Alligator Park

by R. J. Blacks

  CHAPTER 29

  The older man stands up. His casual attire—a leather sports jacket over a pink pastel shirt, unbuttoned at the neckline—contrasts sharply with the stodgy, bland, business suits of the other participants. His presence, and air of confidence, mesmerizes everyone in the room. He directs his attention to our side of the table maintaining eye contact with the Stewarts.

  “Welcome my friends. I am Eldridge Broadhampton, founder and CEO of Global World Industries. And, presumably, you are George and Victoria Stewart?”

  They nod in agreement.

  “It was with great sadness I learned about your son Kevin, and all of us here share your sorrow. But I would like you to know, I started this company forty years ago with the proposition: our mission and goal would be to produce only products that would enhance the quality of life of all mankind. I had, and still have, the profound belief if we were kind to our customers, they would be kind to us. The suggestion that this company is somehow responsible for your son’s accident is contrary to everything I’ve promoted to our employees. Every scientist and engineer that works here will tell you how important safety is to this organization. The accusation that this company placed profits above the welfare of our clients strikes deep at my heart. And although we believe this to be a freak and bizarre accident, we are not without compassion, and would like to help alleviate your pain. My chief legal counsel, Ellis Grimes here, will explain the details to you.”

  Ellis stands up and nods to the participants around the table, acknowledging their presence.

  “Now if you will excuse me, I have another meeting. Ellis, the floor is yours.”

  Broadhampton exits the room and Ellis strolls to the front, under the wide-screen TV.

  “You’ve heard Mr. Broadhampton’s declaration that his first and foremost intention is to assist you in getting over your grief, however, I’ve reviewed your ‘demand’ letter and I find a number of inconsistencies I’d like to discuss. May I?”

  Everyone looks at Berkeley and he nods okay.

  “First, I found your supposition that a marine biologist would make $140,000 a year somewhat beyond belief. My own research tells me the starting salary for a marine biologist is $29,000, going up to $124,000 for senior staff. But of course, there’s no guarantee Kevin would have ever achieved senior status. He might have changed careers, chosen a lesser position, or failed to make the grade. I believe a more realistic estimate would be a maximum salary of $89,000 per year giving us an average of $59,000 assuming a linear progression of earnings, which of course is highly speculative, however, for the benefit of the doubt; I’ll give that to you. Thus, over a twenty year career, which, by the way, I believe is a more realistic life expectancy factor, we have a total wage loss of $1.2 million. Keep in mind Kevin could have become a victim of drug or alcohol abuse; wasn’t marijuana and booze found in the car? He could have also succumbed to a debilitating illness, or even died. Forty years is too ambitious in my opinion.”

  Ellis gazes around the room taking in the reaction, and then continues.

  “Then there’s the ‘loss of joy’ award. How much joy are you going to get from an eighteen year old? He’s past the formative years, almost a man, and believe me, someone that age isn’t going to listen to his parents. The teenagers I come across are no joy, in fact, they’re more like a nuisance, but just to be generous, I threw in $100,000, down from the $2.4 million you requested. My offer then is 1.3 million.”

  Berkeley seems frozen for a moment, and then he speaks.

  “Thank you Mr. Grimes. We’d like to take that under advisement. Can we break for fifteen minutes?”

  “Of course, take as long as you like.”

  Berkeley gets up and signals us to follow him. We file out the door and back to the private office. Everyone takes a seat.

  “Well, there’s 1.3 million on the table. Shall we take it?” he says, directing the question to the Stewarts.

  They seem stunned and don’t answer so Berkeley adds:

  “If you accept, I’ll reduce my fee to just expenses, which at this point is less than $50,000. You walk away with a clean one-and-a-quarter million. It’s your call.”

  The room goes silent and I feel the compulsion to say something.

  “Boy, do you believe that Ellis? He handled that with the delicacy of a gorilla doing brain surgery.”

  Mrs. Stewart fidgets in her chair and then speaks up.

  “Did you hear what he said about Kevin? Practically called him a drug addict.”

  “I think he was speaking hypothetically,” Berkeley says.

  “And to suggest Kevin won’t bring us any joy, or that he’s a slacker, or any of those nasty things he said.”

  “Think carefully. Both of you. You could walk out of here with more than one million dollars. It’s a sure thing. I can’t guarantee you would ever get the eight million, or even anything close,” Berkeley says.

  “I don’t care. I don’t like that man. I know what he’s thinking. Thinks were just after the money. Well, he can stick his money you know where.”

  “Why don’t you and Mr. Stewart take a few minutes in private and discuss it.”

  Berkeley and I leave the room and stand out in the hallway. A few moments later, Mrs. Stewart pops her head out and tells us to come back inside.

  “No, we’ve made up our mind. We’re going to pass.”

  “Pass it is,” Berkeley says, and we all follow him back to the main conference room. We take our seats, but Berkeley remains standing.

  “Mr. Grimes, we appreciate the offer, but the Stewarts have told me they wish to pass.”

  “You’re going to walk away from a million dollars?”

  “I work for Mrs. Stewart, and she’s pretty strong willed.”

  Ellis wanders over to the window and stares at the ocean for a couple of minutes. He moves over to a man with an open laptop and sits next to him. The two of them whisper to each other for a few moments and then the man types on the keyboard. He points to something on the screen and then the two of them whisper something again. Ellis stands up and turns to face us.

  “Okay, you want to play tough. Mr. Broadhampton is very motivated to settle this case, and of course, to ease the pain of the Stewarts. Tell you what I’ll do. I’ll double the offer to 2.6 million.”

  There’s a gasp from everyone in the room. Berkeley looks at Mrs. Stewart and I see her head signal a determined NO.

  “There’s your answer,” Berkeley says.

  “I see,” Ellis says. “You think you have a strong case. Well, before you go, I want you to hear some testimony, from one of our experts. And after you hear him, I’ll give you one last chance to accept the offer, out of courtesy of course.”

  “Fine, bring him in,” Berkeley says.

  Ellis dials a phone and requests a certain person to join us. Five minutes later, there’s a tap at the door and a man in a white lab coat enters. He sits near the other GWI employees.

  “Please announce your name,” Ellis says.

  “I’m Dr. Tom Benson, Chief Scientist and Director of Product Development at Global World Industries.”

  “Dr. Benson, what did I give you several weeks ago?”

  “You gave me a report by Ms. Indigo Wells to the EPA.”

  “And what was in that report?”

  “She basically tried to prove that Farm-eXia had psychotropic effects on aquatic animals.”

  “What did you think of the report?”

  “Well, naturally we were concerned. After all, we market Farm-eXia as being perfectly safe for external application.”

  “And what did you do?”

  “We acquired some aquatic laboratory animals, frogs, snakes, and small alligators. Then we fed them larger than normal quantities of Farm-eXia to see if we could duplicate the results in the report.”

  “You say, larger than normal quantities. How high?”

  “The quantities ranged from ten to twenty times the allowed limit.”

  “For
how long did you feed them these quantities?”

  “Several weeks.”

  “Briefly, what were your findings?”

  “We hired several herpetologists to determine if the animals that were fed the Farm-eXia exhibited behavioral patterns that deviated from the control group. No differences were noted.”

  “So what is your conclusion?”

  “My conclusion is clear. Farm-eXia has no effect on aquatic animals.”

  “Still want to sue?” Ellis says, with a sneer.

  “Excuse us,” Berkeley says, and leads the four of us out to the hallway. He looks worried, troubled, and then turns to me.

  “What do you think about all this?”

  “I know what I saw in the wild. But until I see the details of his report, I have to assume he missed something important.”

  Berkeley turns to the Stewarts.

  “You might want to reconsider that 2.6 million. You could end up with nothing.”

  Mrs. Stewart answers.

  “My husband agrees with me. If we take the money, Kevin’s death was in vain. No, I’m with Indigo, we have to find the true cause and get this stuff off the market.”

  “Okay, as you wish. I work for you.”

  We re-enter the room, take a seat, and Berkeley remains standing.

  “My clients decline the offer.”

  “Decline $2.6 million? Are they... Okay, I understand. They’re still in shock. Today’s Wednesday. I’ll give you until next Wednesday, seven days, to decide. I must be crazy for doing this, but I guess it’s the softie in me.”

  Berkeley thanks Ellis and then we gather our things to leave.

  “One more thing,” Ellis says. “Don’t forget the Rule 11 sanctions. We’ll spare no expense, and guess who we’ll come after? And we know you have deep pockets.”

  “Yes, thanks for reminding me,” Berkeley answers, and then leads us out the door.

  In the lobby, he gathers us together for a brief meeting and tells the Stewarts to call him immediately if they change their minds. They assure him they will, and then, we go our separate ways.

  It’s almost noon, and Berkeley drives to an exquisite French restaurant on the waterfront and treats me to lunch. I feast on the best Bouillabaisse I have ever had and wash it down with a drink called “The Conquistador,” laden with more alcohol than I care to admit. But he seems disinterested in his meal, taking small bites, and then gazing off into the distance, as if he’s deep in thought. I’m tempted to inquire what’s bothering him, but he saves me the effort.

  “On the one hand, Ellis appears to be unusually anxious for us to take the 2.6 million and avoid a trial. But then he acts like he can’t lose. I don’t get it.”

  “He’s afraid of bad publicity,” I say.

  “I don’t think so. A judgement against us would be a PR bonus. It would vindicate the company and scare off other litigants. The stock price would go through the roof.”

  “Maybe it’s the cost of litigation.”

  “He’s already threatening Rule 11 sanctions.”

  “What are they?”

  “Federal Rules of Civil Procedure, Rule 11. It’s what every lawyer fears. Basically, it allows the defendant to recover all legal expenses from the plaintive and his lawyer if the lawsuit can be shown to be frivolous. Lawyers are expected to filter lawsuits that have no merit. That’s why we need an airtight case, Indigo.”

  “I didn’t realize you could lose money on this.”

  “Well, I do have malpractice insurance if things go badly. But it’s a blot on my record.”

  I’m feeling pretty mellow from the Conquistador and the warm afternoon air is lulling me into a state of tranquility so I feel the necessity to lighten the moment and offer an uplifting analysis of the situation.

  “I think it’s a bluff. He wants to settle because he’s not convinced he can win. He would offer more, but he can’t. I bet he’s been bragging to the Board of Directors he can’t lose and they took him at his word and then capped the settlement at $2.6 million.”

  “Okay, let’s say he’s bluffing; why would he do that?”

  “Because he’s an asshole?” I say, in a moment of silliness.

  “Now-now. Let’s keep this professional.”

  “Sorry.”

  Berkeley gazes into the distance for a few moments, deep in thought, and then abruptly turns to me.

  “Could he be hiding something?”

  “You’re the second person that’s suggested that.”

  “Second person?”

  “Yeah. There was this woman, Judy Swass, a lawyer, covertly working for GWI. She reported to Ellis Grimes.”

  “How did you happen upon her?”

  “I had contacted a professor, Jessica Parker, about getting help with my dissertation. We scheduled a meeting, but the person that showed up was Judy Swass. I didn’t know it at the time, but she was impersonating Parker in order to spy on me. We were in the heat of conversation and she said GWI was hiding something. It must have slipped out because she never mentioned it again and probably figured I’d forgotten about it.”

  “Maybe she was privy to confidential information, damaging information, information that could implicate GWI and bury their stock price,” he says.

  “If you’re suggesting the company is falsifying results, that would be impossible.”

  “Why?”

  “Because even the tightest organization has at least one disgruntled employee, and no large corporation would risk it. And doesn’t the law protect whistle blowers?”

  “Sometimes, depends on the circumstances.”

  “Well, I’m pretty sure no professional researcher would risk their career lying to the EPA, even if the company pressured them.”

  “Call me insecure, but this Ellis guy gives me the creeps. I feel like something shady is going on,” Berkeley says.

  “Like what?” I ask.

  “I don’t know... Let’s do a background check. I have this contact, a hacker type, gleans information from diverse sources, places you would never think of. Nothing illegal, mind you. He simply digs through public domain sources and then has a knack for putting seemingly unrelated bits of information together in a cohesive discourse. Amazing what he comes up with. It’s worth a grand to find out who we’re up against.”

  Berkeley types out a text message.

  “He’s fast. Give him a couple of hours.”

  After lunch, Berkeley shows me some of the Jacksonville attractions, St. John's Cathedral, the Riverside/Avondale Historic District, the Kingsley Plantation, and then drives down to Jacksonville Beach and cruises along the beachfront with the soft-top down, getting his own adrenalin rush from the oohs and aahs he gets when bystanders realize he’s driving a Lamborghini.

  We get back to the yacht at 5:00 PM and he leads me through the hatch into the cabin. He fires up his laptop and checks his email.

  “He answered me already. Listen to this: After law school, Ellis found work at that well-known lingerie company, ‘Pretty Desires’ where he achieves a VP position in only two years. Four years later, he becomes next in line for the CEO position after he impresses the Board of Directors by doubling profits in only six months. He did it not by boosting sales, but by ruthlessly cutting costs, sending production to a third world sweatshop where women were forced to work sixteen hour shifts seven days a week. And then, tragedy struck. There was a fire and many fatalities, some of the girls as young as twelve. The investigation revealed workers were locked inside violating government regulations. The shop foreman spilled his guts when he was charged with manslaughter and told police Ellis Grimes wanted it that way, threatened to fire him if he didn’t follow instructions. He even admitted to bribing the fire safety inspectors with money supplied by Ellis. And then, when the prosecutor dropped all charges, the victim’s families accused the local government of accepting even more bribes, but of course, it would be impossible to prove that in a third world country where almost everyone in power is getting paid of
f. Even though Ellis managed to escape prosecution, he was asked to resign because the bad publicity had so damaged sales the stock price was in the sewer.”

  “You were right. He is a sleaze.”

  “It gets better. I don’t know where he finds this stuff. About six months after Ellis was hired by GWI, he and Judy Swass get in a car accident in Las Vegas. Neither was hurt badly, but it was enough to make the local news and trigger a police report. She was a staff lawyer for GWI at the time, working under Ellis’ supervision, but apparently, she was spending more time under him than the company had bargained for. When the accident happened, Ellis was driving her back to the hotel, after an abortion, which he presumably paid for. Although her injuries were minor, the trauma caused excessive bleeding requiring a twenty-four hour stay in the hospital for observation. According to public records, Ellis was married at the time, but six months later his wife divorces him for the usual irreconcilable differences, which doesn’t tell us much, but my guess is she either found out about the abortion or got tired of him spending so much time away from home. Either way, it doesn’t really matter because right after that, Swass leaves the company and sets up her own practice taking on legal work from GWI. Later, she takes on other high-profile clients, but GWI remained her largest account. It appears she and Ellis had an ongoing relationship up until the day she was killed.”

  “And your guy gets all this by legal means?” I ask.

  “His contract says he does. And that’s all I need to know. Plausible deniability.”

  “So everything she told me was a lie. Her life, her family, her aspirations... all a lie,” I say.