Brett laughed.
“I’m not kidding,” Courtney said abruptly. “We have money. Plus, I’m over North Carolina. I want to spread my wings a little. Before this, I was thinking California…maybe Stanford, if I could get accepted. But now, I like the idea of Venezuela.”
“A non-extradition country,” Brett said, shaking his head. “Baby, that’s crazy.” Unfortunately, it wasn’t the craziest idea he had gotten so far. Gavin still wanted to just kill the guy.
“It’s nothing that I wouldn’t do for Bella,” Courtney said honestly. And in her mind, Cameron was just as much hers as her daughter was.
Brett could tell that she had put a lot of thought into Venezuela, and he was honored to have such a committed wife, but there was no way that he could ever leave the country that he had already sacrificed so much for to become a fugitive. If he did, everything would be in vain. Plus, he loved the U.S. of A. far too much to be without her, no matter that she was the craziest bitch he had met. “How about this,” Brett said, hand still on her thigh. He bit his lip and paused. “How about we just win this thing?”
Courtney smiled at him. Of course he would say that. Brett didn’t run from anything, even when it benefitted him to do so. “That would work too.”
***
They were right on time without a second to spare, Courtney and Brett exited a bank of gold elevators and entered the posh 12th floor executive suites of Benson & Krieger law firm at 12:59 p.m. The elation while quiet and unspoken was immediate and just short of hearing angels singing in the heavens.
Releasing a sigh of relief, Courtney rubbed Brett’s back and smiled at the sign on the door. They had finally arrived, despite all of her unnecessary worry.
Guiding her husband up to the glass-pained doors one step at a time, she held them open for him as he maneuvered on his crutches.
“Got it?” she asked as he passed through the doors.
“I’m fine, baby. Thanks,” he answered, ignoring the nagging pain in his leg and the emasculation of her opening the door for him.
To their amazement, although the parking lot was nearly full, in the lobby there were no other clients waiting. The airy modern space was lit up with track lighting and gleaming marble floors and looked more like a museum of art instead of a law firm. Based upon all the glass, wood and leatherwork around the office, Brett could tell that this place was going to be steep, but there were also plenty of awards and placards on display, which meant that they won…a lot.
Walking up to the oval glass reception desk to check in, they were greeted by a slender Asian woman in a simple but elegant peach suit with her hair pulled back in a conservative bun. She was on the phone speaking very angrily to someone in Arabic. It might have been strange in any other place, but so close to a military base, diverse cultures and bilingual people were a norm.
One should never assume anything.
Obviously frustrated by the caller on the other end of the line, the receptionist’s first glance went to Brett in his drab black Nike jogging suit and battered face. Based on the high and tight haircut, she assumed that he was more than likely military. But still, he didn’t look very important to her, probably one of the firm’s indigent cases that they took on from time to time.
The second, even shorter glance was at Courtney, who looked more polished than her counterpart did. Probably a case worker.
Raising her finger to have them wait as she finished the call, she turned her attention back to the phone as if they weren’t there. Snarling orders in Arabic, she restrained herself from hitting the desk to make her point.
Courtney was so happy to be there on time that she didn’t even notice the woman, but Brett’s fine-tuned senses were honed in on her petulance.
For the first couple of moments, Brett waited in understanding that she was preoccupied with the call, and then after the conversation continued into the realm of deliberately awkward disrespect, he glowered at her with enough heat to singe.
“Great,” he said aloud, turning away from the woman before he shot her to death with his mind bullets. Just what he needed- another rude ass person telling him what to do and at the same time expecting to get paid for it. He had already gone off on the cable television people that morning for charging him full price for service that seemed to only work half the time. Everybody wanted something for nothing.
“You got some gum?” he asked Courtney, leaning against the desk on purpose. He put his crutch up against the side to add symbolic weight to the tense situation.
Clueless, Courtney fished out a stick of Spearmint gum from her Michael Kors purse and passed it to him. “What’s wrong?” she asked, sensing something had suddenly gone awry. That seemed to happen to him more and more lately. “Do you want to sit and wait?” It was her way of suggesting that they move away from the receptionist before he said something offensive.
Too late.
Bret hated being ignored but more than that he hated bad customer service. It was simply one of his pet peeves. “No, I don’t want to wait. I want her to get off the phone. She could have at least said something to the effect of I’ll be with you in a minute. Hell, I’d settle for fuck off,” Brett said, popping the gum in his mouth. He was certain that the receptionist heard him, and that was his intention. Giving an exaggerated pause, he continued in the same tone, “Instead, she’s making us wait while she pretends to be on an important call.”
Courtney looked back at the woman apologetically, embarrassed that her husband was quietly making a scene. This was so unlike him – the old him. She put her hand up near her temple. “How do you know it isn’t an important call?” she whispered, trying to turn her body away from the woman a little more.
His voice was brittle now. “Because she’s talking to some unlucky character about installing her new in-ground pool,” Brett said, raising his voice slightly. “Now she’s bitching about the price. Trust me. It’s not life or death.”
Courtney’s expression grew cold. “Not likely.” She moved her hand from her face. To hell with the woman being offended. “I forgot you speak Arabic.”
“I didn’t,” Brett said turning back around to face the woman, whose mouth had popped open. “Lugha wāhidah lā takfī.”
Courtney gave a disapproving glare to the woman, who quickly got off the phone once she realized that she no longer had a language barrier to protect her conversation.
“Sorry for that. May I help you?” she asked with a bright, customer service screw you smile to match her condescending tone.
“Yes, you can,” Courtney said, returning the same smug smile. “Mr. & Mrs. Black. We had an appointment for 1:00 p.m.” She glanced at the clock on the wall. It was currently 1:10 p.m. Late, despite all of her damn effort.
Clicking her mouse with her acrylic tipped finger to alert her monitor, which had gone to sleep mode because she had been on her private call so long - the receptionist scanned the schedules quickly to see which junior lawyer they were assigned. Probably the new jerkoff junior partner who was intent on calling her darling.
Finally, she found their name, not at the bottom, where she assumed, but at the very top. Her demeanor changed abruptly as if someone had just electrified her seat. They were not indigent. They were seeing the founding partner of the law firm. Shit.
The receptionist grinned again, this time with a lot less sarcasm and a lot more shit eating. “Yes, I’ll notify Mr. Benson that you arrived.”
“On time,” Brett added with a carefully neutral expression.
“Of course. If you could have a s…” The receptionist stopped mid-sentence while looking at Brett as she picked up her phone. She had just overheard him say that he didn’t want to have a seat. There was no need in offering. Dialing Mr. Benson, she stood up from her seat. “Hello, sir. Your party has arrived.” Pausing, she waited for a response. “Yes, sir. I’ll bring them back right away.” She hung up the phone and stepped around the desk.
“If you will just follow me,” the receptio
nist said, hands now laced together in a servant capacity.
“Lead the way,” Brett said, pulling his crutches back under his sore underarms.
“Talk about a 180,” Courtney whispered as they walked.
“What was that about?” Brett asked.
Courtney shrugged her shoulders indifferently. “Maybe you scared her.”
“How did I scare her?” Brett asked, looking over at his wife.
Being an asshole, Courtney thought to herself without answering. She now gave the sarcastic smile to Brett that the receptionist had given her. He immediately recognized the silent implication, but refused to say one more word on it.
Following the woman from the vast lobby through the long corridor of small offices on each side filled with junior lawyers in windowless rooms busily working and talking on their phones, they both figured out why the parking lot was full. Behind the tranquil lobby of calm and serenity, there was a mad house of employees.
Brett knew then that business was good.
They came to a large corner office at the very end of the corridor, where they were met by a tall, African-American man in a dark-blue tailored suit and shiny white even teeth. He was in his mid-50’s, all polish and class, but something about him seemed down to earth at the same time. It was quite a refreshing change from the experience receptionist.
“Can I get you anything to drink?” the receptionist asked nervously as she handed them off to their appointment. She was quietly praying that they wouldn’t rat her out to the big boss.
Brett ignored her as if she hadn’t said a word, while Courtney simply nodded no.
“Hello,” Mr. Benson said, offering his hand to Courtney. “Very nice to meet you. You must be Courtney.” His glance lingered for a moment like he knew her, then he turned. “And you must be Brett. Thank you so much for your service.” He shook Brett’s hand firmly.
“Thanks,” Brett said, liking what he saw so far. This guy seemed like he had it together at first impression but now it was time to get down to the brass tacks of it.
Courtney looked around as they entered the massive space. “Nice office.” Chandeliers. Bar. Solid oak furniture. Oriental rugs. An endless library of books. This guy was the real deal.
“Thank you. Please come in and get off those crutches, man,” Mr. Benson said, leading them over to the two blue leather seats in front of his enormous wooden desk in front of the panoramic view of the Atlantic Ocean.
The first thing Courtney wondered was how much his retainer actually was. It had to be at least enough to cover the expensive real estate, the suit, the furniture, and that nice diving watch on his wrist. They were in for a ride.
“First, thank you so much for considering us. We are honored.” He scanned the couple and sensed their nervousness. He had heard that this office could be rather intimidating, but Mr. Benson was good at breaking the ice for his clients. “Courtney, I took the liberty of speaking with your lovely mother for nearly an hour on the phone the other day,” he said, having a seat behind the desk. His broad shoulders relaxed as she unbuttoned his suit and pushed up to the desk, exuding old, seasoned confidence that only came with many years of success.
Courtney knew that swagger; her father had it. “Did she talk you to death?”
“No, but she did get me up to speed. At least, from her perspective. In the court of law, it’s a third party account but it gave me a good place to start.”
“Thank you for seeing us on such short notice,” Brett answered.
“It’s not a problem at all. As I understand it, we don’t have a moment to waste.” Mr. Benson, taking cues from Brett, opened up a file and reached for his reading glasses on the table. Shaking his head, he sighed as he looked over the papers. “This is a raw deal, huh?”
“Very raw deal,” Brett said, still disgusted by the idea that he had to be here. “I was told that you were the best. And I need that. As you can see.” He looked at the file curiously. What did that guy have in there? They had just met. Then he thought about Diane. As much as Courtney and her mother talked, that file probably had every single detail about his entire life in it including his blood type and social security number.
“We don’t want to lose our son,” Courtney said abruptly. She laced her fingers together in her lap.
“And we don’t care how much it costs,” Brett added.
Both affirmations were music to Mr. Benson’s ears. “Well, we’re going to work hard to ensure that that doesn’t happen, but first I like to give all my clients background on who I am and who we are as a firm. To give you a little background on me that’s not on Google, I’ve been a lawyer for over 25 years. Prior to that I was a Marine with the 2-2 over at Camp Lejeune. I even had the pleasure of working under Colonel Lawless for a very brief stint.”
“Really?” Brett said, seeing that they already had something in common.
“Oh yeah,” Mr. Benson said with a grin. “As you know, when you’re active duty you have to sign over your legal custodial rights to someone else to ensure that if you need to deploy quickly, there won’t be a problem for the child. I did that blindly. I signed over rights to my wife, who decided while I was away, the marriage was over. When I came back and tried to get my rights to see my child back, I ended up with every other weekend, a month during the summer and a portion of the holiday break, even though I was more than a part-time dad. Now keep in mind this was before the Servicemembers Civil Relief Act. So as soon as I could, I left the Marine Corps and went to law school. After graduating at the top of my class from UNC Chapel Hill, I started a small law firm with my best friend, Edward Krieger. It was a studio space in the nastiest office ever about 10 miles from here. I later bought that building and turned into a homeless shelter. Fast-forward 25 years later, we are now the best family law firm in the region, and I am now comfortably retired and a grandfather. I spend my weekends making up for the time I missed with my oldest daughter.”
“Retired?” Brett asked. “So this is a what? A special case?”
Mr. Benson was glad that he asked. “Put it like this, at this hour, most days, I’m on the 10th of 18 holes or having lunch at Gramercy Elementary school with my grandbabies. I haven’t taken a case in about three and a half years. I leave that to our staff of over 15 junior partners.” He laughed. “But Diane and Jeffery are good friends. When Jeffery came to the country club to talk to me about this case and play a little golf, I was happy to be of service,” Mr. Benson said proudly. “Plus not only do you not turn down a USMC Colonel, but your story was also something that I could appreciate. No man should be forced to be away from his child.”
Brett couldn’t agree more.
Courtney was quiet but deeply moved. The other day when she had shown up at her mother’s house talking about Sharon Riley, her father was already looking out for them. She had to tell him thank you as soon as she left here.
“We truly appreciate you,” Courtney said, clearing her throat.
“Well, we are trial lawyers with over 1500 successful, favorable verdicts. We have a team of highly specialized lawyers, assistants and investigators at your disposal. We belong to only the best associations and have the best affiliations.”
“I’ve got an investigator already,” Brett said quickly, circling back to the part of the conversation that caught his attention. “He has a firm out of California and he’s a former Marine familiar with the area. He’s going to be snooping around for the next couple of weeks, and then he’ll get that information to you.”
Mr. Benson was impressed. “Great. That’s great news. Let’s see what he turns up. If you need us, we’ll also employ our guys. Does your contact know the laws of North Carolina? I’d hate for any evidence to be considered inadmissible.”
“James Gavin is the best,” Brett answered with confidence. “I put my life in this guy’s hands for years. I trust him and his skills.”
Courtney was shocked yet again. She thought Gavin was just visiting, but in fact, her husband had been alr
eady laying the foundation for their case. A part of her felt guilty for her haste to believe that he wasn’t motivated.
Mr. Benson seemed pleased with Brett’s answer. “Great. Now that we have that out of the way, let’s start at the very beginning. You tell me what has happened exactly as it happened, and I’ll take a few notes. Once we’re done, I’ll ask you a series of questions to get some clarification. And then we’ll work out a game plan.”
The conversation went on for over 40 minutes. In the quiet office, Brett and Courtney purged, as they never had before about how they had met, how they had worked to ensure Cameron had a good life and how they had been served with papers. Each one gave the other the opportunity to tell their story, which often erupted in tears and frustration. But they made it through and when they were done, they at least knew that they truly loved each other. Only love would cause two people to sacrifice so much.
When it was all done, the lawyer now relaxed with his suit jacket off, hanging behind him on his chair and his sleeves rolled up, took a sip off his second cup of hot coffee and began his questions. “As I understand it Leo Tabor has not had any contact with the child to your knowledge?” Mr. Benson probed.
“Never,” Brett said, drinking out of water bottle and wiping sweat from his brow. His face was beet red in anger having relived his entire traumatic experience all over again in this man’s office. He would have rather been shot again than dredge all of this up.
“Well, I’m sure during the hearing he’ll request temporary visitation.” He quickly spoke to calm Brett. “We’ll request the judge push that off until a third-party child psychologist of our choosing can explain how that is not in the best interest of Cameron.” He looked through his other questions and beat the table with his pen. “And are you going to see someone for the PTSD?”
Brett jerked his head. “What PTSD?”
Mr. Benson laughed. “The obvious PTSD that the plaintiff will use against you.” He reached into his drawer and pulled out a card. “This is on my dime and it’s completely untraceable and confidential. Go and see her. Dr. Lansing is the best in the business and she produces results.”
The Lonely Hearts 06 The Grunt 2 Page 19
