The Law of the Sea : A Legal Thriller

by Dave Gerard

  Jafaar looked like he was about to throw up. “And forget about what Judge Graves will do,” Remington continued. “He’s the least of your worries. Start thinking about what the U.S. government will do. Oh, yeah. If we don’t walk out of here with a deal, I will go public tomorrow morning across every news and radio station in the country. If you’re lucky, Malaysia will be looking at billions of dollars’ worth of sanctions from the United States. Want to see what a trade war looks like? Go ahead. And if you’re unlucky, you’re looking at an actual war with the U.S. Seventh Fleet.”

  Jafaar and the ambassador were shocked speechless as Remington continued. “You are fortunate in one thing, and one thing only. Mr. Jared Diamond’s family is not interested in making a public spectacle out of this. They would rather deal with this quietly and move on.

  “Gentlemen, I suggest that we make a deal. You’re going to pay blood money, and we are going to divvy up the Flor de la Mar between us. Right here, right now. Because if we don’t, I am going to walk out of here and take my chances with the Judge, and with the public. I don’t really care either way. It’s up to you.”

  Having put it all out there, Remington crossed his hands behind his head, kicked his boots up on the table, and stared them down.

  Bock, Cartwright, and Jafaar looked at each other. And then all at once, they caved.

  “Very well,” Jafaar said wearily. “I see the wisdom in what you have said. Let us begin negotiations. I don’t know if we will reach a conclusion this day. But perhaps if the Judge sees we are on the way, he will give us more time to—”

  “There’s not going to be any more time,” Remington said flatly. “And there’s not going to be any negotiation. I’m not interested in building an elephant by committee. I’m going to give terms. Either you take them, or you don’t. These are my terms.”

  Remington bulled over their vigorous protests and stated his terms. “Malaysia gets forty-five percent of the Flor de la Mar. Portugal gets twenty-five percent, including rights to the ship itself. Rockweiller Industries gets twenty percent. The Estate of David Marcum gets ten percent. Any remains of soldiers, seamen, or passengers will go to the country of their nationality. That’s the deal.”

  The lawyers were ready to protest anything that came out of Remington’s mouth. But when they heard his terms, they stopped. They actually sounded reasonable. Fair, even. Bock and Jafaar exchanged glances.

  In fact, the one who came closest to protesting was me. Ten percent was already on the table. And after what Remington had just unloaded on them, I felt sure we could do better. But I trusted him, and kept my mouth shut.

  “What about the death claims?” Bock asked.

  “Rockweiller pays fifty million to David Marcum’s estate. Malaysia pays fifty million to Jared Diamond’s estate. And we’re done.”

  That was high but reasonable, given the circumstances. Bock frowned, trying to figure out how he was getting screwed. Attorneys are used to playing games and dragging out negotiations as long possible. To have a fair deal presented at the outset was deeply unsettling to them. And yet, they couldn’t find fault with it.

  “There’s just one thing,” said Remington. Everyone’s hackles went up. “The percentage of the Flor de la Mar allocated to David Marcum’s estate will be paid in cash, today, from the collective funds of Malaysia, Portugal, and Rockweiller Industries.”

  This drew spirited protests from Bock and Jafaar, who vetoed it immediately. No way they could do that, they said. No one even knew for certain what the Flor de la Mar was really worth. Or how long it would take to salvage. Or the cost. Or a hundred other things.

  Remington cut them off. “It seems to me that you all have experts who pegged the value of the wreck pretty precisely. I don’t see what the issue is. But in any case, payment up front is non-negotiable. I am not going to put the estates of Marcum and Diamond in some jackpot that could take years to resolve, if ever. You want to settle this, those are the terms. Else we walk.”

  Bock and Jafaar looked at each other sourly. And then the haggling began.

  Remington gave ground steadily on the finder’s fee and the death payments as the time neared four o’clock. Over the course of an hour, Bock and Jafaar negotiated him down to a five percent finder’s fee instead of ten, and thirty-five million to each estate instead of fifty. But all of the money would be payable immediately, like Remington demanded.

  We also had to agree on a value for the Flor de la Mar for the sake of the deal. Expert testimony put the figure anywhere from three to thirty billion dollars. We agreed on five billion, which was decidedly toward the low end of the range. I thought we could have done better. Much better. But I still didn’t question Remington, and that was the value we used. There were also some details to be worked out regarding India and Thailand, which were making noises about rights to the wreck. It was agreed that Rockweiller, Malaysia, and Portugal would have to deal with that, and any other issues that came up. The estates were out.

  Under the deal, the total sum payable to the Marcum estate was 285 million dollars. Cash. Somehow, this didn’t make any more impression on me than a set of twenty-dollar bills coming out of the ATM. The sum was so staggeringly huge that it didn’t register in any way that made sense.

  Remington reached into his briefcase and took out a settlement agreement which, to my amazement, he had already drafted. He filled in the numbers and handed out copies to everyone for signature. The collective attorneys hesitated with their pens in hand, almost constitutionally incapable of committing to something like this so fast. But the clock was fast approaching five, and Remington just stared them all down until they signed.

  After that, we left the jury room and announced the settlement to Judge Graves. He pronounced himself well pleased with us, signed off on it, and declared the case resolved. And that was that.

  THIRTY-FIVE

  The settlement agreements were signed, the monies were paid, and the lawsuit was over.

  The newspapers loved the ending. Rockweiller, Portugal, and Malaysia chose to announce the settlement as a great victory for them and all mankind. The death settlements were confidential, and no word of the leverage Remington and I had exerted to force this outcome was spoken. All the news saw was a grand bargain between nations, companies, and individuals, which fairly allocated the treasures of the Flor de la Mar among everyone involved. Marcum was hailed as hero for finding it, Rockweiller commended for salvaging it, Portugal praised for sailing it, and Malaysia celebrated for creating it. All of the fights and the lies and the deaths were swept away in a tide of good feeling. Governments extolled the agreement as a model for future disputes over treasure wrecks, and several international treaties were proposed based on its terms.

  The first thing we did afterward was sleep for about a week. The second thing we did was pay out bonuses.

  After our contingency fee, David Marcum’s estate took 171 million dollars all in. Jared Diamond’s estate took 21 million. And HH&K itself took a cool 128 million. The numbers were so big that they felt like the distance between the stars.

  Of the firm’s share, Kruckemeyer got the biggest slice as originating partner. Remington got the next biggest as lead counsel. I got a big bonus too. A huge bonus. Enough that I might never have to practice law again if I didn’t want to. I suspected Ashley had insisted on it. The rest of the money was shared out among the partners, with generous bonuses to Harder, Cindy, Vijay, Lyle, and everyone else who had played a part in the case.

  I could have pushed for more money. Technically, I was Ashley’s lawyer when we won. Not the firm. If I had been a real asshole, I might have asked for the whole store. A lot of lawyers were sharp enough to do just that. But not me. The whole firm had won the case, and there was more than enough money to go around.

  The third thing we did was throw a huge party.

  Kruckemeyer booked the baddest country club in
town, the same one that hosted the Judicial Honors Gala, and we threw a massive bash the likes of which the Houston legal community had never seen. We invited almost every attorney in town, and everyone who was anyone showed up.

  The centerpiece of the party was a huge ice sculpture of the Flor de la Mar, mapped out in meticulous detail by Jacob Schnizzel, and brought to life by a famous ice sculpturist. Its frozen white sails sparkled like diamonds, reaching nearly to the roof of the grand ballroom. Kruckemeyer got some maritime artifacts on loan from the Houston museums, and we scattered them around the room, displayed under crystal cases for guests to marvel at. As a party favor, each guest received an actual silver coin from a shipwreck, with a plaque explaining where it came from, curated by Dr. Richard Avoulay. For the guests we really liked, the coins were gold.

  The food at the party was incredible. We had six different food stations. Five-star chefs cranked out delicacies from Malaysia, Portugal, Colombia, and Spain, with an ice sculpture of a famous shipwreck to match each one. The Mercedes was there, as were the San Jose and the Atocha. Schnizzel also rustled up some lesser known ships, the Santa Margarita and the Madre de Deus, which sank near Mexico and Japan, because Kruckemeyer wanted to serve sushi and fajitas. There was also a desert station, complete with a chocolatier and whatever the equivalent of that was for ice cream.

  Waiters walked around, offering mountains of crab cakes, bacon-wrapped scallops, stuffed dates, and caviar to all and sundry. Kruckemeyer had wanted the waiters to dress in pirate costumes. But Harder took him aside and convinced him that might be insensitive after our near-death experience in Malaysia. Kruckemeyer grumbled but relented. No pemmican was served.

  The amount of alcohol on tap was outrageous. Glasses of champagne and wine flowed around the room, and the chefs created a signature cocktail for each food station. Vijay requested Tiger beer in honor of our Malaysian voyage, and I added the Singapore Sling, a bright pink drink I had tasted on the flight to Kuala Lumpur. There was top-shelf liquor of every kind, everywhere, and the bartenders were pouring doubles without even being asked.

  All of the HH&K partners attended, and congratulated me on a job well done. They were dressed in black tuxedos, and so was I, having finally got one for the occasion. David Wurlheiser approached me toward the middle of the night and pumped my hand for all he was worth, his glasses skewed and his skinny face red with drink. I heard he’d asked Stephanie Rivera to be his date to the party, but that she had declined on grounds of a conflict of interest.

  Kruckemeyer was there, of course. He clapped me on the back and told me that I’d better be in by 9 a.m. the next day to start billing. I wasn’t sure if he was joking.

  Rufus Rockaway and Katie Tyler came too. Rockaway wore his best green turtleneck and a rust-red coat. The colors clashed horribly, and I loved it.

  At some point in the evening, Tyler ran into Schnizzel. I was close by and watched the encounter with interest.

  “Hello, Jacob,” she said in a sultry voice.

  “Katie,” Schnizzel said with a curt nod.

  “You seem to have gotten famous lately,” she said nonchalantly. It was obvious she’d had a lot to drink. It was also obvious that she was flirting with him.

  “Happens to the best of us,” Schnizzel said with disinterest.

  Her delicate eyebrows furrowed in a frown. “Don’t pretend that you’re not happy to see me.”

  Schnizzel grunted. “Where’s Cal?”

  She curled her lip. “Cal? Cal and I are taking a break. The guy fell for me way too fast. Asked me to marry him three months in. But you know all about what that’s like, don’t you?”

  Schnizzel ignored this. “Taking a break huh?” he said.

  “Yes.” She waited expectantly for him to say something else. But he didn’t. “I miss you,” she said at last.

  “I miss you too,” said Schnizzel. “Like the bubonic plague. Enjoy the party.” Then he spun on his heel in a fabulous pair of black cherry-colored cowboy boots and walked off rudely, leaving Tyler to gape at his back. She turned to Rufus Rockaway to make some scathing comment, but found that he had deserted her too. Rockaway was over by the bar getting blasted with Trevor Thompson and unashamedly flirting with Ashley, who couldn’t stop laughing.

  The most formidable guest at the party was undoubtedly the Honorable Nathaniel L. Graves of the Southern District of Texas, Galveston Division. We had invited him to be polite, and hadn’t expected him to come. But to everyone’s surprise, he did. This was edgy, since he had presided over the case. But the lawsuit was over, and technically there was no bar to him socializing with us now. Graves scared the hell out of everybody, especially the younger attorneys, until about ten o’clock, by which time he was roaring drunk, as was everyone else. By eleven, Graves’ booming laugh could be heard from across the ballroom.

  He and I crossed paths at one point. I was on edge. The disciplinary proceedings against Harder and me were still ongoing, and I didn’t know how he would punish us. But Graves seemed in perfectly good humor. He asked about my Malaysian adventures, and said he thought he’d warned me against swashbuckling. I told him I was a slow learner, at which he roared with laughter, and we got on alright after that. Judge Gleeson was there too, and he warmly shook my hand, complimenting me on my performance at the TRO hearing, which seemed so long ago.

  Cindy, Harder, Vijay, Ashley, and I all got wasted and had a fantastic time. Incredibly, Vijay had taken a selfie with the Ricky Tang in the drug-fueled environs of the Sumatran coffee shop. He had made Tang text him the photo, and he showed it to us. I was astonished, and wondered if the text had played any role in our being found and rescued. After midnight, Vijay started texting Tang, asking “Where are you bro?? Come 2 party,” at which we all collapsed in gales of hysterical laughter. Poor guy was probably locked up in a CIA black site somewhere.

  Toward the end of the night, Vijay and Harder reprised their eye patches and paper mache swords and went at me. I took an actual pirate sword from one of the display cases, and to the museum custodian’s horror, started swinging it at them. This play-fight got so raucous that we eventually smashed into the giant ice sculpture of the Flor de la Mar, shattering the beautiful thing to pieces. This drew a standing ovation, and was taken as the signal to wind down what was generally acknowledged to be the legal party of the century so far.

  Over the next few days, I took it easy. I came into the office but didn’t do much. I kept Rockaway and MNN on in the background, feeling like I was watching an old friend. I had little motivation to get back to billing. Instead, I lounged around and enjoyed the aftermath of our great victory.

  Eventually, Cindy, Harder, Vijay, and I went upstairs to track down Remington. He had been away at some hearing for a few days. We stomped into his office with big smiles on our faces, and plopped down in his big leather chairs without so much as a by-your-leave.

  “Well, well,” Remington said, smiling at us. “Look who showed up to work.”

  “Come on,” I said. “You have to admit we deserve some time off after that.”

  “Jack and I do, at least,” said Vijay. “I’m not sure about these two.” He crooked a thumb toward Cindy and Harder. “They just sat around in the office all day while we got ransomed by pirates.”

  “That’s not fair!” said Cindy. “I would have been ransomed by pirates too, if I could have.”

  Remington chuckled. “I’m sure you would have.” He kicked his black cowboy boots up on the desk. He spat, and I noticed he was chewing tobacco.

  “So. Case turn out the way you expected?” he asked me.

  I shook my head, not able to find the words to answer. I thought back to the day I had first met Ashley Marcum at the pro bono clinic. It seemed like a lifetime ago. We chatted for a while about the case, and the party, and Judge Graves, and all that. Eventually, I asked the question we had come for.

  “I have to know somet
hing,” I said. I’d been thinking about this ever since we settled the case. I had tried to find Remington afterward, but he was gone from the courthouse. Then I’d tried to ask him at the party, but he left early.

  “Why did you make that deal?” I asked. “We could have gotten more. I’m sure of it. You started at ten percent, and went down to five. But they were already at ten when you walked in. With what we had on them, we could have asked for twenty. Maybe more.”

  “Twenty percent,” mused Remington. “Perhaps. I don’t know about that.”

  “And why the all-cash deal?” I persisted. “Why didn’t we just take a percentage? It would have been a lot more money. You know that. Was it a risk calculation? Did you think they wouldn’t pay, or the case would continue for that much longer?”

  Cindy, Harder, Vijay, and I all looked at him expectantly, waiting for an answer. We had discussed this at length. We all felt the same way, and wanted to understand. “I know we got a huge settlement,” I said. “Don’t get me wrong. It’s a big win. But I can’t help feeling like we left money on the table,” I said frankly.

  Remington sat quietly for a while. He looked thoughtful. “Well,” he said finally. “I guess that depends on how much you think the wreck is worth.”

  “All of the experts agree it’s worth billions,” Cindy said. “Including Professor Schnizzel.”

  “And those were just the reasonable ones,” Harder said. “Remember the TV experts? They could still be right.”

  Remington nodded slowly. “Let me ask a different question, then,” he said. “How sure are you that the wreck we found is that of the Flor de la Mar?”

  A flicker of uncertainty went through me. It was a bizarre feeling. What was he talking about? I waited, thinking it was a rhetorical question. But Remington just gazed back at us steadily. Back to the Socratic method, then.

  “We’re sure,” I said confidently. “The ship was carrying coins from the ancient city of Malacca, dated five hundred years ago.”