The Trial

by Larry D. Thompson

“And you automotive engineers have to anticipate that a crash may happen. You’ve got to meet certain federal standards with regard to crashworthiness of various parts of the vehicle, including the roof.”

  “If that’s a question, Mr. Vaughan, the answer is yes.”

  “Yet you folks at Ford twice reduced the roof strength on this vehicle to save a few bucks on each one, right, Mr. Alberson?”

  “Mr. Vaughan, the roof was changed in an overall design overhaul. Money was not the issue,” Alberson said, exasperation in his voice.

  “Still, Mr. Alberson, the design of the car driven by my client’s husband just barely met federal standards most of the time, and, allowing for manufacturing variance, some of the cars came off the assembly line with roofs that were below federal guidelines, true, sir?”

  Alberson folded his arms and looked to his lawyers for some help, but they had their faces buried in documents. “Probably so.”

  “And those design changes saved Ford tens of millions of dollars that went to bottom line profit, right, Mr. Alberson?”

  “Yes,” the witness answered, but before he could explain his answer, Luke’s legs buckled as he broke out into a sweat. He managed to take a seat before he collapsed. Judge O’Reilly saw his condition and called for an early morning recess.

  As the jury left the courtroom, the bailiff rushed over to Luke. “What can I do, man?”

  “I’ll be okay in a minute. Just get me some water and that bottle of Maalox from my briefcase.”

  After a half hour Luke assured the judge that he could proceed and then, to her surprise and that of the defense lawyers, said that he had no more questions. The defense team sized up where they were and elected to rest, satisfied that Luke’s cross had barely scratched the surface.

  Luke had worked hard on his closing argument, even rehearsing it before his mirror three different times. He had been prepared, but not for what had just happened. He had no fire, no enthusiasm, no thunder. It was a bland and ineffective closing statement, causing a number of jurors to switch their attention from Luke to the minute hand on the clock on the back wall. Three hours after retiring, the jury returned a verdict in favor of Ford. Luke could only apologize to his client. At least he had recovered on the tire case. That would give Nancy enough to raise her children, but after the gigantic expenses of a fight against Ford, Luke knew there would be little left for his three years of work. Certainly not the big payday he had anticipated. Then he collapsed on the courtroom floor.

  3

  Luke was wheeled on a stretcher from the ambulance into the emergency department of Memorial Hermann Hospital, conscious but in severe pain. After a cursory examination, the emergency physician admitted him to a medical unit. Over the next twenty-four hours, Luke was put through a battery of tests. Finally, Dr. Vincent Lee, a general surgeon, entered Luke’s room for the first time. After introducing himself, he said, “Mr. Vaughan, all of our tests are conclusive. You have a perforated ulcer. Surgery is the only solution.”

  “Then let’s get it over with.” Luke nodded in agreement. “The sooner the better.”

  Lucas Vaughan had been born and raised in San Marcos, Texas, a college town perched on the edge of the Texas Hill Country about halfway between Austin and San Antonio. His father was a real estate agent who sold rural land suitable for second homes. His mother worked as a nurse in the community hospital. By the time he graduated from high school, he was six feet tall and pushed two hundred pounds. His undergraduate grades at the University of Texas were barely good enough to get him into UT Law School, where he graduated in the lower half of his class three years later.

  Unlike those at the top of his class, he didn’t have offers of summer internships with big firms, and no job offers came as he completed his senior year. When he graduated, he figured that Houston was the biggest city in the state and there had to be room for one more lawyer. After pounding the pavement for weeks, he moved in with a plaintiff personal injury lawyer who had billboards on most of the freeways. All he got was an office and a promise of cases that the billboard lawyer didn’t want. Still, it was a start. He leased an efficiency apartment close to the office and learned to move the small cases with a minimum of expense. Within three years he was making a decent living and opened his own law firm, putting up a few of his own billboards. The cases produced enough fees to pay his landlord and his secretary and to live comfortably but not lavishly. He taught himself to try lawsuits. At first he was clumsy and ill prepared, but he eventually developed a reputation as a fender-bender lawyer who could try a very respectable case when the need arose.

  He tried to find time for sports, even signing up for a flag football league one fall, but his trial schedule interfered. By the time he was in his early thirties, his weight had ballooned to well over two hundred pounds. One day he looked at himself in the mirror after a shower and was disgusted. He postponed work while he took a slow jog around the neighborhood. Thereafter, he squeezed forty-five minutes out of his hectic day for an early morning run, and the pounds disappeared in a year.

  Luke really had very little interest in getting married and chose to have no serious girlfriends. There were a few one-night stands, but that was it. Then he made what turned out to be a colossal mistake. He had a few too many drinks on a Friday night at the Inns of Court Club in downtown Houston and picked up an eighteen-year-old waitress at closing. They had a few more drinks and ended up in his bed, where they had boozy sex. Three months later she called to tell him that she was pregnant and he was the father. Luke wasn’t sure that she hadn’t just chosen him from a number of lovers and anointed him as the father of her child, but he had no proof to the contrary. So he did what he considered the right thing and married Josie. Six months later they had a daughter they named Samantha.

  The marriage was rocky, to say the least. Luke continued to work long hours and rarely had time for Josie and Samantha. He began to suspect that Josie was running around on him, but he really didn’t care. When Samantha was three, he got home one night to find a note from Josie: Samantha was next door, and she was leaving him to move to Nashville to become a country music star. He didn’t go after her. In fact, he was happy to close that chapter of his life. Only now he had a daughter to raise.

  Luke sold their condo and bought a small house in the Memorial area of West Houston. The most important feature was that it had servant quarters over the garage. He hired a Hispanic nanny and housekeeper named Teresa Delgado, paid her well, and moved her into the garage apartment so that she could always be available for Samantha. Satisfied that he had provided well for his daughter, he returned to his long hours, seeing Samantha only on an occasional night when he would get home before her bedtime and for a few hours on Sunday, after which he would usually retire to his home office.

  4

  The elevator doors opened on the fourth floor of the hospital, and Samantha, now thirteen and with yellow roses in hand, burst out, followed by Teresa. She paused only long enough to check a sign for the location of room 414 and then was off to her right.

  “Samantha, knock on the door if it’s closed.”

  Samantha got to room 414 and ignored Teresa’s admonition. She pushed open the door to find her dad asleep.

  “Dad, are you okay?”

  Luke opened his eyes and smiled at his daughter. “I’m fine, Sam. Just a little tired, and I’ve got a sore belly.”

  “I brought you these,” Samantha said proudly, as she put the flowers beside her dad.

  “Thanks, Sam. They’re beautiful.”

  Just then Teresa got to the room. “Here, let me have those. I’ll bet there’s a vase around here somewhere. I’ll get them in some water and we can put them on the windowsill.”

  Luke reached for a remote control and pushed a button, and the head of the bed rose. When it got to a comfortable position, he adjusted himself. “How was school today?”

  “It’s okay, Dad. I’m still making all A’s,” Samantha answered as she sat in a bedside ch
air. “Why’d you need an operation?”

  “I had an ulcer in my stomach. I’ve probably had it for a long time, and it finally ate through the wall of my stomach.”

  “Yuk! Are you going to be okay?”

  “Doctor says I should be just fine. I’m thinking about some lifestyle changes, though.”

  “What does that mean?” Samantha asked, a look of concern crossing her face.

  “Why don’t we talk about it tomorrow? I just got out of surgery this morning, and I think I need to sleep.”

  “Sure, Dad. Here, let me have that control. I’ll lower the bed for you.”

  Luke didn’t hear the last words. Samantha lowered the bed, adjusted his covers, and tiptoed out of the room with Teresa following.

  5

  Samantha and Teresa were back the next afternoon. Teresa stopped in the waiting room by the elevators and told Samantha to visit with her dad alone. Samantha looked puzzled but walked down the hall and this time knocked on the door.

  “Come in.”

  Samantha found Luke sitting up in bed, watching CNN. “Hi, Dad. How’s your stomach?”

  “Still tender, but feeling a lot better. I’ll probably be able to go home tomorrow. Where’s Terry?”

  Samantha nodded her head in the direction of the hall. “She stopped to watch TV in the waiting room.”

  Luke raised the head of his bed higher so he could better see Samantha. “Sam, I told you yesterday that I’ve been thinking. I’ve got to make some changes in my life. I’m only forty, and trying lawsuits is going to kill me. If I keep this up, I won’t see sixty. I’m going to start an office practice.”

  “Okay with me,” Samantha said, nodding. “What’s an office practice?”

  “Doing wills, real estate documents, contracts, that kind of thing. We won’t make as much money, but we’ll do just fine.”

  Samantha looked at her dad, not sure what to say.

  “There’s one more major change, too, Sam. We’re going to move from Houston. My secretary brought my laptop this morning, and I’ve been on the Internet. We’re going to move to San Marcos. I’ve got my eye on three houses over there.”

  Astonishment filled Samantha’s eyes, then turned to anger as she rose from her chair. “No, Dad. I’m not going to leave my friends!”

  “Sam, calm down and lower your voice. This is a hospital. You’ll like San Marcos. You used to like visiting there when Grandma and Grandpa were alive.”

  “You can go to San Marcos. I’ll stay here with Terry. She’s the one who’s raised me anyway, not you.” Tears filled Samantha’s eyes as her voice choked. “Dad, you don’t understand. You don’t even know me. You don’t even know that I still lie awake at night, wondering why my mother left me. I was abandoned by her and by you, too. Only you didn’t just disappear. Instead, you turned me over to Terry and I’ve seen you for a few minutes at night and a couple hours on a weekend. I tried to please you. I even made good grades because I knew that if I made a B you’d be disappointed.”

  Luke had never realized that he might not have been a good father. He’d always thought that he was there for Samantha. Certainly he knew he had done his best, but as Samantha cried beside his bed, it hit him that he might have failed.

  “Sam, I’m sorry. Look, when we move to San Marcos, I’ll have more time for you. You’ll see.”

  Samantha shut her eyes and clenched her fists. “I don’t need you anymore. You’ve never been my dad, just my biological father.”

  She turned and ran from the room, almost knocking over an attendant bringing a dinner tray. As she ran crying down the hall, she vowed that she would never call Luke “Dad” again.

  6

  Roger Boatwright smiled as he replaced the receiver. He pushed himself out of his chair, thinking he really had to get serious about losing that forty pounds, and walked to a coat rack where he kept a coat and tie for just such occasions. He tried to wipe the wrinkles from the front of his white dress shirt before donning the tie and jacket, then gave up and figured it would have to do. If he had known this morning that he was having lunch with Alfred Kingsbury, he would have put on a nice suit and tie along with a freshly ironed shirt. Unfortunately, it was only now, ten thirty on Thursday morning, that Kingsbury’s secretary called, asking if he could meet Dr. Kingsbury for lunch at his club at twelve thirty. Silly question. Of course he could. Still, he put the secretary on hold while he feigned checking with his assistant before confirming the lunch.

  At a quarter to twelve Boatwright told his assistant that he had an unexpected meeting out of the office and would return by midafternoon. He retrieved his eight-year-old Toyota Corolla from the third floor of the garage and turned onto I-95 for the fifteen-minute drive to Kingsbury’s club. As he drove he surveyed his life. He was forty-eight. After getting a PhD from the University of Pennsylvania, he had joined the Food and Drug Administration, expecting to stay a few years and then be lured away by a huge salary to a major pharmaceutical company. It hadn’t happened. Not even a small pharmaceutical firm came calling. So he learned to play the game of politics in the FDA and eventually rose to be director of the Center for Drug Evaluation and Research, known as CDER in the industry. It was an important job with only moderate pay, certainly not what he expected as he entered middle age. Every new drug application had to cross his desk. If a drug wasn’t safe or wasn’t efficacious, a big word meaning the drug didn’t work, he could kill it with one signature. He rarely exercised his veto. In his mind the pharmaceutical companies were his clients. New drugs rarely proved to be unsafe, and effectiveness was in the eye of the beholder. Besides, he hadn’t given up the idea of moving into industry. Maybe that’s what Dr. Kingsbury was calling about.

  Boatwright turned off the freeway and took the first right, a tree-lined lane that led to the country club entrance, where he stopped at the security gate.

  “Can I help you, sir?” the guard asked.

  “I’m Dr. Boatwright here to have lunch with Dr. Kingsbury.”

  “Yes, sir.” The guard checked his clipboard. “You’re thirty minutes early. I’m sure that if you go to the bar, they’ll serve you a drink while you wait for Dr. Kingsbury. Please drive up to the porte cochere. They’ll valet your car.”

  Boatwright glanced at the porte cochere and realized his vehicle didn’t fit with the other cars lining the driveway. Instead, he parked at the back of the parking lot and walked to the entrance, where he was greeted by two uniformed attendants.

  “I’m here to meet Dr. Kingsbury.”

  “Good afternoon, sir,” one said as they opened the double doors. “You must be Dr. Boatwright. You’re welcome to wait for Dr. Kingsbury in the foyer or the bar.”

  Boatwright stepped into a living room right out of Architectural Digest. The arched ceiling towered thirty feet above him; a crystal chandelier dropped from its center. At the back of the room was a fireplace twelve feet tall, with a fire cracking and popping on a day when the outside temperature was seventy-five. Boatwright found a straight-backed chair against one wall, perched on the edge of the seat, and watched the front door.

  The double doors opened, and a tall man in a three-piece suit was silhouetted in the doorway as he allowed his eyes to become accustomed to the change in light. When Roger Boatwright rose from his chair, Kingsbury spotted him.

  “Roger, delighted that you could join me.”

  “Thanks for inviting me, Dr. Kingsbury,” Boatwright replied as he took Kingsbury’s outstretched hand.

  “Look, Roger, my name is Alfred. We should be on a first-name basis unless I’m sitting in on one of your committee meetings or we’re appearing before Congress. Agreed?”

  “Sure, Alfred,” said the smaller man, who was pleased to be on a first-name basis with Kingsbury.

  “Now, this way to the dining room. I’ve reserved a table overlooking the eighteenth green, best table in the house.”

  The maître d’ seated them at a giant window overlooking the green expanse of the golf course
.

  “You a golfer?” Kingsbury asked.

  “Yes, sir, I mean Alfred,” Boatwright replied, trying to hide his nervousness. “I play with a foursome most Saturdays. I’m usually happy to break ninety.”

  “Then I must get you out here some weekend, maybe when the club has a member-guest tournament. Now, take a look at the menu, and I’ll order us a glass of my favorite wine. I recommend the lamb special. Best thing the chef cooks.”

  The men made small talk as they ordered and waited for their meal. They talked about Tiger Woods, the upcoming election year, major league baseball, and families. Kingsbury knew Roger’s wife’s name and that he had three daughters. Roger was impressed that Kingsbury had taken the time to research his background. Kingsbury took great delight in talking about his daughter and three grandchildren, particularly when he pulled photos from his wallet that showed them playing in the sand at the beach. Roger commented that the kids looked like their grandfather. Kingsbury beamed his agreement.

  After they finished lunch, Kingsbury got to the reason for the meeting.

  “Roger, my company has an annual seminar for our managers. We try to combine some business with pleasure. This year it’s being held at the Ritz-Carlton in Montego Bay, Jamaica. We’ve invited three congressmen, key committee members, of course, to provide legislative updates. We’d like you to speak on the first day on a topic of your choosing, perhaps something about a current overview of the FDA, policies and procedures and maybe pitfalls to avoid in new drug applications.”

  Roger was disappointed that there wasn’t a job offer on the table, but he figured one might come if he made a good impression at the seminar. “I’ll have to check my calendar when you give me the date, but I’m flattered that you would ask.”

  “You’ll need to check your calendar for six days. We have other speakers for about three hours every morning, and then we hit the golf course. You’ll want to bring your clubs and your A game. And we want your better half to join us. She can go to the spa or go shopping with the other wives while we’re on the course. We’ll cover expenses for both of you.”