In Firm Pursuit

by Pamela Samuels Young

  And you believe him? I had only met Ferris a few times, but I knew he was a micromanager. That kind of boss knew everything. He was the only African-American client I had not been able to forge a bond with. African-Americans in corporate America, by virtue of their limited numbers, tended to reach out to one another. But Ferris had seemed more and more standoffish every time we met. So I finally gave up.

  “Ferris sounded pretty antsy about getting the case resolved right away,” Porter said. “In light of that memo, thirty grand is a steal.”

  I had to agree, but I didn’t want to call Reggie right away. “I think we should wait a couple of days,” I said. “If I call Jenkins now, he’s probably going to up his offer.”

  “No,” Porter said. “Call him now. Micronics wants the case settled as quickly as possible. They don’t care how much it costs.”

  “They don’t care how much it costs?” I said, amazed.

  “Since when? We can’t be talking about the Micronics I know.”

  Porter waved his hand as if he were swatting at a gnat. “Just get it settled.”

  I struggled to get up from the small chair in front of Porter’s desk. His guest chairs were so low to the ground that anyone sitting in them, no matter how tall, had to look up at him. Everybody knew Porter was dying for a judicial appointment. His seating arrangement was apparently his substitute for feeling like he was sitting on the federal bench.

  “Too bad the Randle case isn’t going to trial,” Porter muttered before I got to the door. “Haley did a great job on that trial strategy memo.”

  I looked over my shoulder at him, my brows arched in confusion. “What trial strategy memo?”

  “You haven’t seen it?” Porter rotated his chair, picked up a document from the credenza behind his desk and handed it to me.

  As I skimmed it, my face grew hotter with each passing millisecond. I was the senior associate on the case. Haley should have reviewed the document with me before giving it to Porter.

  “Excellent legal analysis,” Porter said.

  “What?” I had briefly zoned out.

  “That memo there. Stellar work for someone at her level. Don’t you agree?”

  “Yeah,” I said. “Wonderful.” I handed the document back to him and left.

  I was sitting at my desk, steaming over the Micronics fax, Haley’s big mouth and her little trial strategy memo, when the firm’s Managing Partner popped his head into my office.

  “Why the long face?” Jim O’Reilly asked, walking inside. O’Reilly was a big, firmly built man who had the swagger of an Irish cop strolling the beat. He also made fifty-two look like forty.

  “My Micronics case just went south,” I said.

  O’Reilly closed the door behind him and took a seat. He was wearing a light blue shirt with a navy blue pin-striped suit. Either Armani or Valentino, the only labels he owned. He was by far the best-dressed man in the building.

  “What happened?”

  I quickly recapped the latest on the Randle case.

  “That was an extremely reasonable settlement offer, Vernetta,” he said. “Sounds like you took a pretty big gamble.”

  “I wasn’t gambling,” I said. “We had a strong case and Micronics had instructed me to try it. I could have won it, too.”

  O’Reilly chuckled. “I like your chutzpah, but there’re no sure bets when you’re in the hands of a jury. You shouldn’t have dismissed an offer that low out of hand.”

  I started to defend myself but decided to let it go. “I was just about to call the opposing counsel to accept his offer when you walked in.”

  O’Reilly stood. “Good idea,” he said. “And be careful. You can’t afford any screwups before the partnership vote. You know how much of a nitpicker Porter can be.”

  I nodded, then glumly turned to my computer to look up Reggie’s number.

  CHAPTER 8

  I had been on hold for far too long when Reggie finally came on the line.

  “Jenkins here.” His greeting was a welcome contrast to the snippy woman who had answered his telephone.

  “I’ve had a change of heart,” I said. “I think Judge Sloan was right. Your offer was pretty reasonable. So I guess we have a deal.”

  Reggie chuckled. “Do we?”

  I sighed. I was not in the mood to play games. “I can get a draft of a settlement agreement faxed over to you in a couple of hours,” I said.

  My words were met with prolonged silence.

  “Are you there?” I asked after a moment.

  “Yep, I’m here,” Reggie said. “But I’m not so sure that offer is still on the table.”

  The man was so sleazy. “C’mon, Reggie. I have a lot of other cases to deal with and I assume you do, too. If this case goes to trial, chances are pretty good that I’ll win.” Provided you don’t find out about those other sexual harassment cases.

  “Maybe I’ll win,” he said.

  I heard an unfamiliar bravado in his voice. “Only if you know something I don’t.”

  “Maybe I do.”

  I choked back a gasp. There was no way Reggie could know about those other cases. Was there? “You just offered to settle the case a few hours ago,” I said coolly.

  “Now you’re turning down a guaranteed thirty grand? What’s up, Reggie?”

  “I’ve had an opportunity to reassess the value of my case,” he said, “and I no longer think that’s a viable offer.”

  I chuckled derisively. “Okay, Reggie, let’s hear it. How much do you want?”

  “Oh, that’s interesting. You flatly reject my offer and now you’re asking me to name my price? Why don’t you tell me what’s up, Ms. Henderson?”

  “I never said my client would pay more. I was just curious to find out what you were looking for.”

  “What we’re looking for is a jury verdict in our favor,” Reggie said. “Mr. Randle wants his day in court so he can tell the world how your client railroaded him.”

  I inhaled. “Reggie, you have a very weak case and you know Judge Sloan’s going to have a fit when he finds out that you reneged on your settlement offer.”

  “I’ll handle the judge,” he said, sounding more and more comfortable with his newfound confidence.

  “I can’t believe you really want to try this case,” I said.

  “Actually, I do. See you in court on Tuesday.”

  I heard a click. The slob of an attorney had hung up in my face! I was about to hit the redial button, but changed my mind and dropped the receiver back into the cradle. Micronics wanted the case settled. I could not afford to start a fight. I knew the game Reggie was playing. He didn’t want to spend all weekend drafting the pretrial documents any more than I did.

  I glanced at my Bulova. Reggie would probably call back in an hour asking for another ten or twenty grand and the case would be a done deal.

  CHAPTER 9

  Unfortunately for me, Reggie did not call back.

  When I walked into Judge Sloan’s courtroom Tuesday afternoon, I was shocked to find Reggie already there. During prior court appearances, he was usually rushing in at the last minute, looking winded and disheveled. Today, he was sitting in the front row of the gallery, both arms stretched along the back of the wooden bench, seemingly poised and relaxed. He turned around and acknowledged me with a slight nod and a big smile.

  What in the hell did he have to look so happy about? I still planned to say something to him about hanging up in my face.

  I took a seat across the aisle from him, two rows back. Reggie was dressed in a nice gabardine suit that was actually pressed. We were first on the court docket and the clerk called our case just minutes after I sat down. I rose from my seat and stepped through the swinging gate that led into the court’s inner sanctum. I was pulling documents from my Coach satchel when I noticed a man standing next to Reggie at the defense table.

  “Your Honor, I’ll be associating in another attorney,” Reggie said, puffing out his chest as if he had already won. “Mr. Hamilton
Ellis will be taking over as lead counsel.”

  I stared across the courtroom in disbelief. How in the hell had Reggie convinced Hamilton Ellis to sign up for this case?

  Hamilton had the double blessing of being one of the best trial attorneys in the state as well as quite nice to look at. He was six-two with large hazel eyes and a neatly trimmed goatee. His warm smile and dazzling personality radiated manliness. Women wanted him. Men wanted to be him.

  Judge Sloan waved his hand in the direction of the court reporter sitting down below him. “Let’s go off the record,” he said.

  I exhaled. Thank God. The judge was going to lambaste Jenkins for bringing in new counsel so late in the case.

  “Mr. Ellis,” the judge said, smiling, “I just want to say it’s great to have you in my courtroom. I read that feature article about you in last month’s California Lawyer. Congratulations.”

  Hamilton flashed the judge an even bigger return smile. “Thank you, Your Honor.”

  I looked around the courtroom as everyone stared at Hamilton in awe. Most of the spectators probably remembered him as a star running back for UCLA. A knee injury ended his football career five months into his first season with the Oakland Raiders. Luckily, he had brains to fall back on. He later graduated from Stanford Law School at the top of his class.

  I leaned forward and tried to steady myself, pressing all ten fingertips against the defense table, making two little teepees with my hands. I wanted to object. But to what? The judge kissing the plaintiff’s attorney’s ass and the plaintiff’s attorney doing it right back?

  “Okay, let’s go back on the record,” Judge Sloan said.

  “I see both sides have filed all of the required pretrial documents. How many witnesses does the plaintiff expect to call and what’s your estimate for the length of trial?” He looked in the direction of Reggie and Hamilton.

  Reggie was sitting down now, his right ankle resting on the opposite knee, glad to have his new co-counsel running the show. “Based on my review of the case,” Hamilton began, “we’ll have six witnesses, not counting our experts. I’m fairly certain we can complete our direct in no more than four days.”

  “You’ve had time to get up to speed on the case already, Mr. Ellis?” the judge asked with a degree of compassion I never knew he possessed.

  “Yes, Your Honor.”

  “Of course you would,” Judge Sloan said, smiling again. “I wouldn’t expect anything less from an attorney of your caliber. There’re a lot of members of the Bar who could learn a thing or two from you, sir.”

  Sir? I looked at Hamilton, then at the judge, then back at Hamilton again. I had never seen Judge Sloan show any attorney the kind of deference he had just displayed toward Hamilton Ellis.

  “Ms. Henderson, are you with us?” the judge said. His voice had hardened considerably. “I asked for your trial estimate.”

  “Uh…yes, Your Honor.” I looked down at a document in front of me. “About seven days. And I expect to call ten witnesses.”

  Judge Sloan scowled and pointed that wiener at me again. “That’s a lot of witnesses, Ms. Henderson. I’m warning you right now, if the testimony starts to get repetitive, I’m cutting you short.”

  I almost wanted to laugh. This wasn’t happening.

  The judge asked a few more procedural questions, then dismissed us.

  I stuffed my papers inside my satchel, my mind a muddle of anger, confusion and dread. How in the hell had this case taken such a crazy turn?

  It wasn’t until I looked down at the document I was holding that I realized my hands were shaking.

  CHAPTER 10

  I stepped outside the courtroom and spotted Hamilton and Reggie standing just a few feet away. They were apparently waiting for me.

  “Nice to see you again, counselor.” Hamilton extended his hand.

  When I offered mine, he clasped it gently, then proceeded to hold on much longer than necessary. I finally had to ease my hand from his grasp.

  “Thanks for the heads-up about joining the case,” I said, not hiding my frustration.

  “Forgive me,” Hamilton replied. “If I hadn’t been so busy trying to play catch-up, I would’ve called you.”

  I rolled my eyes, then glowered at Reggie, who was still all smiles. “When did your telephone stop working?”

  “I have to run,” he said, ignoring me. He extended his hand to Hamilton. “Thanks, brother-in-law.”

  So they’re family. But that still did not explain things. Hamilton was far too concerned about his precious trial record to associate himself with a dog of a case like this one. At least it should’ve seemed like a dog based on the facts he knew.

  “Let’s stand over here, out of the way.” Hamilton pressed his palm against my back and guided me from the middle of the busy corridor, closer to the wall.

  “I’m really looking forward to going up against you again,” he said.

  I had won a close case against him five years earlier. I was only a third-year associate at the time, and it had not looked good for such a seasoned trial attorney to be outdone by a novice.

  “Don’t tell me you still haven’t gotten over losing the Byers case,” I said. This time I was the one smiling.

  “I’ll admit that it still stings a bit,” he acknowledged.

  “But that’s only part of the reason I decided to help Reggie out with the case. You can be quite a handful, you know.”

  “Oh, so I’m the reason you’re on the case?”

  “As a matter of fact, you are,” he said. “Except I didn’t realize you’d been taken.” He lifted my left hand and examined my wedding ring. “I’d heard you married some plumber. Tell me it’s not true.”

  “My husband’s an electrician,” I said, annoyed that he was being so condescending. Hamilton was quite a playboy and had constantly hit on me during the Byers trial. But I never took the bait.

  “Six of one, half dozen of the other. You could’ve done better. You could’ve had me.”

  The man was such a jerk. “How’s Mrs. Ellis these days?” I asked.

  “Wouldn’t know. I’m back on the market.” Hamilton straightened his tie and struck a pose straight off the pages of GQ. His black suit, pink shirt and silver cuff links probably cost half my weekly salary. “Even though Reggie’s sister and I got divorced a year ago, he and I are still pretty tight.”

  Hamilton’s blatant leering was beginning to unnerve me. “You guys really don’t plan on settling?”

  “Not sure yet,” he said. “Haven’t had time to fully assess the case. But there’s one thing I am sure of. It ain’t settling for a measly thirty grand. I can’t believe you didn’t jump at that offer.”

  I didn’t need the reminder. “If we’re going to trial, then I guess my record against you will be soon be two and 0,” I bluffed.

  Hamilton chuckled. “I don’t think I’ll lose this time.”

  “Your client grabbed Karen Carruthers in that elevator and you know it,” I said.

  “Maybe. Maybe not. But it doesn’t really matter.” He paused for several seconds, obviously for effect. “The judge loves me. And when Judge Sloan loves you, he has an unconscious habit of steering the jury your way.”

  Hamilton gave me a sexy wink, then walked off.

  When I felt my body veer sideways, I was glad there was a sturdy granite wall there to hold me up.

  CHAPTER 11

  I had just pulled to a stop at a traffic light at Grand and First Street, two blocks from my office, when my BlackBerry rang. I reached over and dug it out of the bottom of my purse, which was sitting on the passenger seat of my Land Cruiser.

  When I heard Haley’s voice, I wanted to ask God what I did to deserve such a lousy day.

  “You told me to call the next time something important came up in the Randle case,” she said. “So that’s what I’m doing.”

  After the shocker I had just gotten in court, I could not handle any more bad news. I held my breath. “I’m listening,” I said as
I made a right and headed into the underground parking garage of the O’Reilly & Finney office building.

  “Well, you’re going to freak out when you hear this.” Haley sounded like a kid who couldn’t wait to tell a big secret.

  “Just tell me,” I said, still refusing to breathe.

  But Haley didn’t say anything. “I’m listening, Haley,” I said again, even more impatient now.

  Still no response.

  “Haley, are you there?”

  I looked down at my BlackBerry. Shoot! I had apparently lost my signal when I entered the underground garage. I rounded a curve to the second level, pulled into a parking stall and hopped out of my SUV. I took one elevator to the lobby of the building and another one to the twelfth floor. I squeezed out of the elevator without waiting for the doors to open completely and walked straight past my office and into Haley’s. I didn’t realize how winded I was until I came to a panting stop inside Haley’s doorway.

  “I lost you when I drove into the garage,” I said, my chest heaving underneath my black Evan Picone blazer.

  “What’s going on?”

  She pointed to a chair in front of her desk. “I think you’ll want to be sitting down when you hear this.”

  Something told me not to object. I took a seat, dumping my purse and satchel on the floor next to me. I prayed that Haley was just being overly dramatic. “Okay, let’s hear it.”

  Haley rested her forearms on her desk. “Porter just got a call from somebody in Human Resources at Micronics. Karen Carruthers is dead.”

  I could tell by the way she looked at me that she expected me to go into meltdown mode. It took a second for me to process her words.

  “What do you mean, she’s dead?”

  “I mean, she’s dead. As in no longer alive.”

  “How?”

  “Car accident. Her car went off a cliff up on Mulholland.”