Justice in June

by Barbara Levenson

  I was still sitting staring at the phone when I heard Carlos coming in from the garage.

  “Mary, thank goodness you’re here. You’ve heard the news?”

  “What news?” I asked. I felt like slapping him and walking out.

  “The hurricane, of course.”

  “What hurricane? This is only June. It’s too early for a hurricane.”

  “Hurricane Alice. Haven’t you heard the news today? I can see that you haven’t. Hurricane season runs from June to December. They can come anytime. You oughta know that.” Carlos hurried over to the TV on the kitchen counter and switched it on.

  The familiar voice of Max Mayfield filled the kitchen. Ugly pictures of a great green blob with a red center flashed behind the Hurricane Center director. “We can’t pinpoint where landfall will take place. At this time, the storm is lashing the outer rim of islands surrounding Hispanola. The outer bands are being felt in the Florida Keys. Winds are even picking up in the Greater Miami area. Landfall is predicted for Sunday or Monday, but this could be anywhere from the Southeast Florida coast to the Gulf Coast of Florida. We are advising residents of all of these areas to begin preparations now. This is already a category two storm.”

  Carlos lowered the volume. “I can’t believe you didn’t hear about this today. Where have you been? Hiding under a rock?”

  “I’ve spent the last several hours locked in the federal prison with your cousin Luis or whatever he is to you, that’s where.” Then I did something I almost never do. I burst into tears.

  Carlos rushed across the room and put his arms around me. “You’re safe here. Please, don’t cry. This house has impact glass windows and a generator. We’ll be fine.”

  “It’s just the last straw. I’m not crying just because of the storm. It’s just everything; my clients, I can’t relax for a minute. I was looking forward to this weekend, and then —”

  “Look you’re just exhausted. Mama brought groceries and water over this afternoon after she went to the store. There’s nothing you need to do except take it easy.”

  I felt what I really needed to do was get a couple of my old clients out of prison to murder Margarita. I couldn’t bring myself to tell Carlos about the phone call or how it made me feel. I forced myself to stop the waterworks.

  “I can’t just rest. I’m worried about my parents and my brothers’ families and Catherine and my little house. I’ve got to go put up my hurricane shutters. The last one of these storms that I lived through was Andrew. I was in law school. We had just started classes when we had to evacuate the campus. My parents were living in Miami Beach, and they had to board up their house. They were supposed to leave. They didn’t. I was living in an apartment in Kendall with my brother William. We thought we were in a safe place. My folks ended up being fine, but William and I spent the night in the hallway. All the windows blew out and everything we had in that apartment was either water soaked or blown away. There was no electricity for weeks. It was hell.”

  “Mary, we don’t even know if this storm will come near us. We have time to close up your house. My parents’ house was badly damaged, too, during Andrew, but we all survived. We went through many bottles of wine that night. So let’s start a hurricane party right now.” Carlos went over to the wine rack and pulled out a bottle, uncorked it, and put a full glass in my hand.

  By the time I finished the second glass, I felt in control again. Carlos went outside to check on the patio furniture. I took advantage of his absence and erased Margarita’s message from the voice mail. Then I felt much better.

  CHAPTER FORTY-NINE

  The next morning I was jarred awake by sunlight streaming in the windows. I listened for wind and heard none. The clock said nine fifteen. Carlos was still sleeping so I crept out of bed and went downstairs. I opened the French doors to the pool. It was a gorgeous perfect day.

  I returned to the kitchen and snapped on the TV. The Weather Channel showed the green blob with the red center moving up through the Atlantic Ocean, far from Miami. The announcer was saying, “It’s a woman’s prerogative to change her mind. Alice changed her mind and took a northeastern turn. The storm is now riding through the sea, well away from land.”

  Suddenly the weekend looked like a winner. With sunshine and a refrigerator full of food, I called Catherine and suggested that she and Marco come over for a swim and a barbecue.

  “Only if I can bring the boys,” she said.

  They arrived at three that afternoon. The boys brought an array of pool toys including a water polo ball. We all made fools of ourselves, diving and fighting in the pool. The adults were more raucous than the kids. Sam, who hates water if it’s not in his bowl, circled the pool barking. All of us were relieving the fear that comes with the words “hurricane warning.”

  Later we sat on the patio in our wet suits as the sun set. The aroma from the grill filled the air. It was the first time in weeks that Carlos and I had been able to have time together that wasn’t fraught with arguing or worrying about his work or mine.

  When the first mosquitoes and the last daylight arrived together, we gathered up dishes and glasses and headed inside.

  As Catherine began packing the car to leave, she grabbed my arm. “Mary, I’m so sorry. I forgot to give you an important message that came late Friday. Your motion to dismiss in Carlos’s case is set for Monday afternoon at one thirty in front of Judge Preston. Are you prepared for it, or should I try to get it continued?”

  Carlos walked up behind us. “Hell, no, I want to get this thing over with. Okay, Mary?”

  “Sure, I can handle it,” I said. I was plunged back into the world of worry. I tried to smile as I recalled that Liz’s case might be coming to a head and I might have to get to Jason at the same time I was due in court for Carlos. Hurricane Alice was gone, but there was a storm brewing in my addled brain.

  CHAPTER FIFTY

  I opened the office at seven on Monday morning and finished two hours of solid work before the phone lines began to ring at nine. Catherine hurried into my office. “Liz is on the front line. She sounds excited or nervous or something.”

  “Hi, Liz, what’s up?” I listened hard but heard only a thin whisper.

  “Liz, I can’t hear you? Are you okay?”

  “I’m on my cell phone in my chambers.”

  I was able to make out that much. “Liz, take the phone into the bathroom, so you can talk above a whisper,” I said.

  A minute later I heard a door close and then Liz’s voice, still low but audible. “I got in early and kept my eyes open like you said. A minute ago, I saw a messenger leaving the reception area. When I went out there, Gladys was putting something in her desk drawer. I asked her who just walked out of the office. She said it was a messenger with some files for court tomorrow, so I said, why are you putting them in your desk? She looked a little nervous. Then she said something about needing to look at them later to see if they were really on the calendar. I’m sure it must be the fake file. I’ll try to get into her desk later, after hours.”

  “Okay, Liz, this sounds like we’re in business. Keep me posted.”

  As soon as I hung up, Catherine was on the intercom. “Pick up the second line. It’s Mark Epstein.”

  “Mark, is there news?”

  “The die is cast, or whatever that saying is. My messenger took the file to you know where a little while ago. He called and reported that it was given to the bailiff. Please keep me in the loop on this stunt of yours. I hope you know that I’ve gone way out for you. I just hope I still have a job tomorrow.”

  “You will, Mark. If not, you can work for me. I’m beginning to need a full-time investigator. I’ll bet with your famous name and face, you could get information from anyone.” I tried to sound confident and upbeat.

  “That job sounds like fun. It’s a deal. You’re as big a nut as ever. Glad you didn’t become one of those stodgy lawyers.”

  As I hung up, I wondered whether Mark would actually expect me to hire hi
m. Maybe this wasn’t one of my dumbest ideas.

  Carlos picked me up at one on the dot and we sped off to the civil courthouse downtown. He was dressed like a male model under the heading “Well-Attired Fashion Statement who Means Business”: dark blue pinstriped suit, light blue button-down shirt, and a red tie. I had the urge to tell him to pull over and have a quicky in the backseat. The Ecalade was certainly large enough. I decided I’d better keep my mind on the hearing.

  Judge Danforth Preston epitomizes old-school Miami, pronounced “Miama.” His family came to Miami in 1927 right after the Big Hurricane. His great grandfather worked for the railroad but became wealthy developing what was once swampland. Danforth Preston had been a managing partner of one of the leading Florida commercial law firms. When it merged with a New York firm, he sought a judgeship and was promptly appointed by the governor. He is known as the best friend of big business. He’s never met a Chamber of Commerce that he didn’t want to join.

  Normally, this wasn’t the kind of judge I wanted to expose my clients to, but in this instance Carlos represented big business, or at least a big condo project. Some of the plaintiffs were also business types who had purchased their condos in order to flip them. Flipping has been very big lately. Speculators buy pricey condos at preconstruction prices and then resell them at a profit before the closing occurs.

  However, most of the buyers in Carlos’s new building were people who actually intended to use the condos, some as second or third homes. These were mainly foreign buyers from the Middle East oil countries or from Europe. A few of the buyers planned to make their condo their actual residence.

  We entered the courtroom at one twenty-five. The judge was not yet on the bench, but the courtroom was almost full. Three surprises awaited me. The first person I spotted was J. C. Martin, Carlos’s father.

  “J.C., what a nice surprise,” I said. What are you doing here? Did you have other business in the courthouse?”

  “No, Mary, I wasn’t doing anything and I know Carlos is concerned about the hearing so I thought I’d stop by and give you both some moral support.” He stood up and gave Carlos a hug and gave me a big kiss.

  Carlos and I moved to the defense table and I unpacked my files. “Does your dad have an interest in your condo project, or is he just bored?” I asked.

  “Neither. He has a board meeting downtown later, so he’s probably just killing time.”

  “I’m never quite sure what J.C. does,” I said.

  “Well, he has several investments in businesses, and he serves as a director of a bank and some other stuff, and he owns part of the cattle ranches in Argentina with my brother. He keeps busy.”

  The second surprise occurred a moment later when I turned to survey the people seated throughout the audience portion of the room. I assumed they were some of the condo buyers who were suing Carlos. I dropped my file when I saw who was in the back row. It was Margarita. Had she become one of the plaintiffs? I wished I hadn’t erased her phone message.

  “Carlos, why is Margarita here?” I asked.

  “I don’t know, but I’ll find out.” Carlos looked angry as he strode up the aisle.

  I watched him gesturing as he spoke to Margarita, and recognized these were his “You’ve got to be kidding” gestures. He marched back to our table looking like John McEnroe after confronting a tennis umpire.

  “It seems Margarita claims she left me a message asking about this lawsuit, and when she didn’t hear from me she decided to attend the hearing out of curiosity,” Carlos said. “She’s such a liar.”

  “She wasn’t lying. I got the message and I erased it,” I said.

  Carlos looked shocked. “You didn’t tell me?”

  “Well, we’re even. You didn’t tell me that Margarita was moving into your expensive condo tower. Don’t I recall you saying that you had been considering taking one of the condos there yourself? How cozy.”

  We glared at each other. Then I turned away from Carlos and realized the attorney for the buyers had taken a seat at the plaintiffs’ table. That was my third surprise. It was Franklin Fieldstone, my ex-fiancé and ex-boss. He had turned into Frank the stalker a few months back. I hadn’t seen him since I had him ruffed up by Marco and his Pit Bulls.

  Frank saw me staring at him. He got up and made his way over to our table. I glanced at Carlos, who was already in a dark mood.

  I stood up and took a couple of steps away from Carlos. “Hello, Frank. What are you doing at this hearing?”

  Carlos must have heard the name Frank. He was beside me in a second with his hand on my shoulder.

  “Carlos, this is Franklin Fieldstone. I don’t believe you two have met,” I said.

  “Oh, we did meet, very briefly, only Carlos wasn’t wearing his pants at the time, and as I remember, you weren’t clothed either, Mary.” Frank said.

  “Why are you here?” I repeated. “Did you instigate this lawsuit against Carlos?”

  “Don’t be ridiculous. One of the attorneys in my office filed this suit. He was unavailable and asked me to cover this hearing for him.”

  “Oh, I’ll bet. You just can’t let go and accept that I don’t want to see you or litigate against you or —”

  Carlos squeezed my shoulder so hard that it hurt. “You are a coward and a bully, stalking Mary all of last February, even breaking into her house. I’d like to finish this fight here and now,” Carlos said. I saw his fist come up. Just then the bailiff called the court to order, and the judge came through the door hidden in the paneling behind the bench and took his seat. I pushed Carlos back to our table and everyone was seated. “I think you dislocated my shoulder,” I hissed at Carlos as I opened my file and tried to remember what I wanted to argue to the court.

  “All right, folks. We’re here on Buyers at One Ocean Avenue vs. Carlos Martin Enterprises. As I understand this case, the plaintiffs are seeking to be recognized as a class in their lawsuit. They are suing Mr. Martin, the builder of a condo tower, claiming that they have been injured due to Mr. Martin’s failure to meet the closing dates and dates for the occupancy of the properties. Am I correct, so far?” Judge Preston asked.

  “Yes, Your Honor.” Frank nodded his head like a bobble-head doll.

  “Now, Mr. Martin has filed a motion to dismiss the lawsuit that we are to hear this afternoon,” the judge said.

  “Correct, Judge Preston,” I said.

  “All counsel identify themselves for the record,” the judge continued. I see each side has brought their own court reporter. Isn’t that a waste of money?”

  “I am Franklin Fieldstone, managing partner of the Field-stone Law Firm,” Frank said. He made it sound like it was the Vatican. “I engaged my own reporter to be certain the record is absolutely correct.”

  “I am Mary Magruder Katz, of the Law Office of Mary Magruder Katz,” I said. “I brought a court reporter because I couldn’t get anyone from plaintiffs’ firm to respond to my phone calls in which I tried to suggest that we split the cost of one reporter.”

  “I see,” Judge Preston said. “Let’s get on with this. May I have the plaintiffs stand, please, so I can get some idea of how many buyers are involved?”

  I turned and saw eight people standing, including Margarita.

  “Ms. Katz, it’s your motion. Let me hear some brief argument.” Judge Preston continued to look at the audience. Then I saw him smile. I turned as I made my way to the lectern, and saw J.C. smiling back at the judge

  “Thank you, Your Honor. This will be very brief. You will see attached to the motion, a copy of the contract signed by each of the buyers at One Ocean Avenue. If you will turn to the third page, at letter K you will see a paragraph, which states that should any dispute arise between buyer and contractor/seller, the sole remedy shall be binding arbitration. Further, buyer waives any and all right to file a lawsuit regarding any disputes in any court of law or equity of state or federal jurisdiction.

  “It’s simple, Judge, the buyers have waived their right to lit
igate any dispute in any court. They are entitled to arbitrate their claims, and whatever the arbitrator decides is binding on all parties. Therefore, Mr. Martin asks this court to dismiss this wrongly filed lawsuit. If the buyers wish to pursue any misunderstanding with Mr. Martin, they should instruct their attorney to start the ball rolling for arbitration.”

  “Thank you, Ms. Katz. Do you have any counter argument, Mr. Fieldstone?”

  “Yes, Judge.” Frank walked up to the lectern. “Judge, there can be exceptions to the arbitration clause. If the seller knowingly misled the buyers by giving them a date for occupancy that he knew he could never meet, then the contract is null and void, and therefore the arbitration clause is gone with the rest of the contract.”

  “What do you mean I gave out a false date? Are you a builder? I don’t lie to the people who buy into my buildings.” Carlos was on his feet. His face looked like the red blob on the hurricane map.

  I stood up and pushed Carlos back into his seat, no easy task since he’s a big guy. Thank God I work out regularly at the gym. “Your Honor, my client apologizes for his outburst. He was shocked to hear his flawless reputation challenged in open court,” I said. “The closing dates haven’t even occurred yet, and they are different for each unit. The closings are staggered by floors, starting with the penthouse floors and then proceeding down. This covers a span of some three months, so even if this case could proceed, it couldn’t be a class action. Each plaintiff would be impacted differently, and some might still be closing on their designated date.

  “Each plaintiff would also have different damages. Some buyers weren’t inconvenienced at all, because they were only going to occupy their units as a second home, a winter getaway. Winter is still months away. Others bought their units as an investment for resale. They would have to prove that they were denied making some profit. The few who bought their units to actually live in them would have to show that they had suffered losses by selling their previous home and having no place to live.”