In Firm Pursuit

by Pamela Samuels Young

“This is Special Moore,” she said, “I’m—”

  “I know who you are,” LaKeesha spat into the phone.

  “How’d you get my number?”

  “Don’t worry about that,” Special said sweetly. “I was just calling to give you a little warning. That workers’ comp case you filed is bogus. And if I were you, I would drop it.”

  “You have some nerve calling me,” LaKeesha huffed. “Ain’t nobody scared of you. You call my number threatening me again and I’ll sue you, too.”

  Special remained poised and professional. “If you don’t drop your case, you’re going to be facing charges for perjury, filing a false claim and a whole lot of other stuff.” Special wished she knew some more legal-sounding words to throw at the girl, but she couldn’t think of any.

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” LaKeesha said smugly. “I’m about to get paid.”

  “I’m talking about you trying to blackmail Jefferson.”

  “You’re trippin’ and I don’t have time for this.”

  “Well, hopefully you have time to listen to this.” Special hit the Play button on her microcassette tape recorder and held it up to the phone.

  I know you didn’t harass me. But in a court of law, it’s my word against yours. And who do you think they’re going to believe? The cute, young college student or the older, married man whose wife is out of town?

  “How did you…? Where did you…?” LaKeesha struggled for words.

  “Don’t worry about how I got you on tape. Just know that I do. And like I said, you’d be smart to drop your little fake ass stress claim.”

  Special wished she could see the girl’s face. “As it stands right now, Jefferson doesn’t even know I have this tape. But if you don’t dismiss your case, I’m giving it to him and he’ll be turning it over to his lawyer.” Special waited a beat. “They put people in jail now for filing fraudulent workers’ comp claims. You might wanna ask your attorney about that.”

  She could tell from LaKeesha’s labored breathing that the girl was in shock, but the jolt did not last long.

  “I wonder how Jefferson would like it if I called up his wife and told her how her little Goody two-shoes husband let me give him head,” LaKeesha said coolly. “I bet you that’s not a lie. Why don’t you put that on tape?”

  LaKeesha’s words hit Special like a blow to the head. She tried to recall the rest of the conversation on the videotape. There was nothing about that on the nanny cam tape. Then Jefferson’s odd denial came back to her and it all made sense. I didn’t force that girl to do shit!

  “Oh, so you don’t have nothing to say to that, do you?” LaKeesha said snidely. Now she was the one on the offensive. “I guess Jefferson forgot to mention how much he enjoyed letting me suck his dick.”

  Special reached for the Pepsi can and drained it dry. She was standing up now, one hand gripping the cell phone, the other one grasping her hip. “You know what?” she said slowly, her voice cool and collected. “Your word choice is very, very interesting. Let me give him head. Not, he came on to me, or he asked me to give him head, or he tried to get with me. But let me give him head. That obviously means you came on to him. What brother wouldn’t be happy to have some ho’ throwing it in his face? Women like you are the reason brothers can’t do right even when they want to. Tell me something. How many dicks did you suck this week?”

  “I don’t have to take this shit from you, you old ass bitch!”

  “Old!” Special shouted. “I look younger than you do. And if I were you, I’d find myself a better role model than Monica Lewinsky.”

  “Fuck you!” LaKeesha yelled, and the phone went dead.

  Special crunched up the empty Pepsi can, then tossed it across the room, missing the trash can by a mile. She fell back into her chair, satisfied that she had gotten her point across. Then her thoughts went to her best friend. If Vernetta found out about her husband’s little tryst with LaKeesha, she would absolutely freak. Within seconds of meeting the girl, Special could see that LaKeesha was up to no good. How come Jefferson didn’t see that?

  “Men are such knuckleheads,” she said out loud.

  Special wasn’t all that good about keeping secrets this juicy, but she was going to lock up this little tidbit and throw away the key. The girl had all but admitted that she had come on to Jefferson, not the other way around. The man did not deserve a divorce behind this one little misstep. Special just hoped that was all it was.

  “Whew!” Special said, “preventing injustice is hard work.” She dropped her cell phone back into her purse and zipped it up. She was going to pick up a tuna sandwich at Subway, then run over to the mall on Broadway to do some shopping. Retail therapy always calmed her nerves. Luckily, she had just gotten a new credit card in the mail. Starting next month, she was going to get her financial house in order and stop spending so much.

  She was almost at the door when she remembered a very important message that she had forgotten to deliver to LaKeesha. She sat down behind her desk, took out her phone and hit the redial button. This time, LaKeesha’s voice mail came on. Special tapped her fingers on her desk as she waited for the message to finish playing.

  “I’m calling back because I forgot something I wanted to say,” Special began, her voice as snotty as she could manage to make it. “And you should take this advice in the helpful spirit in which I’m giving it. Your boobs are entirely too big for you to be prancing around without a bra on all the time. If you don’t start strapping ’em down, you’re gonna have two pancakes flapping against your chest by the time you’re thirty. So after your next class, you need to take your ass to Target and buy yourself a bra.”

  Special closed her cell phone and smiled. Mission accomplished.

  CHAPTER 67

  I spent another thirty minutes trying to convince Hamilton to reduce his settlement demand. He finally lowered it to $800,000 but refused to budge from there. When the haggling began to make my head hurt, I gave up and returned to my office.

  To my surprise, Hamilton called me just after lunch and offered to settle the case for $600,000. After about ten more minutes of telephone negotiations, we agreed on $475,000, the value of Henry Randle’s salary, bonuses and benefits for a three-year period.

  When we were done, I quickly typed up the settlement agreement and faxed it to Hamilton’s office. He asked for a few minor changes, then said he planned to fax it to Reggie and to Randle in Atlanta. He promised to call me with any additional changes before noon the following day.

  With that done, I picked up the telephone and called Ferris. He was overjoyed about the settlement. The only question he asked was whether the agreement contained a strong confidentiality clause preventing Henry Randle from talking about his allegations of fraud or any other aspect of his employment with Micronics. I assured him that it did. Ferris asked to be notified when I had the signed agreement in hand.

  The fact that Ferris didn’t balk at the hefty settlement amount only bolstered my suspicions that Randle had been set up, that Carruthers’s death was no accident and that whoever killed the woman wanted those ATPs very badly. I was also convinced that Special’s apartment had been vandalized for the same reason. The Micronics documents were now safely hidden at my house. The very thought made me shudder.

  I retrieved some empty boxes from the file room down the hall and began packing them with documents from the Randle case. The faster the documents were cleared out of my office and sent off to storage, the easier it would be for me to put the case behind me. In no time, I had filled up three boxes and was about to ask my secretary to bring in two more, when something stopped me and I sat back down behind my desk.

  As much as I hated to admit it, Hamilton’s caustic remark about me selling out a brother weighed on me. Maybe there was some clue in the file that I had overlooked which might help me confirm once and for all whether Henry Randle had been framed. I began perusing every document in the three storage boxes, hoping to find something, anything, t
hat I had missed.

  The name Bill Stevens jumped out at me as I flipped through the correspondence file. I had never spoken to the Micronics attorney who handled the case before it was transferred to O’Reilly & Finney. Maybe he would have some theory about what had really happened.

  I needed to talk to Stevens as soon as possible. Once I received the signed settlement agreement, I would have no reason to continue my investigation. Not that I actually had a valid justification for doing so now. I dialed Micronics and asked for the Legal Department.

  My call was answered by a woman who sounded like a teenager. “How may I help you?” the woman asked.

  “I’m an old friend of Bill Stevens,” I explained. “I understand he recently left the company. Could you tell me where he’s working now?”

  “We aren’t allowed to disclose personal information regarding our employees,” the woman replied stiffly.

  “I understand that,” I said, “but I don’t think this qualifies as personal information.”

  The woman was not easily pushed. “Well, whatever it is, we don’t give it out. Since you’re an old friend, maybe you can find out from another old friend where Mr. Stevens is working.”

  “Thanks for your help,” I said, my sarcasm thick.

  “No problem.”

  I hung up the telephone, but really wanted to slam it down. Maybe I should’ve been honest and identified myself as an attorney for the company. No. I could not run the risk of my inquiry getting back to Ferris.

  I pulled up the Martindale-Hubbell Web site and searched for Stevens’s name. The nationwide attorney directory still listed him as in-house counsel for Micronics. It would be a waste of time to check any of the other legal directories since they were not updated until the beginning of the year.

  I heard a light knock on my door. Haley was standing there with a vacant look on her face.

  “What can I do for you?” I asked, trying not to appear as disgusted as I felt at the sight of the girl.

  “Uh…I…uh…I just wanted to know if you needed help with anything on the Randle case.” That aura of superiority no longer surrounded her.

  “No thanks. I have everything under control.”

  I was about to tell Haley the case had been settled, but thought better of it. Knowing her, she would run off to Porter’s office and claim that she had resolved it. I planned to advise Porter when he returned to the office later that afternoon.

  Haley inched her way closer to my desk. “Are there any other cases I can help you with?” she asked. I was not used to her sounding so timid.

  “Nope. All my cases are already assigned.”

  Shelia told me that the other senior associates were avoiding Haley like the plague, the kiss of death for any associate. If none of the senior attorneys wanted to work with you, you had nothing to bill and without billable hours, O’Reilly & Finney had no use for you.

  Haley had made the mistake of focusing all of her energies on trying to impress the partners and no one else. It had pleased me to learn that I wasn’t the only associate Haley had crossed. In another case, she failed to pass on some important information to a senior associate who, unbeknownst to Haley, was drafting a discovery motion directly related to the evidence she was hoarding.

  When the partner on the case returned from an out-of-town trip three days later, Haley proudly shared the news she had discovered, expecting to make herself look good. By that time, the motion—minus the crucial information—had already been filed with the court.

  Instead of applauding Haley for her keen investigative skills, the partner gave her a long lecture on the importance of teamwork. The speech ended with a blunt warning that if she ever pulled a stunt like that again, she would be fired.

  Haley opened her mouth to speak, then stopped. “Uh, I just wanted to…uh…”

  I almost felt sorry for her. Almost.

  “Yes?” I said, anxious for her to spit out whatever she had to say, then skedaddle.

  “About that day in the attorney dining room when you overheard me talking about the Randle case. I just wanted to apologize. I shouldn’t have been passing along gossip like that. I knew that stuff about you dating Randle’s attorney was a stupid rumor the minute I heard it.”

  Haley’s eyes were appealing for forgiveness. But I was not feeling particularly priestlike. “Just forget about it,” I lied. “I have.” And if you believe that, I have some prime swampland for you in Compton.

  “If something comes up that you need help with, just let me know.” She gave me a hopeful smile. “I have some free time now.”

  I hear you have a whole lot of free time. “Thanks for the offer. I’ll call you if I need anything.” I watched Haley’s shoulders sag as she turned to leave.

  “Hey, wait a second,” I called out, just as Haley had stepped into the hallway.

  She dashed back inside, her blue eyes a shade brighter.

  “While I was off the Randle case, did you conduct any other interviews?”

  “Just one,” Haley said. “I spoke to Bill Stevens, the former in-house attorney. I interviewed him over the telephone.”

  My ears perked up. “What did you find out?”

  “He didn’t come out and say it, but I got the impression he thought the allegation of sexual harassment against Randle was a little fishy. Would you like me to go over my notes with you?”

  “Definitely.”

  “Okay,” Haley said, excited about the prospect of having some work she might actually be able to bill. “I’ll go get them.”

  “Hold on,” I called out as Haley was about to skip away. “How’d you find him?”

  “I looked him up on the State Bar Web site,” she said.

  “I figured if he was still practicing law in California, he’d be registered with the Bar. He’s working in-house for a small software company headquartered in Seal Beach.”

  I nodded. “Good thinking,” I said. Score one for the second-year.

  CHAPTER 68

  After reviewing the notes of Haley’s conversation with Stevens, I called him up. He agreed to meet with me at his office at three.

  Stevens was a short man with a bronze fisherman’s tan and a scruffy beard. A stiff smile never left his face. He met me in the lobby of his building and led the way to his office.

  “So is this an official or unofficial visit?” he asked, closing the door.

  I knew Ferris would not appreciate my being there, especially now that the case was all but settled. So I sidestepped the question with the proficiency of a two-term congressman caught on camera with his pants slumped around his ankles.

  “As I told you on the telephone, I’m representing Micronics in the Randle case. I don’t know how much you remember about the case, but—”

  “Oh, I remember it well.” His smile broadened.

  I couldn’t figure out if his expression had any special meaning since his lips were permanently etched in a half circle.

  “What makes it so memorable?” I asked.

  “Oh, it was just one of those cases you don’t forget.”

  This was going to be like pulling teeth. Lawyers always made the most difficult witnesses. “Well, why was this one so unforgettable?”

  “Because it’s the reason I’m sitting here, instead of in the office I had for over ten years at Micronics.”

  “Are you saying they fired you over something related to the Randle case?”

  “They didn’t fire me, but they might as well have. When I began asking questions about the case, they suggested that I might like to take a separation package.”

  “What kind of questions were you asking?”

  “I pointed out that there were other employees who’d engaged in sexual harassment but had not been fired. But nobody wanted to hear it.”

  “Was this before Randle was fired?”

  “Sure was.”

  “What did they say when you gave them the information?”

  Stevens shrugged. “I just got a clear mess
age that I should keep it to myself.”

  “Did somebody actually tell you that?”

  “Not in so many words, but that was the message I gleaned.”

  “Can you tell me who?”

  “I’d rather not say.” Stevens’s eyes expanded. “If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were here looking for information to help Henry Randle, not Micronics.”

  “It’s important to know all the facts of your case—good and bad,” I said. “I don’t like surprises at trial. I’m just trying to get to the truth.”

  “You can’t handle the truth!” Stevens said, doing a terrible Jack Nicholson impersonation.

  I didn’t laugh.

  “I’m sorry,” he said, embarrassed. “Just a little movie trivia to lighten things up.”

  I decided to stop beating around the bush. “I’m concerned that Randle’s claim about being set up may have some merit. What’s your opinion?”

  “I never found a definitive answer.”

  “But what do you think?”

  “It doesn’t matter what I think. It only matters what a jury thinks.”

  I stared at him, annoyed. “Well, is there anything you can tell me about the investigation that might not be in the case file?”

  There was a long, painful stretch of silence. Stevens seemed to be carefully weighing his next words. “Maybe.”

  “I’m listening,” I said.

  Although we were behind closed doors, he lowered his voice as if he were afraid of being overheard. “You didn’t get this from me.”

  “Okay,” I said.

  “I think Rich Ferris, the VP of HR, had a thing for blondes. One strawberry-blonde in particular.”

  At first, I didn’t understand what Stevens was getting at. Then it dawned on me. “Are you saying he was involved with Karen Carruthers?”

  “Let’s just say they had a pretty close relationship.”

  I tried not to show my surprise, but I was certain that I had failed. “But he’s married, isn’t he?”

  Stevens nodded. “He certainly wouldn’t be the first married man to have an affair.”