Forty Acres

by Dwayne Alexander Smith

  “Hey, what’s Anna doing?” Lisa pointed across the room.

  Martin turned and to his astonishment spotted his wife, Anna, climbing onto a desk, clutching a slip of paper.

  “Stop the music,” Anna shouted over the din. “I have something to read.”

  Martin watched, puzzled, as the radio died and everyone turned to face her. Even in the simplest of dresses Anna looked stunning. Every time Martin looked at her, he still couldn’t believe that Anna was his wife.

  Anna held up the slip of paper and addressed the crowd. “I just printed this from the home page of Law Watch. It’s about Martin.”

  Everyone applauded. Law Watch was the number one legal website in the world. Anna flashed a smile across the room at Martin, then began to read.

  Lawyers on both sides of the Watson v. Autostone race discrimination trial on Thursday delivered their closing arguments to eight jurors, capping two weeks of testimony in the highly publicized courtroom battle. Defending Autostone, the esteemed Damon Darrell was in his usual impeccable form. He delivered a ninety-minute point-by-point closing. But in a surprising turn the opposing attorney, Martin Grey, delivered his closing in less than two minutes: a daring appeal to the jury’s common sense that brought down Darrell’s case like a collapsing circus tent. Less than twenty minutes after the lunch recess, the jury returned a verdict in the prosecution’s favor: $250,000 in compensatory and $25.5 million in punitive damages. The verdict is certain to be appealed but this David v. Goliath tale is already the break-room hot topic in every law firm in the land. With one keen swing of his slingshot, Martin Grey has thrust his tiny Queens firm of Grey and Grossman into the legal spotlight.

  When Anna finished, her eyes were filled with tears and Martin was standing directly below her. The room erupted with applause. Martin eased Anna down from the table and into his arms.

  “I’m so proud of you, baby,” Anna whispered. Then Martin and Anna kissed as if they were the only two people in the room. A familiar voice suddenly boomed over the fading applause. “Martin, I had no idea your wife was so beautiful.”

  Everyone turned and stared at the sharply dressed man standing in the doorway holding two bottles of Dom Pérignon and wearing the biggest smile ever.

  A puzzled Anna whispered to Martin, “Who invited him?”

  CHAPTER 5

  Damon Darrell was the last person Martin expected to show up at the party, but of course, the man had a knack for doing the unexpected.

  The crowd parted instinctively as Damon crossed the room to Martin. If Damon noticed the effect that his arrival had on those present, he never let it show. Damon handed Martin the two bottles of champagne, wearing a seemingly genuine smile. “I just wanted to stop by and convey my congratulations.”

  Martin did his best to conceal his surprise and thanked him for the gesture.

  “Not at all,” Damon said. “What happens during the trial is all business, right? Nothing personal. I’m here as a fellow attorney who admires your work. You’re one hell of a trial lawyer.”

  “Thanks. You’re not so bad yourself.”

  Damon laughed and Martin was relieved that he did. This was still Damon Darrell. Sure, Martin had just beaten him, but the list of important cases Damon had won was long and impressive. Hey, even Hank Aaron struck out sometimes.

  Before Martin had a chance to do the honors, Damon introduced himself to Anna. Damon didn’t hide the fact that he was taken by ­Anna’s beauty. He shook Anna’s hand with a seducer’s smile, then turned to Martin. “Mr. Grey, if I had known that you possessed the verbal skills to persuade a woman this beautiful to marry you, I never would have underestimated you.”

  Martin was surprised to see Anna blush at the remark. She was usually a tougher audience than that.

  When Glen marched over, Martin grew a little tense. Throughout the trial Glen had made plenty of critical remarks about Damon. He respected Damon’s skills as a litigator, but he couldn’t get past the idea of the most powerful black attorney siding with the racists that ran Autostone. He was convinced Damon was only in it for the money.

  Glen stuck out his hand. “I’m Martin’s partner, Glen—”

  Damon grabbed Glen’s hand. “Glen Grossman. Of course. Nice to finally meet the other half of the dream team. You were on that class action against Texaco last year, weren’t you?”

  “Yeah, that was me,” Glen said, surprised. Texaco had been the firm’s biggest case before Autostone surfaced. They settled for five million and Glen was proud of every penny.

  “You did a great job,” Damon said. “Nice settlement. I doubt I could have done any better.”

  “Yeah, right.” Glen chuckled. “I’m sure you would have squeezed twice that out of them.”

  Martin couldn’t believe it. First Damon charmed Anna, and now Glen?

  After Glen’s introduction of Lisa and a few more minutes of conversation, Damon said he had to run off to some meeting, but there was one more reason he had crashed the party.

  “My wife and I are hosting a little dinner party Friday night,” he said to Martin. “And we would love for you and Anna to come. Fair warning, it’s ridiculously formal, but the upside is my wife is an amazing hostess.”

  Surprised, Martin turned to Anna. He could see the excitement in her eyes as well. Darrell’s great wealth and circle of celebrity friends were well documented in the tabloids. A chance to mingle in those circles, even for one night, sounded like great fun.

  Damon said to Glen, “Really wish I could invite you and your lovely wife as well. Unfortunately, my wife plans these gatherings down to the smallest detail. I’m only able to squeeze them in because of a last-­minute cancellation. Sorry.”

  “No, that’s okay,” Glen said, wrapping an arm around Lisa. They both hid their disappointment behind pleasant smiles. “Maybe next time.”

  Damon turned back to Martin. “So, shall I give my wife your RSVP?”

  Anna glanced at Martin. She wasn’t happy about it, but she understood what her husband had to do.

  Martin frowned at Damon. “I really appreciate the invitation, but I think we’ll wait for the next—”

  “No, no, no,” Glen said. “Don’t be silly. You two go and have a great time. It’s all right. Really.”

  “You guys have to go,” Lisa added. “Then you can tell us all about it. Every detail.”

  “Good. Then it’s settled,” Damon said. He slapped Martin on the arm. “I’ll have someone email you the information. See you Friday.”

  As Damon Darrell made a quick exit, Martin noticed the troubled look on Anna’s face. “What’s wrong?”

  “He said the party was formal.”

  Martin rolled his eyes. “Let me guess. You have nothing to wear.”

  “Not just me,” Anna said. “What about you? All you have are those old suits you wear every day.”

  “Have you two forgotten why we’re celebrating?” Glen said as he grabbed a bottle of champagne from Martin. “The law firm of Grey and Grossman is about to receive a big, fat contingency check. I’m sure you two can afford to do a little shopping.”

  They all laughed as, pop! Glen freed the cork and let the champagne flow.

  CHAPTER 6

  Behind the wheel of his Jeep Grand Cherokee, Glen double-checked his rearview mirror, then turned to Lisa. His voice was urgent. “This is going to sound nuts but I think we’re being followed.”

  “What?”

  “That van behind us. I think he’s following us.”

  Lisa turned in her seat and peered out the back window. She spotted the battered black van in the lane behind them. The van was two car lengths back, which seemed about right for the speed they were traveling, and nothing seemed menacing about the way it was being driven. Lisa turned back to Glen. “What makes you think it’s following us?”

  “It’s been right behind us ever si
nce we left the party.”

  Glen and Lisa had slipped out early because Lisa had a flight to catch the next morning. Lisa ran a small decorating business and was headed to Vegas to attend a big home show. From the moment they drove off, Glen had noticed that black van trailing them. At first he didn’t pay much attention to it. Just another pair of headlights in the dark streets of New York City. But after traveling fifteen minutes on the Long Island Expressway, crossing the Midtown Tunnel, and heading downtown on Second Avenue, the same route he took home every night, that black van was still behind them.

  Lisa sighed. “Are you sure it’s even the same van?”

  Glen glanced in the rearview mirror. The van’s front bumper had an Obama sticker on it. He’d noticed the sticker the first time he spotted the van. “Yeah, it’s definitely the same van.”

  “Glen, I’m sure it’s just a coincidence.”

  “For a few blocks maybe, but every single turn for the last fifteen minutes? Doesn’t that seem odd to you?”

  “Okay, it’s a weird coincidence. But it’s still just a coincidence.”

  Glen shot his wife a look. He knew he had a tendency to see a conspiracy in every shadow—his nightly weed smoking didn’t exactly help his paranoid tendencies either—but this was different. This was real.

  “I’m telling you,” Glen said. “That guy is following us.”

  “Glen, why would anyone be following us?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe to carjack us.”

  “For this old piece of junk? Be for real.”

  Then it struck Glen. It was so obvious that he was surprised he hadn’t realized it before. “Of course.”

  Lisa could see the fear building in Glen’s eyes. “What? What’s wrong?”

  “My law firm just beat one of the biggest corporations in the country out of $26 million. Maybe they want revenge. Huge companies like Autostone kill people all the time. They have hit men on the payroll to take care of anyone who gets in their way. Eliminate the competition. How do you think they get so big in the first place?”

  Lisa rolled her eyes. “Do you even hear yourself?”

  “Yes. And it makes perfect sense. Martin is probably being followed too. Shit! I better warn him.”

  Glen reached for the cell phone on the dash, but Lisa grabbed it first. “That’s it, stop the car.”

  “What?”

  “There’s only one way to settle this craziness,” Lisa said. “Pull over and see what happens.”

  “Are you serious? What if I’m right?”

  “Glen, if you don’t stop this car right now, I’m going to scream. I swear.”

  Glen frowned, then swung the Grand Cherokee over to the curb and pulled to a stop. They watched in silence as the black van sped by, continued down the dark street, and disappeared around the corner.

  Glen looked almost disappointed to see the van drive off without incident.

  “You see?” Lisa couldn’t help rubbing it in a bit. “No corporate boogeymen. Can we go home now?”

  Glen frowned as he shifted the SUV into drive and pulled away from the curb. “I still think they were following us.”

  “I know. That’s the sad part. I keep telling you to cut back on that stuff.”

  If Glen had been watching the road instead of glaring at his wife, he might have spotted the black van parked just around the nearest corner. Idling in the shadows. Headlights off. Its occupants watching as the Grand Cherokee zoomed by.

  CHAPTER 7

  As Martin wheeled his Volvo into his leaf-strewn driveway, he saw with new eyes the handsome two-story brick house that he and Anna called home. Two years ago, when they had closed on the Forest Hills property, they were thrilled as could be. For both, it was their first experience purchasing a property. The price matched their budget, the square footage exceeded their expectations, and although the neighborhood was predominantly Caucasian, there were enough nonwhite households in the area to make Anna and Martin feel comfortable. Most of all, though, the little brick house symbolized that Martin’s career was finally taking off and held the promise that someday soon they’d be able to start a family. But now, with Martin looking at undreamed-of success, he realized that in a few months he’d be able to afford three or four houses just like it and could live in almost any neighborhood he wanted.

  * * *

  Martin headed straight for the kitchen and started rummaging through the refrigerator. Anna frowned. “Why didn’t you eat something at the party?”

  “I did,” Martin said. “I’m still hungry.”

  Anna shook her head as Martin pulled the makings for a sandwich out of the fridge.

  “I can’t wait to see what’s on the menu at Damon’s house,” Martin said as he put the finishing touches on his sandwich.

  Anna frowned again. “I feel kinda guilty about Glen and Lisa. Don’t you?”

  Martin tugged Anna into his arms. “Damon’s party is nothing,” Martin assured her. “Lots of exciting things are going to happen for us now. For Glen and Lisa too. Trust me.”

  Anna purred, “Would one of those exciting things need to be ­potty-trained?”

  Martin smiled. “Besides being beautiful and smart, are you a mind reader too?”

  “Absolutely. You didn’t know?”

  “Okay, tell me what I’m thinking.” Then Martin kissed her. Long and deep. “Well?”

  Anna wore a wicked smile as she pressed her body closer to his. “I don’t need psychic powers to tell what you’re thinking. I can feel it.”

  Martin grabbed Anna by the hand and pulled her up the stairs toward the bedroom.

  CHAPTER 8

  Whoa! Check that out!” Martin pointed to a sleek black helicopter perched on a stretch of rolling lawn as he drove through the gates of Damon Darrell’s Bedford, New York, estate. Other residents of the affluent hamlet, like Donald Trump and Ralph Lauren, might not be impressed by such a sight, but Martin gaped like a kid at the Macy’s parade.

  After passing the aircraft, Martin wheeled his Volvo around a broad circular driveway lined with luxury automobiles.

  “That one cost almost as much as the helicopter,” Martin said, pointing to a midnight-blue Bugatti Veyron.

  “That’s wonderful,” Anna murmured without looking up from her dress. She was way too nervous to give a damn about rich boys’ toys. She and Martin had decided to crack the piggybank and splurge on new outfits for the dinner party. Martin bought himself an Armani tuxedo, which he looked fantastic in, and Anna found the perfect Chanel evening gown. The simple black dress was the most expensive piece of clothing that Anna had ever owned. But now, as they wound closer and closer to Darrell’s magnificent home, Anna had the sinking feeling that her little Chanel just wasn’t enough.

  Martin noticed Anna’s anxious expression. “Don’t worry, baby. You look fantastic.”

  “You’re my husband, you’re supposed to say that.”

  “You’re right. Actually, you look terrible.”

  “Not funny.”

  Martin chuckled as he pulled to a stop in front of the sprawling Georgian gray-stone mansion. The ivy-laced columns that lined the facade were so tall that they seemed to hold up the night sky.

  Two uniformed valets assisted the couple out of their car. As Martin and Anna approached the elegant wrought-iron front door, Martin whispered to Anna, “You really do look beautiful.”

  “Thanks.” Anna took her husband’s hand and held her breath. “Here we go.”

  A smiling servant opened the door before they could ring the bell and beckoned them inside with a sweep of his hand. Martin and Anna stepped through the door.

  CHAPTER 9

  They were all black. That’s the first thing Martin noticed when he and Anna entered the parlor where the other guests were chatting while enjoying wine and hors d’oeuvres.

  The house was even more b
eautiful inside than Martin had imagined. He didn’t know the first thing about interior design, antiques, or paintings, but he was certain that everything inside the Darrell home was the best. But as fantastic as the mansion was, nothing impressed Martin more than the roomful of guests.

  There were four other couples besides Martin and Anna in attendance. The men wore perfectly tailored tuxedos. The women were all draped in designer gowns and adorned with glittering jewelry.

  And they’re all black, Martin kept mentally repeating to himself. He just wasn’t expecting that. Of course, with Damon Darrell hosting, he knew that at least a few of the couples would be of African descent. But all of them? The idea had just never entered his mind.

  The queer smile he got from Anna told Martin that she too was surprised by the complexion of the guest list.

  “There they are,” Damon bellowed as he strode across the room with a beautiful woman by his side. Damon thanked them both for coming, then introduced his wife, Juanita.

  Martin had seen photographs of Juanita Darrell in magazines, but nothing had prepared him for just how stunning she looked in person. Statuesque is the word that popped into his mind. Like a fashion model in one of those two-inch-thick women’s magazines that Anna always thumbed through but never seemed to read.

  Juanita welcomed them with a smile worthy of a queen and complimented Anna on her gown. Anna countered by praising Juanita’s beautiful home, and their hostess seemed genuinely flattered by the comments.

  “I apologize for rushing off,” Juanita said, more to Anna than to Martin, “but there are still a few fires to put out. We’ll chat later.” Then she was gone.

  Damon took Anna’s arm. “Come on, let me introduce you two to everyone.” He ushered them to where the rest of the guests were gathered. “Attention, please,” Damon proclaimed in a booming, formal tone that made Martin smile. “May I present Martin Grey and his beautiful wife, Anna.”