“And if he did take any documents, it was only to prove that everything he was saying about the overbilling was true.”
“Oh, so you admit your client stole the records,” I said. “I guess that statement will back up the surveillance tape we have showing him stuffing documents into his little briefcase several months before he was fired.”
Reggie began to stutter, but quickly regained his composure. “You know, my sistah,” he said, his voice still raging with animosity, “I really don’t understand how you sleep at night. The white boys over there are just pimping you, and you’re too dumb or too naive to know it.”
His words stung like a slap, but I refused to give him the satisfaction of knowing it. “You haven’t said anything yet about your client’s felony conviction.” My tone was deliberately taunting. “And your defense to that is what?”
Reggie remained silent for longer than he should have. “Tell me something, Ms. Henderson, exactly how low do you plan to go? My client was barely out of his teens when that happened. He was in the wrong place at the wrong time. He asked a buddy for a ride and ended up in the middle of something he had absolutely nothing to do with. The judge knew it and the jury knew it. That’s why he only got probation.”
“But the fact remains that Micronics’s employment application asks every applicant if they’ve ever been convicted of a felony. And your client intentionally lied about his criminal background. That’s a material misrepresentation, which constitutes grounds for immediate termination. If he had answered the question truthfully, he never would’ve been hired in the first place. He was just lucky his conviction was too recent to have been picked up by Micronics’s background check. So if he wants to scream fraud, he should stand in front of the mirror and do it.”
I closed my eyes and tried to ignore the rancid taste rising in my throat. I wished there was some way to detach myself from my own smug words. This is what lawyers do. Provide a vigorous defense for their clients.
“I can’t believe this!” Reggie said, yelling again. “Your boys have to go back more than twenty years to find a reason to justify terminating my client. What the hell does that tell you?”
That was not my problem. I needed leverage to get the case settled and Randle’s felony conviction and his act of theft provided it. “The after-acquired evidence rule is a valid defense and Judge Sloan is going to grant our motion. So you may want to consider settling the case.”
“Oh, so that’s how you do it? Blackmail style?”
“Nobody’s blackmailing you. I’m just suggesting we go back to the table. If you want, I can call the court and take the motion off calendar until we’ve had a chance to see if we can resolve the case.”
“Screw that! Our position hasn’t changed.”
“I’m not sure Hamilton will feel the same,” I said. “I heard he specifically wanted me back on the case precisely so that we could talk settlement.”
“That was before you filed this motion. And anyway, this ain’t Hamilton’s case, it’s mine. I call the shots. And we ain’t settling. We’re going to the mat on this one. Let’s put twelve in a box and let a jury tell Micronics just how much this case is worth.”
“You sure you want to do that? You and your client could very well end up with nothing.”
“I’ll take my chances,” Reggie shouted. “I’ll see your ass in court!”
CHAPTER 50
Reggie stared at the Micronics motion, then hurled it across the room. “This is some bullshit!”
He had never even heard of the after-acquired evidence rule. He turned on his ancient computer and tried to enter the Westlaw Web site to look it up. The message “access denied” appeared on the screen.
“Damn it!” he said under his breath. Cheryl had probably forgotten to pay the bill again.
He went to the Internet and typed in the Web address for FindLaw.com. He entered a series of search terms, but was not very adept at legal research and didn’t find anything helpful. Running over to the narrow bookcase against the far wall of his office, Reggie cocked his head to the side and began scanning the spines of the books. He had never put much effort into building a decent law library. Instead, he kept up-to-date on new case law by attending seminars and reading newsletters. Over the last few years, however, he had failed to even do much of that. Being able to quickly settle most of his cases before they reached the motion stage made legal research unnecessary.
He finally spotted the book he was looking for, Recent Developments in Employment Law, which he had received at a seminar years earlier. When he snatched the book from the shelf, three others tumbled to the floor, kicking up a small cloud of dust. Reggie coughed uncontrollably as he waved the dust from his face.
He sat down and flipped to the index in the back of the book. He was surprised to find a whole section on the after-acquired evidence rule. Several cases were listed, but only one California decision—Camp v. Jeffer, Mangels, Butler and Marmaro.
As Reggie read the brief synopsis, he began to hyperventilate. The case was directly on point.
The Camps, a married couple, had been fired from a law firm for poor performance. They sued for wrongful termination claiming that they were really terminated because the wife had blown the whistle on one of the firm’s partners, who had engaged in insider trading. After the lawsuit was filed, the law firm learned that both Mr. and Mrs. Camp had been convicted of a felony years earlier and had lied about it on their employment applications. The firm also discovered that before the couple’s termination, they had stolen confidential documents to support their whistle-blowing claim.
In its motion to dismiss, the law firm argued that the couple had obtained their jobs under false pretenses and would have been terminated had the firm known about the document theft and the felony convictions. The motion requested that the Camps’ complaint be dismissed and the court did exactly that. In explaining the rationale for its decision, the court stated:
The present case is akin to the hypothetical wherein a company doctor is fired for improper reasons and the company, in defending a civil rights action, thereafter discovers that the discharged employee was not a “doctor.” In our view the masquerading doctor would be entitled to no relief.
Reggie closed the book and pounded it with both fists. He was so angry his head was throbbing.
Had Reggie run the Camp case through the Westlaw database, he would have learned that it had been overruled. Later courts held that the after-acquired evidence rule could only be used as a means of limiting damages, not for a total dismissal of a case.
But Reggie didn’t think any further research would do him any good. He was much too distraught after learning that the one case that could potentially make him rich was about to evaporate. He punched his intercom button, but Cheryl did not pick up.
Charging out of his chair, he flung open the door to his office. “Did you hear me buzzing you?” he yelled.
Cheryl was talking on the telephone and stroking her nails with a shiny gold polish.
“Hey, girl, I gotta go.” She glared up at Reggie. “This man done lost his mind.”
Holding the receiver between her thumb and forefinger so as not to smudge her wet nails, Cheryl dropped it back into the cradle. “I told you before, don’t be shouting at me like that,” she shouted back.
“I left my cell phone with Hamilton’s number in it in my car,” Reggie growled. “Get him on the phone for me. Now.”
Cheryl took her time thumbing through her Rolodex. Reggie walked up to her desk and hovered over her. When she finally pulled out Hamilton’s business card, Reggie snatched it from her.
“Never mind,” he said, running back into his office. “I’ll call him myself.”
CHAPTER 51
Reggie’s tirade over the motion left me so rattled that I decided to leave work early. But instead of going home to my empty house, I called James, my law school buddy, and convinced him to meet me for a game of tennis in Fox Hills.
We had
only been at it for thirty minutes or so when my energy began to wane.
“Stop playing like a girl,” James yelled at me from across the court after I had missed an easy shot. He knew his sexist taunts would prompt me to hit the ball harder and aim my shots more accurately. I was innately too competitive not to take the bait.
I had arranged the game under the guise of wanting to get some exercise, but what I really needed was my friend’s advice. I was quite conflicted about being reassigned to the Randle case. While part of me longed to jump back into the saddle and prove that I could successfully resolve the lawsuit, I feared that in a case this fishy, there was a good chance that something else would go wrong. I needed James’s take on things, but I wasn’t quite sure how much I should reveal to him.
After a series of long rallies, we took a break with the score at three games to one in James’s favor.
“When’re you going to tell me what’s bothering you?” James asked, joining me on a bench that was badly in need of a coat of paint.
I smiled at him. “What makes you think something’s bothering me?”
“Because lately you only invite me to play tennis when you’re mad at your husband or stressed out about work. From the way you’ve been playing, I’d say it’s probably both.”
“If you weren’t my friend, I’d hate you,” I said playfully.
James got up from the bench, picked up his racket and took a few practice swings. “Slaughtered any unfortunate black victims of discrimination lately?”
I made a sucking sound with my teeth. James enjoyed kidding me about being a sell-out for defending big business rather than the working man, but I wasn’t in the mood to be teased. “Please don’t go there today, okay?” I was now having second thoughts about discussing my troubles with him.
“You’re awful touchy this evening,” James said. “Look, I know you’re up for partner pretty soon and I also know how important that is to you. But despite all the wonderful stuff that partner said about you at that dinner Saturday night, you need to prepare yourself just in case it doesn’t happen.”
James had always been one of my biggest supporters. I didn’t need to hear such pessimism coming from him. “Thanks for the vote of confidence,” I said.
“I’m not saying it won’t happen,” he said, trying to backtrack.
“Then why even bring it up? I’ve worked my butt off and I deserve to make partner.”
“I agree,” James said. “You do. But life isn’t always fair. Every law firm in America is talking about diversity these days, but that’s all it is. Talk.”
“You’re always so negative,” I said. “How are things supposed to change if no one is willing to give it a chance to?”
“I’m just looking at the facts,” he said. “If all the white-shoe law firms like yours really wanted to have some black and Hispanic partners, they would be there. Instead they sit back and complain that they can’t find any qualified candidates. At the same time, they welcome in truck-loads of mediocre white boys, but expect anybody black or brown to walk on water.”
“You’re always talking out of both sides of your mouth,” I said. “First, you criticize the law firms for not hiring minorities. And when they do, you attack the minorities who work there as sell-outs. You can’t have it both ways.”
“There’s no real contradiction,” James said. “I just don’t think any minority who’s racially conscious can survive for the long haul at a big firm. The law firm culture won’t let them.”
“That’s not true,” I insisted. “The more minorities the firms hire, the better it’ll be for those who follow. And things are changing. Maybe not as fast as either of us would like, but there has been progress just the same. Remember Martin Miller? He graduated from Boalt the year before we did. He just made partner at Roosevelt & Womble’s downtown office. And he’s the third African-American partner there.”
“Now that’s an example of real diversity. There ain’t nothing black about that brother other than his skin.”
I wanted to sock James, but instead I opted to hit below the belt. “Yeah, you’re probably right. I think he’s married to a white woman, too.”
His face went slack and I could tell that my comment smarted. But James wasn’t about to let me know that. “You can go there if you want, but my being married to Melissa hasn’t changed who I am. I’m probably even more committed to my people now.”
“Whatever, James.”
“Look, I didn’t mean to upset you. I just want to make sure you understand that playing by the rules doesn’t always work. Look at the way you’re dressed.”
James was really starting to rattle me now. “What’s wrong with the way I’m dressed?” I glanced down at my outfit.
“You even look like a lawyer out here on the tennis court, dressed up in all your nice, bright white. You have on designer shorts and socks. How much did it cost you to have Kornikova’s name on your shorts? Hell, this is the Fox Hills public tennis court, not Wimbledon. Nobody’s gonna arrest you just because you’re not dressed the part.”
James was wearing his trademark cut-off jeans and a purple-and-yellow Lakers T-shirt.
Maybe it was the stress of everything I’d been through, but his critique had pushed me to the edge. Anger propelled me off the bench. “You know what? You’re nothing but a hypocrite. You’re only at the Public Defender’s Office because you didn’t have the grades to get a job at a law firm like O’Reilly & Finney, and we both know you wanted one.”
I picked up my racket and slipped on the cover. “And you have some nerve trying to jam me up for going up against black plaintiffs. It must feel great to represent murderers and rapists.”
“That firm has really got you uptight,” James said, laughing.
“You’re just jealous.” I grabbed my towel and water bottle and stuffed them into my tennis bag.
“Oh, sure, I’d love to work fifteen hours a day, seven days a week, dealing with pompous, privileged white boys. You have the perfect life.”
I spun around to face him. “Excuse me, but I’ll gladly take my pompous white boys over those fake ass, do-good white folks you work with. Those white P.D.’s act so high and mighty because they’re giving up big-firm salaries to defend blacks and Mexicans. But most of ’em aren’t half as liberal as they profess to be. So don’t give me that bull. Your ass wouldn’t be living in Ladera if your wife didn’t have a trust fund.”
“Just calm down,” James said, grinning. “You obviously haven’t been getting any lately. I’m going to have to call Jefferson and tell him to get back home and hook you up. And forgive me for noticing, but you didn’t have those bags under your eyes when we graduated from law school.”
“Remind me to call you the next time I need a friend!” I snatched my tennis bag from the bench and turned to leave.
James jumped in front of me and grabbed me by the shoulders. “C’mon, Vernetta. Stop overreacting. You know I’ve got your back. Don’t leave mad. Flash me that Compton smile.”
I pulled away from him. “Get outta my face.”
“See, that’s why I don’t deal with black women.” James was laughing even harder now. “White women don’t act like that.”
James ducked just in time to miss the tennis bag that I had flung at his head. He was doubled over with laughter.
I had to walk past him to retrieve my bag.
“C’mon, homey, you need to lighten up,” he said, still in stitches. “Let’s go to Simply Wholesome. I’ll treat even though you make three times my meager P.D.’s salary.”
“Forget it,” I said, storming off the tennis court. “Go have dinner with your rich white wife!”
CHAPTER 52
By the time I got home, James had left me three voice mail messages begging for my forgiveness. Frankly, I should have been the one apologizing to him. I was really on edge lately. I called him back and told him I was sorry for going off the way I had.
I showered, heated up some leftover pizza and was
asleep by nine. When the telephone rang close to seven-thirty the next morning, I figured it was Special. Since Jefferson had been out of town, she had gotten into the habit of waking me up at the crack of dawn to share some inane gossip.
I grabbed the telephone from the nightstand on the third ring. “It’s too early in the morning to be gossiping, so this better be good,” I said, yawning.
“Please excuse me for calling so early.” I didn’t recognize the clipped, female voice.
I looked at the caller ID, but the number didn’t register.
“I’m calling from Micronics Corporation,” the woman said.
I sprang up in bed.
The woman introduced herself as the secretary to Bob Bailey, the company’s General Counsel. She explained that Mr. Bailey needed to meet with me as soon as possible regarding the Randle case. Unfortunately, he was heading out of the country the following day and wanted to know if I could make it to corporate headquarters by nine. Although communicated in the form of a request, the urgency in her tone indicated that it was anything but.
I assumed that the General Counsel wanted a face-to-face meeting to personally smooth out my ruffled feathers. O’Reilly had mentioned that the overture would be forthcoming.
It took me only minutes to hop in and out of the shower. I put on my favorite black Tahari pantsuit with a white blouse for ultimate contrast. My coral earrings and matching necklace finished the ensemble. It was the most conservative outfit in my closet. I wanted to convey an unmistakable air of professionalism.
When I walked into Bailey’s spacious office forty-five minutes later, a stormy tension smacked me in the face, causing my light mood to somersault into a dark cloud of panic. Bailey was sitting behind his desk, while Ferris, the Vice President of HR, occupied a chair off to the side.
Even before taking in the entire room, I felt the stoic presence of Joseph Porter, dressed in a polyester gray suit and a dated striped tie. He was sitting in a small chair facing Bailey’s desk. His face was so flushed he looked three shades darker. Norma Brown sat only inches away from him, her head down, her hands cupped in her lap. She was the only one who had not looked my way when the door opened.
In Firm Pursuit Page 19
