The Subway ; The Debt ; Catastrophic

by Dustin Stevens

  Shane’s lips parted in surprised as he stared at her, fixed in place until Judge Lynch told Reed the floor was his. With conscious effort Shane moved back to his table, nodding at Christine, a sad smile tugging at the side of his face. He had spent the night on her couch, as much to help ease his guilt as her jumpiness, but had left before she awoke. A small bruise had been present the night before, but nothing like what was on display now.

  A folded piece of white paper sat on his chair as Shane approached. He slid it off with one hand and dropped down into his seat, pulling up the flap on it and reading the handwritten note once before closing it and raising his gaze to Reed.

  What he saw brought a smirk to his face.

  After two weeks, Reed had taken a small step in realizing where he was and what he was up against, trading in his assortment of blood red ties for one with a golden hue. His suit was downgraded to a dark charcoal, though still his posture was to stand in one place, his fingers laced in front of him.

  “Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, good morning,” Reed began, his voice deep, his tone somewhere between grandfatherly and condescending. “I am glad that Judge Lynch and Mr. Laszlo both spoke to you this morning about burden of proof, because that is the same topic I wanted to speak to all of you about.

  “Ladies and gentlemen, I do not fault Mr. Laszlo for the way he presented that burden to you, but to say that he was entirely forthright would be misleading. The burden of proof in a civil case does lie with the plaintiff, that much is true, however that burden is not just to establish that a charge should be brought, but that the defendant’s action alone were the direct cause of it.”

  Reed swiveled a bit at the waist, extending a hand towards Shane. “Mr. Laszlo makes a very compelling case that charges should be brought. His client, Tyler Bentley was a great athlete, a talented individual, and a very hard worker. You hate for what befell him to happen to anybody, but even more so to someone in his position, with so much to look forward to. In a span of just six short months he went from starring for his team to only having the use of one limb. This is a travesty, and someone should be held accountable.

  “My client is not that someone though. It had nothing to do with the shoddy surgical work that contributed to the systemic failure of the implanted device, just like it had nothing to do with the blatant disregard for product warnings that also contributed to its demise.

  “My client is just the one unfortunate enough to have the deepest pockets of those connected to this case.”

  Once more Reed turned towards the plaintiff’s table, his face grave, almost accusatory. “There is no doubt many people responsible for what happened here, but SynTronic Corporation is not one of them. It just had the misfortune of being in the proverbial wrong place at the wrong time, of being on the receiving end of several coincidences that when taken together could be mistaken for guilt.

  “I trust you will not make that mistake. Thank you.”

  Shane pushed an angry breath out through his nose as Reed returned to his seat, forcing himself not to flex his hands into fists and slam them against the desk in front of him. Grasping at straws, Reed had decided to go with smear tactics, to questions his ability as a lawyer and Tyler’s integrity in hopes of gaining exoneration.

  “Mr. Laszlo, would you care for rebuttal?” Judge Lynch asked, peering down over the rim of his spectacles. Shane met his gaze for a moment before lowering his eyes and rereading the note that had been waiting for him on his chair just a few moments before. He flipped the page open to see Christine’s perfect script, the words echoing what she had said to him the very first night he returned to town.

  It all has to come out, otherwise there is no closure.

  Shane closed the note and turned his head, his chin just above his shoulder, Christine visible on the periphery of his vision. He nodded once and stood, straightening his tie against his stomach. “Yes, thank you, Your Honor.”

  Every one of the thoughts and feelings that he had tucked away for the past six weeks, for the past eight years, pushed their way to the front of his mind. If he was going to do this, was going to open the floodgates and let everything spill out, he had to do it right. It had to be orderly, it had to be comprehensive, it had to have finality to it.

  “Ladies and gentlemen,” Shane said, his voice low, almost inaudible in the recesses of the courtroom, “I won’t continue to belabor the points of this case. We have all done that to you for two weeks now. I’m willing to bet that most of you have already made your decision at this point, and there is very little I can say right now that will shape how you feel about Tyler Bentley or his lost limb.

  “What I would like to talk to you about though is something that seems to have gotten lost throughout this trial, a fact I blame myself for, and that is the character of those people involved. Now, on one side of the aisle you have the Bentley family, a mother and son from a town of three hundred and fifty people on a little windswept patch of asphalt in Wyoming.

  “You have a young man whose coaches swore was always the first one to show up and the last to leave, that gave tirelessly of himself to local charities, that last Christmas delayed his trip home by a day to visit sick children in the hospital. You have his mother, who worked two jobs to provide for her family, that flew back as often as she could to see her son play, that has been here through every second of this trial, spending time and money she doesn’t have to be by her son’s side.”

  Shane paused to look at each of them, Tyler staring back, the slightest bit of a crack in his features, Margie behind him, tears spilling down her face.

  “And on the other side you have SynTronic. A global corporation that makes business dealings by promising kickbacks to those that partner with them, that hires thespians to portray former patients, that keeps attorneys on staff who will stand in front of a courtroom and tell you that the reason a young man lost his leg was because he didn’t read the rulebook they gave him, not because they designed a faulty product.”

  Shane paused and turned again, this time to face the defense table. Reed and Ramirez sat at it, neither one meeting his eye, both motionless.

  “A few moments ago, Mr. Reed used the word coincidence. Good, let’s talk about coincidences.

  “Is it a coincidence that two weeks ago, the front row behind my counsel table featured a law professor and two young law students, all here to help me, and today none of them are here? Is it coincidence that one of them was almost killed when his three year old pickup exploded? Is it coincidence that another was savagely beaten outside his home just a few a nights later? That the third, after almost being assaulted herself, felt afraid to be present here today?”

  Shane turned and stared at Christine, her dark eyes peering back into his. “Is it coincidence that the only person sitting there today is my best friend, her face mangled, her only crime being coming to visit me? Or that I stand before you with three stitches in my forehead and two broken ribs?

  “Is it a coincidence that not one of us had ever so much as been in a fight three weeks ago, but after going to trial with SynTronic, we are all the walking wounded?”

  Shane paused again, allowing his voice to even out, to push back the anger that was threatening to burst through his every word. He had waited eight years to say what he was about to, there was no chance he was going to mess up the delivery, to let the gravity of their meaning be lost on anyone in the room.

  “Perhaps the biggest question though, the one that Mr. Reed should be asking himself, or maybe even my client Tyler Bentley should be asking himself, is it a coincidence that I stand before you today? That six weeks ago I was quite content practicing environmental law in Boston, and now I am here, working a civil case in front of you?”

  Shane turned away from the counsel table, his back to the defense. He made sure the judge was beyond his scope of vision, narrowing his entire focus to the fifteen people sitting in front of him.

  “If you were to look at the original complaint I filed with
this court, or the waiver I put in with the state to be allowed to practice this case, you will see that my attorney of record here in Ohio is Alixandra Laszlo. She hasn’t practiced in quite some time, but her license is still active.

  “You might not recognize the name because to her friends, she was always Sandy. I sometimes don’t recognize the name because to me, she was always Mom.”

  A few eyebrows went up on the jury, a pair of women exchanged glances.

  “My mother was one of the all-time great trial lawyers in this state, in this country, and that’s not just the opinion of a proud son. A simple Google search will confirm this, as will any person involved in advocacy while she was active. She is the entire reason I went into law, the person whose voice gives me advice every step of the way, whose approval I try to seek each day.

  “For all her many great attributes, my mother had only one flaw, one weakness, and that was chronic rhinitis, more commonly known as hay fever. For most people it would be an inconvenience, but for a trial lawyer, it was a real concern, a potential threat to her livelihood. She was always on the lookout for some remedy for it, some new product that would alleviate her of the ailment, allow her to perform her craft without worrying about sneezing in front of a jury.

  “Just the same way SynTronic went after Tyler Bentley, wanting him to be the face of their new toy, rushing it out before it was ready, they came after my mother with a new antihistamine spray, told her it would cure her of rhinitis forever.

  “Sadly, just like Tyler, my mother agreed. Even more sad than Tyler though, when that particular SynTronic product proved to be faulty, it wasn’t a leg she lost, it was her mind. It only took a single spray for the chemical cocktail they used to pass up her nasal cavity and into her brain, frying the synapses right where they were.

  “One day, she was a high powered attorney. The next, she couldn’t even form a sentence or recognize who I was.”

  Shane’s voice broke as the last words tumbled out, moisture clinging to the corners of his eyes. He raised his hand to his nose and held it there for several seconds, watching as the women before him did the same, even a couple of the men.

  “I was only eighteen years old at the time, had just lost any real semblance of my mother without even the chance to say goodbye. I didn’t know any better when SynTronic came around and offered a settlement. To my eternal shame, I accepted the money, using every last bit of it to put her into long-term care.”

  Shane paused again, sniffling, running a hand across his face. For the first time he turned his head to see Tyler and Margie both crying, to see Christine smiling at him, tears dripping from the bottom of her chin.

  “So, was it a coincidence that I came back here eight years later to seize the second chance that I had been given? Not at all. I am not here for pride or for vanity, I am not here to get my name in a newspaper or to bring home some major windfall.

  “I’m here to make sure that the coincidence that happened to my mother doesn’t happen to Tyler Bentley, or anybody else, ever again.”

  Chapter Fifty-Six

  The foot traffic at Port Columbus airport was thin, exceedingly so even, for midday on a Thursday. There were no holidays on the horizon, no long weekend travelers trying to beat the rush, no reason for most people to be anywhere near an airport.

  Of course, at the moment, Shane didn’t have reason to be anywhere else in particular either.

  Shane sat in front of a floor-to-ceiling window at the far end of the airport, his feet propped up on a sill, mind void of a single care in the world. He sat with his arms folded across his chest, his bare calves exposed beneath cargo shorts, sandals on his feet, watching as one plane after another departed, lifting itself from the runway and rising into a pristine powder blue sky.

  He had been at the airport for almost six hours now, arriving at seven that morning to drop off Tyler and Margie to fly back to Worland together, both springing for first class for the first times in their lives. Both had cried as Shane left them at the curb, Margie squeezing him tight, thanking him for everything he had done. She held the pose for almost three full minutes, long enough that Shane began to feel uncomfortable, not quite long enough to make him start squirming. When she at last pulled back, her face was bright pink and wet with tears, her mouth whispering thank you over and over again.

  Shane assured her it was okay, that she was more than welcome, that they always knew where to find him if they needed anything.

  Tyler was a bit more conservative, starting with a handshake before going in for the hug, squeezing Shane with the strength of a former college football player. Balanced on his new prosthetic leg, he pulled back, his eyes wet, and thanked him for all he had done.

  “Really, it was my pleasure,” Shane said, nodding his head in earnest. “That was as gratifying for me as it was for you, a win eight years in the making.”

  Tyler nodded, swallowing hard, wiping his face dry. “You’ll stay in touch? Let me know when you get settled somewhere?”

  “I will,” Shane promised. “I’m going to be moving around a little for the next month or two, but you’ll be able to reach me. Keep me posted on your rehab, how the new leg treats you.”

  “I’ll do that,” Tyler said, catching the stare of an onlooker passing by. He avoided the man’s stare but noticed his OTU t-shirt, shaking his head in disgust.

  “I take it you won’t be coming back in the fall?” Shane asked, watching the man as he departed inside.

  “No offense, but I may never be back in Ohio,” Tyler said, his voice firm, not a trace of doubt within it. “I’m looking into transferring over to UW in Laramie for the fall, but it might be winter before I get there.”

  Shane nodded. “That’s understandable. Take your time, don’t in be such a rush to jump back in, you’ve got a little flexibility now.”

  The comment drew a smile from Tyler, who shook his head and hefted a duffel bag to his shoulder, again extending his hand. “We can’t thank you enough, for everything.”

  “You’re more than welcome,” Shane said, taking the hand in both of his.

  “If any of those travels include Yellowstone, you be sure to let me know. It’s quite a place to behold.”

  Shane nodded, releasing Tyler’s grip, his gaze far away as he thought about the offer. “I just might do that, thank you.”

  “Take care,” Tyler said, nodding one final time and departing to join his mother.

  Shane waved and climbed back into his car, driving it out to the long term lot and parking it. He took his time getting back to the terminal, stopping in Bob Evans for breakfast, waiting until the Bentleys departed before walking up to the first departure counter he came to and buying a ticket.

  For the first time in years he felt as free as the planes rising into the afternoon sun, without a care in the world. He had nowhere to be, no agenda once he got there, no reason to look over his shoulder at all.

  “So is this the GQ look for young, freshly minted millionaires?” a familiar voice asked, bringing a smile to Shane’s face. One at a time he lowered his feet to the floor and leaned forward in his seat, turning to see Christine standing behind him, nobody else within fifty yards of them.

  “Of all the gates in all the airports in all the world...” Shane said, letting his voice trail off.

  “You were lucky enough for me to walk into yours,” Christine said, circling around and falling into the seat beside him. Shane glanced over to her face, the bruise faded a great deal, the remaining portion of it extending only half as far as it once did, almost entirely concealed with makeup.

  “At the risk of asking, I seem to remember your face being a bit more colorful just a few days ago.”

  “Is that a question” Christine asked, “or are we just going to both pretend that we know I might have embellished a bit for the courtroom and leave it at that?”

  Without waiting for Shane to respond, she extracted a rolled up newspaper from a shoulder bag and slapped it against his chest, the p
aper making a loud smack of pages. “You see this?”

  Shane unfurled the paper to the front page of the Columbus Herald, a single headline in bold letters stretching the entire width of the page.

  SynTronic set to pay much more than just $31M.

  “Catchy,” Shane said, his gaze wandering down to see the name Hanson Byers on the first line. He smiled, recalling the excitement of Byers during their conversation on Monday, hearing every last detail Shane had. Some he attributed as being from the counsel for the plaintiff, others were quoted from an anonymous source.

  Nothing was left out.

  Shane ran his gaze over the article, taking up the full top half of the page, before rolling it closed and handing it back to Christine. He reclined himself back in the chair and stretched his legs out, his heels falling into place at the base of the windows.

  “Not even going to read it?” Christine asked, sliding low in her chair to assume the same position.

  “No need,” Shane said, shaking his head. “I gave him ninety percent of the material in the article. No reason to relive it.”

  Rotating her head at the neck, Christine regarded his profile for a long moment. He could feel her eyes on him, but said nothing, not even letting himself smile.

  “So remind me, how much is the contingency fee on thirty-one million?” she asked, an eyebrow arched.

  “Too much,” Shane said without pause.

  “Almost ten and a half?” she pressed, ignoring his comment.

  “Again, too much,” Shane said.

  “Whatcha going to do with all that scratch?”