Tides of Truth [02] Higher Hope

by Robert Whitlow

  “Yes, sir, I was—”

  “Don’t apologize. Summer clerks aren’t expected to be at my beck and call all the time. That will come next year”—Mr. Carpenter paused—“if you come to work for the firm. I’ll talk to you later.”

  The phone clicked off. I stared off into space, then closed my eyes. I wondered if I had the courage to quit my job and, as the apostle Paul said, “come out from among them and be ye separate.”

  27

  I WENT UPSTAIRS TO FIND ZACH. SEVERAL OF THE SECRETARIES and clerical workers passed me with cups of coffee in their hands. For them, this was just another day at the office. The door to Zach’s office was cracked open. He was on the phone but motioned for me to come inside. I slumped down in the chair. It was a long phone conversation with someone in another country. I started to get up, but Zach pointed at the chair, so I stayed put. Finally he ended the call.

  “I can see you went to hear Reverend Dabney yesterday,” Zach said as he lowered the receiver.

  “How can you tell?”

  “Because you look like a condemned criminal.”

  I didn’t feel like backing down. “It’s not right what the firm is doing to her. And now the newspaper, with our help, is going to drag her name through the mud. If that doesn’t bother you, I think you’ve got a problem.”

  “It bothers me, but it also makes me face the fact that I can’t control what other people do. Jason Paulding and Joe Carpenter are going forward with a lawsuit, and Brenda Abernathy is going to write her article even if I go on vacation for the next two weeks.”

  “But I can control what I do,” I shot back.

  “What does that mean? You can’t talk to Dabney.”

  “No, but I can tell Mr. Carpenter I’m quitting. I’d rather work on the chicken line for my father and have a clear conscience than become a partner in this law firm and know I compromised my beliefs.”

  “Okay, quit.”

  My jaw dropped.

  “Is that what you think I should do?”

  “Look, I’m not going to try to talk you into or out of anything. If nothing else, the news that you’ve resigned will shake things up around here for a few days. More people than you realize are aware of your convictions and will decide you were too weak to make it in the real world, so you ran back to the hills where you can live in a pretend world.”

  “That’s not true.”

  “It isn’t?”

  “No.”

  “Then why don’t you try to influence the situation. If you’re willing to quit, you shouldn’t have a problem getting fired. There might be a measure of honor in that. You can make your case to Mr. Carpenter, who will listen for at least a few minutes before he tells you to pack your things and leave.”

  “I tried to talk to him on the phone a few minutes ago, but he kept cutting me off before I could say anything. He’s on his way to an oral argument at the court of appeals.”

  “Then wait until he comes back from Atlanta. Or better yet, put off the confrontation until after he takes Dabney’s deposition and gets a chance to hear her himself. Then, if she makes any sense, you can use her words to argue on her behalf. If you leave today, you won’t have a chance to affect anything that may happen down the road.”

  “But I don’t know what she may say.”

  “You think she’ll admit to slandering Jason Paulding?”

  “No, because I believe what she said about him is the truth.”

  “How do you know that?”

  “Because she was right about Mr. Callahan.”

  Zach leaned forward in his chair and put his hands on his desk.

  “Repeat yourself; then tell me what’s wrong with what you’re saying.”

  “She was right about Mr. Callahan”—I hesitated—“which doesn’t make her infallible about everything. But she was also right about Mr. Paulding trying to defraud Mr. McKenzie. And some of the people I talked to that know her think she does a lot of good for the community.”

  Zach pointed to a thick file on his desk. “I’ve not had a chance to analyze all the financial records in the McKenzie deal, but Paulding has given us the data to find out. Maybe he tried to cheat, maybe not, but there’s nothing in the Dabney file that you can base a decision on.”

  “So you don’t want me to quit.”

  Zach smiled slightly. “No, it’s amazing that you would consider it. But you’re also impulsive.”

  “This isn’t a quick decision. I’ve been upset about this case since the first day I met with Mr. Paulding.”

  Zach started to say something else, then stopped.

  “What is it?” I asked.

  He shook his head. “You’ve got to decide for yourself. I pray you’ll make the right choice.”

  I returned to the library. Julie was sitting at one of the computer terminals.

  “It’s about time you got here,” she said, glancing over her shoulder.

  “I’ve been here long enough to talk to Mr. Carpenter and Zach.”

  “That combo has never worked well for you. Talking to men about romance problems is as helpful as interviewing a rock about the weather.”

  “I don’t have romance problems.”

  “Fortunately I know that’s not true.” Julie turned her chair so that she faced me. “What’s really going on?”

  “It has to do with the Dabney case.”

  “That doesn’t surprise me. Every time it comes up, a dark cloud appears over your head.”

  “Are you going to mock me?”

  “No.”

  And for once, I believed Julie was sincere. I laid out my dilemma. She listened without interruption.

  “I can understand loyalty to your people,” she said when I finished. “It hurts me when a Jewish girl is mistreated, even if I don’t really know her. And as weird as she is, Sister Dabney is like one of your family.”

  “Not that close, but the connection is real.”

  Julie rubbed her hands together. “Do you want my opinion?”

  “Yes.”

  “Zach is right. You can’t help a situation by running away from it. But I also think it’s good you’ve made up your mind to quit before compromising your beliefs. If that’s decided and you find yourself in a situation you can’t go along with, you won’t have to agonize as much about pulling the plug. I just have one request.”

  “What?”

  “I want to be there and see the expression on Mr. Carpenter’s face when you tell him to flush the job down the toilet. I already have tons of stories about our summer, but that would take the prize.”

  I was quiet. Julie brushed her hair back with her hand.

  “You’re not going to quit,” she said.

  “How can you be so sure?”

  “How many times do I have to remind you that I have the gift of psychoanalysis? You’re an interesting case study, but fairly predictable in your responses.”

  “Shut up,” I said with a grin.

  “I knew you were going to say that.” Julie leaned forward. “You’re a fighter, not a quitter.”

  I spent the rest of the morning reviewing the witness statements and crafting summaries designed to provide Brenda Abernathy with as little ammunition as possible. When a phone call was routed to the library, my heart raced in anticipation that it might be the reporter. But all the calls were for Julie.

  Finally the receptionist said, “Brenda Abernathy on line 804 for Tami.”

  “This is Tami Taylor,” I said in my most professional voice. “I have you on speakerphone with Julie Feldman.”

  “I heard from my boss; did you talk to yours?”

  “Yes. I’ve been working on the file all morning.”

  “Go ahead. I’m going to record what you tell me.”

  Mr. Carpenter hadn’t said anything about a recorded interview.

  “It’s my understanding our firm isn’t going to be mentioned as a source of information,” I said.

  “Correct. That’s the first thing on the tape.”


  Julie picked up a digital dictation unit, turned it on, and placed it beside the phone.

  “Is it okay if we make a recording on our end?” she asked.

  “Sure, but I thought we were on the same side. Both of us would like to see this woman run out of town.”

  “We’re representing our client,” Julie answered. “It’s not personal.”

  “Whatever you say. I’m listening.”

  I took a deep breath and went as rapidly through the summary as I could. To my surprise the reporter didn’t interrupt me once.

  “That’s it,” I said. “I’m surprised you didn’t have any questions.”

  “I do, but I’ve learned it’s better to turn people loose and let them talk rather than interrupt the free flow of information.”

  Julie nodded her head in appreciation. And for the next hour Abernathy peppered me with questions. I used my summary as a script, but revealed more than I intended because several times it would have sounded worse to dodge a question than answer it. Twice Julie came to the rescue.

  “We’re ready to hear from you,” Julie said. “Dabney’s deposition is scheduled on Wednesday, and we need time to revise our questions.”

  “I don’t have much to add to what you’ve found,” the reporter answered. “You’re way ahead of me.”

  “That’s ridiculous,” Julie responded abruptly. “Mr. Carpenter said if we opened our file to you that you would reciprocate. Do I need to set up a conference call with him and your editor?”

  There was brief silence. I wondered what the reporter was doing. For the first time, I considered she might not be alone.

  “No, but I don’t think my investigation is going to be relevant to your case.”

  “We’re the lawyers,” Julie answered. “Let us decide.”

  “Law students,” I corrected.

  Julie rolled her eyes at me. And for the next thirty minutes Abernathy unloaded a litany of Dabney’s alleged heavy-handed re-quests for money, the absence of accountability, exaggerated accounts of miracles, and personal prophecies that made the preacher sound like a second-rate fortune-teller at a country fair. Some of it was prob-ably true, but parts didn’t fit with what I’d seen and heard. Any church and its minister have a backlog of disgruntled ex-members whose perceptions are skewed by bitterness. Abernathy had found a few malcontents. The reporter’s obvious intent to transform an occasional problem into the norm turned my stomach.

  “You can see why your information takes the article to another level,” the reporter said when she finished.

  “How?” I asked.

  “My stuff is typical for this type of story. What she did to Paulding and his response to her stand out. They’re unique.”

  “If it’s—,” I started, then stopped.

  “True or false?” Abernathy quickly inserted. “Is there any doubt Dabney’s allegations against Paulding are false?”

  “That’s not what she meant,” Julie interjected. “We have to determine if Dabney’s conduct is slander or libel under Georgia law. Just because something is false doesn’t mean all the legal requirements are satisfied.”

  “What are the legal requirements?”

  I sat back while Julie rehashed the chapter she’d written for her professor’s book. The reporter was very interested in getting a free seminar on a topic relevant to her job.

  “That’s helpful,” Abernathy said when Julie finished. “I’d like to get together with you some other time and talk some more about this. I was with Maggie Smith last week and your name came up.”

  “Are you friends with Maggie?”

  “Yeah, she gives me bits of information from time to time. I think she’s a great lawyer. Any other questions about Dabney?”

  “Not from me,” Julie replied.

  I thought for a moment.

  “One,” I said. “Have you talked to Maggie Smith about Dabney?”

  There was a brief pause.

  “Only off the record.”

  Julie looked at me and raised her eyebrows.

  “We’re off the record,” Julie said. “Go ahead.”

  There was another period of silence.

  “Turn off your recorder.”

  Julie pushed the button to stop the machine.

  “Done,” she said.

  “Dabney is being investigated by the police and district attorney’s office. I’ve been told there’s an informant involved.”

  “A member of the congregation?” I asked in dismay.

  “I don’t know, but Maggie says it’s someone on the inside.”

  Images of the simple people I’d seen at the church flashed through my mind. It was hard to imagine who would be cooperating with a criminal investigation.

  “Lieutenant Samuels didn’t mention anything about that to me,”

  I said.

  “He may not know.”

  “And neither did Maggie when we had lunch with her,” I added, glancing accusingly at Julie. “She listened to Julie talk about the case as if she’d never heard of Sister Dabney.”

  “Something about the state racketeering statute, but I’m not a lawyer,” Abernathy answered evasively. “I don’t think Maggie will be bringing any criminal charges until after my article is published.”

  The reporter and the prosecutor were working together for maxi-mum publicity. My mouth went dry. We ended the call. I turned to Julie.

  “Don’t blame me for picking on Dabney,” Julie said before I could say anything. “She’s making plenty of enemies all by herself.”

  “I wish you hadn’t talked so much to Maggie Smith.”

  “Do you think it really made a difference?”

  “I don’t know. But a criminal investigation may not be good news to our client.”

  “Why not?”

  “If there are fines levied by the state against Sister Dabney as part of a criminal proceeding, they could take priority over a civil judgment and would have to be paid before the property could be seized by Mr. Paulding.”

  “Ouch,” Julie said, her face falling. “You’re the one thinking like a lawyer; I’m the law student rushing to conclusions.”

  SHORTLY BEFORE TIME TO GO HOME, the library door opened and Mr. Carpenter entered wearing an expensive-looking suit.

  “Atlanta bullies the rest of the state,” he said. “There were lawyers from the Florida line to south of Chattanooga, all wasting an entire day for a twenty-minute argument. I think they should bring back the days when the court of appeals traveled across the state to serve the needs of the people.”

  “How long ago were the good-old days?” Julie asked. “I’m not sure our books go back that far.”

  “A good idea never goes out of style,” Mr. Carpenter responded with a smile. “Did you talk to the reporter?”

  “Yes,” Julie replied.

  “Give me the five-minute version.”

  I was content to let Julie give a report. One of her strengths was succinct verbal organization.

  “Not much gained,” Mr. Carpenter grunted. “That criminal stuff is hot air. Abernathy has her goal; we have ours.”

  “Yes, sir,” Julie answered. “But I went ahead and added more questions based on the conversation.”

  “Show me.”

  Julie handed him a stack of papers.

  “The new questions are in blue.”

  “I haven’t seen color-coded sentences since I read a book to my granddaughter,” Mr. Carpenter said. “Not that there’s anything wrong with it.”

  He quickly scanned the sheets.

  “Does this contain your questions?” he asked me.

  “Yes, sir, but they’re mixed in with the ones Julie prepared.”

  “That doesn’t help me evaluate your respective work product.”

  I glanced at Julie.

  “Sorry,” I said.

  “Keep it in mind. I’ve allowed you to cooperate, but from now to the end of the summer, keep things separate.”

  “Yes, sir,” I repl
ied.

  “And, Tami, I don’t want you slinking into the deposition on Wednesday looking like you’re at the dentist’s office for a root canal. You’ve been holding back on me, and I can tell it. You set a high bar for aggressiveness in the Jones matter, but in this business you’re only as good as the last case you handled. We have a job to do, and our conduct is governed by the Rules of Professional Responsibility, not the book of Revelation. Unless there’s something in the rules that applies, I expect zealous, wholehearted advocacy for our client. Is that clear?”

  It was my moment of truth.

  “Yes, sir,” I answered weakly.

  Mr. Carpenter left. Julie turned to me.

  “It wasn’t very dramatic, but you made the right choice.”

  “I just couldn’t quit. At least not yet.”

  28

  ON TUESDAY SEVERAL PEOPLE CAME BY SISTER DABNEY’S HOUSE to let her know a reporter was asking questions about her and the church.

  “I thought she was another woman lawyer,” Sonny Miller said as he stood on the front porch.

  “Another woman lawyer?”

  Sonny rubbed his hand across his eyes. “Oh yeah. I forgot to tell you about the tall girl who asked me a bunch of questions a few weeks ago outside Bacon’s Bargains. She claimed she wasn’t a real lawyer, but she sure acted like one. She had one of those yellow pads and wrote down notes of what I said.”

  “What did she ask you about?”

  “That day you sent Rusty and me and the other boys to preach on the street in front of that building on Second Avenue. I mean, everybody knows what we did. It weren’t a secret.”

  “And that’s what the lawyer was interested in?”

  “No, she wanted to know how you got people to do what you want them to do by hitting them over the head with what it says in the Bible. I told her you believed no one should eat unless they work. Hey, could I pick up around the church and get paid a few bucks? I ain’t eaten anything since a bologna sandwich about this time yesterday. Walking over here I saw where someone dumped out an ashtray right next to the driveway. It’s a mess.”

  Sister Dabney pressed her lips together. Attacks weren’t new, but it was getting harder and harder for her to view persecution as a chance to counterpunch for the gospel and land a few licks for the truth. Fighting on multiple fronts caused fatigue. Martyrdom had its appeal.