“It’s just a wet ball, Mom, geez,” said Bob, picking up what looked like an exploded rubber star.
She touched her back. “Was that Hitchcock slobber on that ball or lake water?” she asked.
“A little of both.”
So she had to clean herself off, didn’t she? In she went, plunging headfirst into the icy cold snowmelt, followed by Hitchcock, Bob, and his cousins Troy and Brianna. They had a water fight until Bree’s lips turned blue, then warmed themselves at a fire Matt had built in a grate. After that, there were hot dogs to eat, and a quick chess game against Matt, which Nina lost with poor grace. Laughing, tired, sand stuck to every pore, they piled into their cars and waved good-bye.
Bob made faces at his cousins until the two cars finally parted ways around Pioneer Trail.
“I know I’m not supposed to leave it all until Sunday night,” Bob confessed, “but I’ve got a lot of make-up homework I didn’t finish yesterday.” He leaned across the seat to put his head on Nina’s shoulder.
“You’re not the only one,” said Nina.
Bob fell asleep before they got home, and Nina watched the lights of the town coming up along Highway 50, one by one, color by color. To distract herself from falling back into the tired groove of worrying about the trial, she tried to drift off into her greedy little fantasy in which she would plunk down a million for her own personal castle. There she would sip brandy and enjoy a view of the glitzy casinos burning like candles across the lake.
But the fantasy made her anxious. What was happening? Why did she have the feeling things were spinning out of control, when on the surface they were doing well enough?
Paul was right. They were all being affected by the Markov money. Riesner, Winston, Genevieve, even Nina were behaving like wild kids at a birthday party. The first blows had been struck on the piñata. They had glimpsed the prize through cracks in the cardboard, and it was making everyone flail and thrash against each other willy-nilly. God, it was a wonder nobody had been killed yet.
21
Winston’s cross-examination of Mike Markov took up most of Monday. He hit all the high points and all the low points, and only a few times did he sound impatient. Nina watched him and continued to learn from him.
She saw, for instance, how this sophisticated African-American lawyer from L.A. managed to persuade the white, mostly working-class jury to identify with him. He would drop in little personal references, that he was middle-aged, that he had a bad back, that he liked tea first thing in the morning instead of coffee, that his mother was ailing and in a nursing home. The references were so fleet that Riesner never had a chance to object, but the jurors were affected. Gradually they began to see their father, their uncle, their brother. They warmed to Winston. They wanted him to do well.
Winston had another ability she admired. He took his time. The topic at hand would be fully explored, and Winston didn’t seem to care if a juror was fidgeting or if the subject was tedious. Nina was always running through the testimony at breakneck speed, trying to keep the jurors interested. Watching Winston, she realized she needed to slow down and she saw that her problem was a lack of confidence.
He underplayed all the way through the testimony, almost to the end, a strategy Genevieve had suggested that would keep sympathy for Mike at a minimum. Only once did Winston allow himself to show negative emotion.
“Mr. Markov, are you telling us that you used no threats to get this woman you had lived with for years to sign away all her rights?” he said late in the afternoon, allowing frustration to enter his voice.
“I never threatened her.”
“She was afraid you would leave her if she didn’t sign, wasn’t she?”
“I don’t remember anything like that.”
“You never said you were going to walk out and she would never see you again if she didn’t sign?”
“No."
“You didn’t say words to the effect that, ’Sign this now, and I promise you, we’ll get married soon’?"
“No, I didn’t."
“Then why draw it up in the first place? If it wasn’t because the two of you were talking about marriage in some way, why?"
“Because I wanted the lines drawn between her and me. Things weren’t going so well between us. But I never said I was leaving."
“Seven years you had been together at that point. Do you think you had to tell her? She could tell it from your frown, from the way you touched her, from your voice, couldn’t she?"
“Objection."
“Sustained."
“Now all this happened thirteen years ago. How much had the business appreciated in value in those thirteen years between the time she signed the agreement and the time you separated, would you say?"
“Objection. Irrelevant.” Rebecca was on duty today.
“Overruled."
Mike shook his head, smiling. “Well, since we were down to a few thousand dollars, I’d say it’s appreciated quite a bit."
“You think she would have signed the agreement if she’d had any idea in thirteen years it would be used to cheat her out of a hundred million—”
“Objection! Argumentative."
“Withdrawn,” said Winston. “Let me put it this way. It’s fair to say, isn’t it, that she thought she was signing away a claim to a few thousand dollars?"
“At that time, yes."
“She continued to live with you on the same basis, and continued to work with you in the business?"
“As I’ve said."
“Why didn’t you give her a copy of the agreement?"
A shrug. “She never asked for one."
“Why didn’t you folks go to an attorney so she would know she was signing away her future?"
“Objection."
“Sustained."
“Why,” Winston asked, his voice rising, “did you never talk with her about it again?"
“It just never came up."
“You knew she thought it had been thrown out long ago, didn’t you?"
“Not at all."
“You knew she depended on you, relied on you, to be fair with her?"
“I was fair."
“Fair! You really think you have the right to use that word?” asked Winston, coming as close to rolling his eyes out of sight of the judge but in full view of the jury as he could manage.
“Object to the form of the question!” said Rebecca.
“Sustained."
Looking ready to excuse Mike, Winston flipped quickly through his notes. “Oh, by the way,” he said.
Mike, who was practically out of his chair with eagerness to be done, sat back and waited.
“About the Solo Spa, the most successful product your company created. During your direct examination by Mr. Riesner last week, you showed us a drawing of it you made."
“Yes."
“That was the first drawing?"
“Yes."
“Isn’t it true that Lindy Markov caused you to make that first drawing?"
“ ’Caused’ me to make it? No."
“She told you her idea and you made a sketch?"
“No."
“She even made a little sketch herself, which you copied?"
“No. That sketch I made with the red pen I always use—that’s the first."
Winston got out the drawing and showed it to the jury. While he did this, Nina set up an overhead projector. Deputy Kimura placed a projection stand and screen to one side of the court reporter.
“Let’s just get a little better look at that drawing of yours,” Winston said. At his signal, the lights in the courtroom went down. There on the screen, hugely magnified, was Mike’s sketch in red pen. Winston pointed beside one of the red marks with a pencil tip. “Hmmm. What’s this?"
“What?” Mike leaned forward.
“These little lines here,” he tapped his pencil against the screen, “and here? Looks like pencil to me. Does it look like pencil to you, Mr. Markov?"
Mike’s mouth opened and clo
sed. The marks were faint but clear.
“Does it?"
“It appears to be pencil. Yes, I must have done it that way first."
“But you always use your red pen to draw, isn’t that what you testified?"
“Obviously, I didn’t here."
“Obviously, you didn’t. Now, let me direct your attention to the date in red ink at the bottom of the page. See these marks here?"
“Not to read, no."
“No? Let’s magnify that just a little more.” The date sprang up, filling the bottom edge of the screen, and along with it, underneath it, in pencil, some letters.
“Let me further direct your attention to the letters at the bottom of this page. What do those letters say, Mr. Markov?"
“I don’t know."
“Really? You can’t see they say ‘LM’?"
Anyone could see they did except Mike, who said, “I don’t see it."
“You can’t read those letters, in writing, in black and white, plain and simple up there on the screen?"
Mike didn’t respond. The jury members looked across the courtroom from the letters to Mike.
“He has testified he can’t read those scribbles. Objection. Asked and answered,” Riesner sputtered.
They had done it. Yes! wrote Genevieve. Winston had been first to blow up the sketch and identify the initials. Even Lindy hadn’t remembered at first sketching the spa in pencil. They had hidden their surprise right under Riesner’s nose.
“ ‘LM.’ Isn’t that how Lindy Markov always signed her memos, Mr. Markov?” Winston asked, waving a sheaf of them to discourage Mike from putting up a fight about it.
Mike swallowed and admitted it.
“We have nothing further, Your Honor,” said Winston, shrugging to show his utter indifference to the man sitting on the stand behind him, who got slowly up from his chair and stepped down. For the first time since his testimony had begun, he turned his unhappy eyes to Lindy.
The next morning, Jeffrey Riesner was back in command, calling Hector Galka, Executive Vice President of Financial Strategies and Accounts. Hector looked tidy today, with his brushy mustache neatly clipped and trim body outfitted in a well-tailored suit. Nina liked his beautiful hazel eyes.
As he took the stand, he avoided looking at Lindy.
Based on his deposition, they already knew what he would say, and he didn’t disappoint. He hemmed and hawed, but in the end, for Hector, there was only one boss at Markov Enterprises: Mike Markov.
During cross-examination, Winston emphasized the bias in Hector’s perspective. “By the way, how much do you make per year as a base salary for Markov Enterprises in your capacity as executive vice president,” he asked, “not counting year-end bonuses, health plans, that sort of thing?”
“Um. One-sixty.”
“One hundred and sixty thousand dollars a year?” Winston repeated, drawing out the words for maximum effect. “And how much did Lindy Markov make at the time she was removed from her position?”
Much more slowly, as if he’d never thought about it before, Hector answered, “Seventy-five thousand a year.”
Winston had slipped that by Hector so fast, Hector hadn’t had time to do anything but answer the question. It hadn’t come up at the deposition, and Hector hadn’t been prepared.
And now Winston stood back and said absolutely nothing.
The jury, the other lawyers, the parties, the audience waited, but he bent down to tie his shoe. So they thought about the last question and answer.
A new mood dawned in the courtroom. Agitated whispers came from behind Nina, and she thought, they’re getting it, they’re getting it, we’re going to be all right in spite of everything. Why would Lindy be paid so relatively poorly for what Hector had just testified was similar work? She clenched her hands into fists under the table, willing Winston to grab this chance and run away with the trial with it.
“Why was Lindy Markov paid less than you?” Winston said when he was good and ready and they were all waiting for him to say it.
“Because—because—” Hector stammered.
Winston leaned on the podium, perfectly patient and ready to wait forever. “You’re the chief financial officer, Mr. Galka. If anyone knows, it’s you. Why?”
Hector’s left index finger moved up, slowly, slowly, to his mustache. He combed it gently. “I suppose—you see, she lived with Mike, she had no expenses . . .”
“Because she was a woman, and Mike didn’t feel the need to pay her fairly?”
“No, of course not.”
“Because the pay was just fun money for one of the owners? How much did Mike get paid?”
Hector answered, “The same as Lindy.”
“So, since he got a salary, that made him an employee, too?”
“No . . . You know.”
“Yes, I know, Mr. Galka. We all know. Do you remember stating in your deposition that Mike became president and Lindy became vice president because the man always gets to be president? Remember this question from page thirty-three, lines ten to twenty-two of your deposition: ’Is it a big male ego kind of thing?’ And your answer was, ’Yes, that kind of thing. He was the man.’ “
“I was just—I was just—”
“Telling the truth?”
“Objection,” said Rebecca.
Milne called Rebecca and Winston up for a conference. Nina drew stars all over her legal pad while she waited. After some whispered discussion, Rebecca took her seat and Winston resumed the podium.
“Now, you’ve known Mike for more than twenty years, and you’ve seen Mike and Lindy at every stage in their life together. So let me ask you, Mr. Galka, and please tell us the unvarnished truth. Wasn’t it very important to Mike that he appear to be the boss in the relationship and in the business, no matter what the real responsibilities were?”
“Well . . . I suppose,” Hector said almost inaudibly. He looked at Mike, who looked confused, as if he wasn’t sure what the problem was. Nina thought Mrs. Lim noted Mike’s reaction, as well as several of the other women.
If this didn’t win them some of the women jurors, nothing would.
Over the next several days, Riesner and Rebecca paraded the group Genevieve derided outside of court as “the lackeys and shills” of Markov Enterprises. They worked hard to contradict the team image Nina and Winston had carefully built of Mike and Lindy’s management style. On cross-examination, Nina and Winston worked to rebuild it.
The last significant witness for the defense, Rachel Pembroke, was scheduled to testify at the end of the week. All through the trial Rachel had sat just behind Mike, looking terrific, holding his hand from time to time, leaving with him. Nina knew Rachel’s deposition by heart and knew, because Rachel was engaged to Mike, that her testimony might seem prejudiced to the jury. Nonetheless, she dreaded Rachel’s personable, professional demeanor. She was grateful that the incident at Mike’s birthday party had already been ruled off-limits by Milne during pretrial motions, and the so-called attack on her everyone had gossiped about for weeks had never even entered the proceedings. Her injuries had been minor, and the event, if it had really happened at all, had been deemed irrelevant.
Rachel had spent months telling reporters about the sweetness of her romance with Mike and how hard they had fought their passion, and the tale that spilled out of her on the stand came with an engaging wistfulness born of practice. By the time she was done testifying, she had somehow shifted many minds around to considering that she, not Lindy, had suffered most in this sad love story.
“Call your next witness,” Milne said when she had finished and Riesner stayed seated.
Riesner stood up, saying, “Your Honor, we have decided not to call the final witnesses on the list.”
And, just like that, abrupt as a puff of air blowing out a candle, the defense rested its case. Sometimes it happened like that, catching everybody by surprise.
Without missing a beat, Milne turned to Nina and asked, “Will there be any rebuttal?”
She had a quick whispered conference with Winston and Genevieve at the counsel table. “No, Your Honor.”
“The cross-complainants rest?” Milne said with a wide smile. He must be happy as hell at this sudden termination.
“That’s correct, Your Honor. Subject to admission of the exhibits marked for identification.”
“All right.” He turned to the jury and said, “The evidence portion of the trial is over. We are going to excuse you a bit early this afternoon, ladies and gentlemen. I’m sure you won’t mind. Tomorrow we will return for closing arguments.” He repeated his daily cautions that they not talk to each other or anyone else about the case. Broad smiles and nods. Deputy Kimura led them out.
Another half hour of getting the exhibits admitted and ordered, and the court day was over.
“We got killed at the end, but overall made some points, Nina,” said Winston, as they left the building that afternoon. He stopped to grin for a flashbulb. “My God, I can’t believe it’s finally coming to an end.”
“You were great, Winston, just great,” said Nina, meaning it. He had done a beautiful job with his witnesses.
“Do you realize we’ll have a verdict soon? Incredible,” Winston went on, still hyped from his day in court.
“I think we’ve got at least five definites on the jury,” said Genevieve, trotting alongside as they headed for the cars. “If you want, I’ll go over everything with you and explain why. At least two of those are potential leaders . . . that’s one thing we didn’t really push hard enough during the voir dire. We didn’t really cultivate a leader.”
“Don’t fret, Genevieve. And if you don’t mind, I think we’ll skip the analysis. I need to get home and soak my ankle and fix dinner for Bob.”
“But when are we going to work on Winston’s closing arguments?” Genevieve asked. “Tonight?”
“That won’t be necessary,” said Nina. “We’ve gone over it. And I’ve made a decision. I’m doing the summation.”
They had stopped by Winston’s rental car. “Now wait a minute, we had this whole thing worked out,” Winston said. “I thought we all agreed I should close.”
BREACH OF PROMISE Page 25
