it, at any rate. He was too thick to realize what was happening. There, his desert-dwelling litigants had few quibbles with his stumbling mediocrity, and his rulings were rarely challenged. He and those he served were well matched.

  Vega lurched from her chair and yelled, “You can’t do this. You never consulted me. That’s a backwater court with a judge unworthy of the robe. It does small claims crap, evictions, civil restraining orders for losers. Shit, I’ll have to move to that hell hole. I won’t do it.”

  Alexander betrayed nothing in his facial expressions. Neither did McGregor.

  “That’s up to you.”

  “This is discrimination. You’re sending me there because I’m a Latina. I’ll file a complaint with the Judicial Council, contact the governor, whatever it takes.”

  But Vega was checkmated. A discrimination claim lodged against a black judge and two female judges, one Asian-American, wasn’t going to fly.

  Alexander had anticipated her response.

  “You should know that the new department will be headed by Judge Leilani Kwok. I suspect you know of her. She’s requested a hardship transfer here. She also has seniority over you by a number of years.”

  “So what? It’s still discrimination.”

  “Hardly, Fatima. Beyond what I just told you, don’t forget you’ve only been a judge here a couple of years. The additional experience will help you become a better judge.”

  “Like hell. I’m already better than most of the judges senior to me. I’m not taking this. I’m going to fight.”

  Alexander sighed. He picked up the packet of letters with complaints about her sitting on his desk blotter.

  “You can do that, of course. But if you chose the Judicial Council route, I’ll have to forward copies of all of these letters to them for review.”

  He handed the packet to Vega. Hands shaking, her eyes wide with rage, she quickly flipped through the letters, recognizing the names and cases.

  “Lies! Lies! All lies!” She threw the letters on
the floor.

  “You’re retaliating against me for doing my job. A great job. My calendars move fast and people don’t have to wait for justice.”

  “Others clearly disagree, Fatima. And one thing we can never, ever forget is that a judge must avoid even the appearance of impropriety.”

  Vega looked down at the letters. They weren’t lies, and they were damning. Her personal vendettas and extrajudicial shortcuts lay exposed for the court hierarchy and, if she complained, who knows what else would surface.

  Judge McGregor said, “Fatima, you’d be wise to take the Barstow assignment.”

  Judge Alexander told her to send out an order staying proceedings in all of her pending cases and transferring them to Judge Kwok for reassignment.

  “How am I supposed to get up to speed on Judge Abner’s cases by next Monday?”

  “From the way you described his court, that shouldn’t be too hard for you, should it?” Judge Alexander smiled—he was rid of the biased back-robed female who had been consistently undermining the integrity of his court.

  Humiliated and beaten, Vega heaved her body unsteadily up from the chair and left, walking across the letters on the floor, angrily kicking at them in the process.

  * * *

  Vega packed her things and left the courthouse after hours that day with no farewells to anyone—not even her clerk or bailiff.

  ⌘

  Copyrighted Material

  Chapter 57

  The days before the Thanksgiving break Kurt spent mostly preparing for Eliana’s trial and contacting potential witnesses to bolster their case. He managed to get only two other women to agree to testify—Renee Gates and Brianna Norton. So many wasted billable hours. This was the important year before the partnership vote and his billable hours, his only worth to the firm, were down because of the drain of Eliana’s case. The publicity and interviews? The credit for all of that went to Payne’s Family Law Department and Dee and Jim. He was the third wheel.