by MJ Rodgers
The lines around Lyton’s mouth tightened. “Be warned, Truesdale. If you are not able to prove this child is Demerchant’s heir, when we win this suit we’ll have the grounds to remove you as trustee for incompetence, if not for outright malfeasance. And there goes that nice tidy little trusteeship fee you’ve been pocketing every month.”
Marc turned his eyes from the attorney to look at Pechman and Voyce. “And if you continue to contest the child’s right and go forward with this suit, I won’t hesitate to expose every dirty piece of linen in your closets, believe me. And, when I win this suit, I’ll make you account for and pay back every penny you’ve received over the last two years from David Demerchant’s estate.”
Brian Pechman stepped back, blinking in obvious unhappy surprise. Norma Voyce’s face blanched several shades whiter. She grabbed her attorney’s sleeve.
“We won’t lose,” Lyton said quickly, sensing the panic welling in both his clients at Marc’s threat. “We’ll win, and when we do, as new trustee of the estate, I’ll see that my clients’ yearly allotments are doubled. Better reconsider my offer, Truesdale, while you can.”
“Better not hold your breath, Lyton. By the way, I hope you weren’t dumb enough to have taken this case on a contingency basis. Your partners may turn the other cheek at your indiscretions with their wives—however, as we both know, they get very testy when your bad judgment cuts into their profits.”
A flash of fury flared in Lyton’s dark eyes. It seemed that Marc definitely knew how to hit the man’s hot button.
Still, Remy gave Lyton credit. Considering the intensity of his anger, he had it quickly under control.
“All right, Truesdale,” Lyton said, lifting his briefcase off the defense table, once more his cold, calculating self. “You had your chance. Now we’ll do this the hard way.”
* * *
“AFTER LISTENING to both sides,” Judge Swellen said several hours later, “it is clear that a substantive factual dispute does exist as to whether Dr. Westbrook’s son is David Demerchant’s child. I see no option, gentlemen, but to proceed to trial.”
Marc had expected the ruling. Nonetheless, he was happy he had forced the summary judgment. Now he knew a lot more about what kind of evidence Lyton intended to present.
“Your honor, the societies I represent need interim funding until the court can settle this matter,” Lyton said. “I request that your honor instruct Mr. Truesdale to resume the monthly allotments to them provided for in the Demerchant trust while this matter is being decided. Without these funds, my clients’ societies might very well perish in the time in which it takes for this case to come to trial.”
“I am aware that the cessation of the monthly allotments to the nonprofit societies is a hardship that could very well result in the closing of their doors were this case to proceed to trial in the normal interval,” the judge replied. “Fortunately for them, there will be no delay.”
Marc didn’t like the sound of this. He liked it even less as the judge went on to explain.
“As it happens, Mr. Truesdale and Mr. Lyton, a case I was scheduled to hear in two weeks has just settled out of court, leaving my calendar free. So if there are no objections—”
“I do object, Your Honor,” Marc said. “I could not possibly be prepared to properly defend this case in just two weeks.”
“Your argument here this morning for summary judgment assumed you had all the evidence you needed, Mr. Truesdale. Which additional interrogatories and depositions do you anticipate causing you trouble?”
“I don’t know, Your Honor. My discovery is still in its very broad beginning stages—”
“Spare me the delaying tactics, Mr. Truesdale. I’ve followed the Bio-Sperm trial as closely as the rest of Seattle. You already have intimate knowledge of the specifics in this case. No, I don’t see that you’d have any real problem in getting ready in two weeks’ time. Allowing a week for the trial, that should have us finishing up here just before the election.”
The election. All sorts of bells began to go off in Marc’s head. He should have realized why this judge was pushing them into trial so quickly. Swellen was up for reelection in November, and his opponent had been gaining in the polls. What better way to get his name before the voters than for Swellen to be sitting as judge in a trial that was bound to be as well covered as this one?
“What about you, Mr. Lyton?” the judge asked. “Are you going to disappoint me by saying that you can’t be ready in two weeks?”
Marc saw Lyton pause, clearly conflicted. On the one hand, Marc was certain Lyton would prefer a much longer preparation time. On the other hand, Marc sensed that Lyton knew disappointing this judge could prove lethal to his case.
“I’ll manage, Your Honor.”
“Good. Then it’s settled. We go to trial two weeks from today. I hereby order that all assets in David Demerchant’s estate be frozen until such time as the proper beneficiary or beneficiaries have been determined. Are there any other items of business you wish to cover, gentlemen?”
“Yes,” Marc said, whipping papers out of his briefcase and approaching the judge, “I am submitting this demand for a jury trial.”
The judge took the document, perused it for a moment and then handed it over to the clerk. “So ordered. Any other items? No? Then we’re up again two weeks from today. Be here at nine o’clock sharp to impanel a jury. And keep me apprised of any substantive changes in the interim. We are adjourned.”
* * *
“TWO WEEKS. TWO LONG weeks,” Remy lamented as they left the courtroom and headed down the hallway toward the elevators.
“Two long weeks?” Marc repeated. “Remy, Judge Swellen just set a record for setting the fastest trial date in history. Months, a year, even, would have been far more usual and infinitely more reasonable. We’re deciding on who gets a billion-dollar estate, remember?”
“Considering what it’s doing to my life, I can hardly forget. Can you really not be ready in two weeks? You are familiar with the specifics.”
“I’m familiar with Bio-Sperm’s part, yes. But there are things Lyton brought up in the summary judgment today that I must pursue. That takes time and lawyer power. Justice Inc. is a small firm, and everyone there has a full plate right now. Lyton has fifty attorneys at his firm who he can put on this full-time right now.”
“You and Lyton apparently have some history together.”
“I used to be an associate at the firm where he’s a partner, Bittle, Corbate and Lyton,” Marc said. “It’s one of those bottom-heavy associate mills—three senior partners and more than fifty associates. The associates are worked night and day, do ninety-nine percent of the work, and get one percent of the pay.”
“Then why do they stay?”
“Each one has been led to believe he’s on the fast track to partner, and all he has to do is work twelve-hour days, seven days a week, for a few years to prove himself. Only it’s all a lie. No one ever intends to make the poor slob a partner. He’s burned-out and then dumped. Next graduation, Bittle, Corbate and Lyton replace the used-up ones that year with a new crop of underpaid, overambitious fools.”
“And you were once one of those fools?”
Marc laughed. It was full of the sound of a man who could admit a mistake while at the same time not beat himself up for it. “Yeah, guilty as charged. Except I was wised up before it became too late.”
“Who wised you up?”
“Mrs. Corbate, one of the partner’s wives. She gave me an earful one night after having a little too much to drink. I think she did it on purpose, so I would blow the whistle.”
“On her own husband?”
“No, on Lyton. It was his scheme to make each associate believe he was on the fast track to partner so he’d work his tail off for virtually nothing. He’d bragged to her about it when he finally got her into the sack after badgering her for a year. Then he made the mistake of dumping the lady. She wanted revenge.”
“And you helped h
er get it?”
“I called all the associates together and told them about Lyton promising me the fast track. Every one of the other associates admitted they’d been told the same thing. As soon as each of us secured new positions at reputable firms, we resigned.”
“What happened to Lyton’s firm?”
“Over the next few months, they lost a lot of clients, a couple of heavy-duty ones. Corbate and Bittle were furious at Lyton. Lyton’s affair with Mrs. Corbate came out, which didn’t please Mr. Corbate at all. They were all at one another’s throats for a while. Took the firm nearly a year to recover. But they did, and with a new crop of associate suckers.”
“You mean they’re still doing the same thing?”
“Old dogs just naturally perform the tricks they know. The downside of being up against Lyton is that he knows how I work and the methods I use. Still, David wanted his son to have this money, and I’m going to see his son gets it.”
“But David must have thought the nonprofit societies were worthy, otherwise he would never have named them as alternative beneficiaries.”
“David would never have put their welfare before that of his child.”
“David really felt that strongly about family?” Remy asked.
He looked over at her suddenly and sent her a warm smile. “Yes. He would have made your cute little guy a great father, Remy.”
Remy didn’t want to respond to Marc’s smile, but no matter how well she managed to maintain a cool exterior, inside, her body was heating considerably to its stimulus. She told herself it was only because there had been such genuine warmth in his voice when he’d spoken of her son.
His hand closed around hers.
Little tendrils of excitement radiated inside her. She looked deliberately away and removed her hand from his. They reached the bank of elevators just as one was closing. Marc pressed the Down button for another and, once again, stepped close to her.
She could smell his sophisticated, woodsy after-shave and feel the wall of warmth he projected. He was crowding her, deliberately. She stepped away from him, deliberately.
He’d warned her he was dangerous. He hadn’t exaggerated.
An elevator dinged its arrival, opened and they stepped inside. Marc’s arm brushed against hers, sending several exciting shivers through her. He seemed to be brushing and touching her a lot today. Too much.
Remy waited until she had put some distance between them, and they were walking toward the revolving door to exit the courthouse before she asked her next question. “Is Lyton a good attorney?”
“I wouldn’t use the term ‘good’ in the same sentence with that man’s name. However, he’s an expert in wills and highly competent in living trusts.”
“What’s the difference between a will and a living trust?”
He moved close enough to nearly whisper the answer in her ear. “A living trust doesn’t go through probate, and its provisions are a lot tougher to challenge. If the specifics interest you, I can tell you all about them over lunch.”
“No,” Remy said quickly. “I don’t have time for lunch.”
She escaped inside a cubicle of the revolving door and pushed. But before it could advance, she felt him move into the same cubicle, very close behind her. His breath, warm and exciting, brushed against her ear.
“There’s this great place overlooking Lake Union that serves a poached salmon that will positively melt in your mouth.”
“No, I have to get back to Nicholas and my research.”
He brushed up against her again. “Only take an hour,” his sexy voice coaxed. “You have to eat.”
Remy pushed hard to advance the revolving cubicle and escape the too-close proximity. She exited onto the sidewalk and drank in the cool air with a relieved sigh.
“Are you trying to get away from me, Remy?”
She raised her eyes to the heavy gray sky, which threatened rain any minute. “Just as fast as my legs can carry me.”
He smiled with more charm than was even remotely fair.
“I’ll walk you to your car.”
His tone hadn’t asked permission, but rather had made its intent clear. He slipped into step beside her.
“Which way is your car?” she asked.
“The Justice Inc. offices are right across from the Space Needle. Since finding a place to park in Seattle is a colossal headache, I take the monorail into downtown and walk the few blocks to the courthouse.”
“Then the parking lot I left my car in is in the opposite direction of where you need to go.”
“I don’t need to go anywhere, Remy. I want to go with you.”
Remy searched her brain for an answer, a bit panicked to note that her powers of concentration seemed to be slipping more and more each second she remained in Marc’s company.
“You must have something better to do. You just finished telling me how little time you had to prepare for this trial.”
“Walking you to your car isn’t going to jeopardize that. Which lot is your car in?”
“An underground garage, several blocks down,” she said, having to raise her voice to be heard over a nearby cement drill. “With all the construction going on, I was lucky to get into that.”
She watched Marc’s hand gesture at the enormous stationary black crane several stories high to their left. “Seattle’s new official city bird, thanks to those loudmouth travel magazine writers, who keep describing this place in such glowing terms.”
She smiled at the dual-meaning image he had ascribed to the word crane. He caught her smile and his eyes caressed her lips.
She looked away as her heart began to beat far too quickly.
“You realize we’ll need to spend a lot of time together before the trial,” that damn smooth, sexy voice of his said.
Remy immediately and purposely changed the subject and the straying focus of her attention. “I have some money saved. I’d like to pay for Nicholas and my stay in the condo.”
“No, Remy. The money will come out of David’s trust.”
“Aren’t you forgetting the judge just froze the assets of David’s estate?”
“I anticipated the move. That’s why last week I withdrew two years of back maintenance fees for your care of Nicholas and placed the money into a separate bank account.”
“Is that legal?”
“Of course it’s legal. And, what’s more important, it’s only right.”
“Will it be enough to cover our stay in the condo?”
He chuckled. “Enough? I should think so. The maintenance care for Nicholas rings in at a million dollars a year.”
She halted in her tracks and turned to stare at him. “A million dollars a year? You can’t be serious.”
An amused smile played on his lips at the incredulity in her tone. “Remy, do you understand how much interest alone a billion-dollar estate generates?”
She shook her head.
“Enough to fund a small country. Look, the American Cancer Society received fifty million at the time of David’s death and will receive another fifty million annually into perpetuity, whether or not Nicholas is determined to be David’s beneficiary. The representatives of those local societies you just met were each receiving five million a year from David’s estate, an amount which was scheduled to be increased to seven million next year and ever-increasing increments thereafter to ensure their funding into perpetuity. A mere million a year is nothing to care for David’s child.”
“A mere million a year,” she repeated, still quite shocked.
“Naturally, if you had been married to David instead of just having had his child, you would have received half of the estate outright. But as Nicholas’s legal guardian, at least you’ll have sufficient funds to see to his needs.”
“Sufficient funds to see to his needs? You believe a million dollars a year to be merely sufficient?”
Marc shrugged. “When Nicholas is a man, he’ll get the entire amount over a couple of decades. Until then, a million a y
ear should provide for his basic needs.”
Remy shook her head. “My son’s basic needs are met with love and laughter, and the chance to expand his mind and heart with the kind of passion and energy and ambition and wonder that will ensure him a lifetime of happiness. That attitude and process cannot be bought. Not for any price.”
“Still, money won’t impede his acquisition of the right attitude.”
“Won’t it? With a billion dollars in the bank to look forward to, what incentive would he have for lifting a finger? I want my son to strive to make something of himself. He needs that sense of accomplishment to be whole and to be happy. Getting things too easily subverts the whole personal growth process.”
“You read this in some book or something?”
“I’m obviously wasting my breath.”
She pivoted sharply and began to walk away, more than angry to find herself so attracted to this infuriating man.
Marc reached out to grab her sleeve to stay her retreat.
“Remy, wait—”
“Let me be,” she said as she snatched her arm from his grasp with such force that she slammed into his shoulder.
Her unintended sharp body blow caused him to lose his hold on his briefcase. It fell to the pavement, popped open and spewed out its contents. Marc spat out a few muffled curses as he squatted down to gather up his papers.
Remy immediately started off down the sidewalk at a good clip, determined to put as much distance between her and this brash attorney as she could, while she could.
She knew she had an excellent chance of losing him altogether. She was a competition-class fast-walker and had won several events. When she was really pouring on the steam, there weren’t a whole lot of two-legged creatures who could keep up with her.
She put her leg and arm muscles to the test and felt them responding. Her feet soon flew over the pavement beneath them. She zoomed across the sidewalk in a whirl, thankful she had opted for her walking shoes today.
Remy was just about to cross the street to circumvent the construction, when she noticed that the detour sign she’d seen earlier had been removed and a sign reading Pedestrian Tunnel Open had been substituted in its place. Thankful to cut out the extra distance, she headed for the tunnel.
