“For damn sure the Supremes are not about to stop it,” Jack said. “Chief Justice Roberts twisted around that Citizens United case to put corporations right in the middle of political campaigns, again with no restrictions. Hell, I’m sure that there are multinational companies just salivating to throw enough money in the pot to have access to the White House and the Congressional leadership, particularly since their names don’t have to be disclosed.”
“You know the Karl Rove strategy, don’t you, Jack?”
“Educate me.”
“He’s got this outfit called American Crossroads. He has a PAC and a social welfare group. He can get billionaires and corporations to donate to the social welfare side. Then it turns around and funds the Super-PAC. The Super-PAC can use the money however it damn well pleases, for or against candidates in unlimited amounts. Then when it reports its donors, it points to the social welfare arm. When someone asks, he can say that he’s not obligated to reveal the names of donors to a 501(c)(4) social welfare organization. Money has been laundered through the social welfare group to the PAC and then for or against candidates. No one can find out where the money came from, no matter how big the amount. The politicians and Kevin O’Connells thank the Supreme Court, particularly Chief Justice Roberts, when they say their prayers.”
“You licensed to carry?”
“Yeah, only I usually leave my gun at home. That’s changing as of now.”
Hartley and Ike rose from their chairs as Jack dropped some bills on the table. “I honestly didn’t know what I was getting into when Walt dropped this case on me. Now, I’m beginning to understand.” He reached out to shake Hartley’s hand. “You and I both try to do the right thing. I want to win this case, but along the way, let’s stir up a firestorm of publicity. Maybe there are a few honest politicians out there who will stand beside us. Maybe not. Time will tell. Meantime, we’ll both watch each other’s backs.”
Jack parked his truck and walked in the back door and pecked Colby on the lips. He went to the bar and poured a large quantity of bourbon on the rocks. He sat on the couch and absent-mindedly scratched Killer’s ears while he sipped his drink and gazed off across the room. Colby poured her own wine and sat beside him. Finally, she broke the silence.
“Okay, what’s eating on you?”
“Nothing.”
“Come on. I know you better than that.”
Jack sighed. “It’s Walt’s case.”
“So? It’s just a lawsuit, a big one, but big cases are your bread and butter.”
“Hartley dropped by this afternoon. Joined me and Ike for a beer.He’s working on a series about money and politics, investigating this dark money. He’ll probably be covering a lot of the same ground that I will in Walt’s case. And he was attacked this evening when he left work.”
Colby stared at Jack, then walked to the windows and closed the curtains. “Is he all right?”
“Two guys roughed him up and warned him off the story. He’s not about to back off.”
“You think that this might get dangerous?”
“Hopefully not, but the stakes are enormous. If I get what I’m seeking, it could change the whole political landscape. Some folks would get upset.”
Colby remained standing with her hands on her hips. “Jack, my life was turned upside down with those Dead Peasants killings. He tried to kill me three times. I thought that was behind me. Now, you’re saying that we might be living that nightmare again. I can’t deal with it.” She put her glass on the bar and stormed from the room.
Jack heard their bedroom door slam. She was right, of course. He paced the living room, trying to figure out what to do. He walked to the bedroom, paused and then opened the door. Colby was under the covers. Jack sat beside Colby and put his hand on her hip. She rolled over to face the other side of the bed.
“Look. Nothing’s happened yet. Probably won’t. If I get threats or anything else, I’ll send you away until this is over.”
Colby turned to face him with tears in her eyes. “I’ll get over it. Only, I’m not going anywhere. If you’re here, I’ll be right beside you. Now, let me sleep. I promise to be better in the morning.”
43
J.D. burst into the house on Friday evening to find Colby and Jack sitting at the kitchen table. Jack looked up.
“About time you got here. Why’d you go all week without calling? I had to read how you were doing in the paper and on the internet.”
“Sorry, Dad. Let’s just say I was pre-occupied. Also, I wanted to tell you and Colby in person. “I ran a 4.44, benched two hundred and twenty-five pounds forty two times and scored forty-eight out of fifty on the Wonderlic. Then I caught every pass thrown to me in the gauntlet. In short, I’m not bragging, but I did damn good. And, the Cowboys are interested.”
Jack jumped to his feet to hug his son with Colby close behind. “I suspect that calls for dinner at Bonnell’s.”
“If it’s okay, I’d like to pass on dinner. I’m meeting Tanya as soon as she gets out of a night class. I’ll take a bourbon on the rocks for my celebration.”
“Let’s get out of the kitchen,” Colby said as she led the way to the living room. “I’m starting to like visiting in here. “
After they were seated, Jack asked, “What’s next?”
“Cowboys want me to see them next week. More interviews, maybe one with Jerry Jones, himself. And I’ve got some other teams interested enough to ask me for a personal one-on-one. What’s happening with that case where you’re defending Walt Frazier?”
“It’s heating up a little. We have a hearing next Friday on my motion to compel O’Connell to turn over his records of contributors and amounts for Stepper and SOS.”
“I’ve got a little time. Can I tag along as your paralegal?”
“Sure. I’m not optimistic that we’ll win, but we’ll give it our best shot.”
Judge Jamison took the bench and beckoned the lawyers and audience to be seated. “Good morning, everyone. In the matter of Maria Hale, et al v. The State of Texas, et al, we have Mr. Bryant’s Motion to Compel Responses to Discovery. You may proceed, Mr. Bryant.”
Jack stood at the counsel table. “Judge, this is really quite simple. Mr. O’Connell is seeking millions of dollars from my client and the other defendants. He claims that his business as a political consultant has been irreparably damaged because of the incident at the Hale mansion last Halloween, that it happened because the defendants were negligent in their security measures. We’re not here to talk about liability yet. We’re just trying to get a handle on damages. The funds that night were being raised for Mr. O’Connell’s Stepper Official Strategies, also known as SOS, supposedly the chief source of income to Mr. O’Connell. All we are looking for is the financial information about Mr. O’Connell’s PACs, including the ones he calls Stepper and SOS. It’s standard discovery in any case.”
Christiansen got to his feet. “That’s horse manure, Judge.”
Judge Jamison looked over her half glasses. “You need to watch your language, Mr. Christiansen. You were one word from being held in contempt. I also expect everyone to act professionally. Please respond briefly to Mr. Bryant’s argument.”
“My apologies, Your Honor. Mr. Bryant is asking you to go against a hundred years of precedent, including the Supreme Court in the NAACP v. Alabama case from the fifties. SOS is a social welfare organization. Its donor’s names and other information are protected from disclosure.”
“Let me interrupt, Mr. Christiansen,” Judge Jamison said. “I’ve been reading about these dark PACs and so-called social welfare organizations. Frankly, the whole concept offends me. Last time I checked, not one had made any donation to my church. And I don’t really care that our Supreme Court disagrees. I am ordering you to produce the names and amounts of donations to all of Mr. O’Connell’s PACs and social welfare organizations and also how the money was spent. I’m mindful that these so-called social welfare groups are supposed to primarily fund social welfare pr
ojects or related issues. If they can’t pass that test, it may be another reason to question what your client is doing. I will sign a confidentiality order so the information will not go beyond the lawyers and their clients. I will also expect them to surrender any such discovery at the conclusion of this lawsuit.”
“Your Honor,” Christiansen said and was interrupted.
“Mr. Christiansen, I’m not through. I know what I am ordering is somewhat unusual. So, I’m staying my own order and giving you an opportunity to take it to the court of appeals before anything is produced. We’re adjourned.”
Hampton caught Jack and J.D. in the parking lot. “I’m confused. Did you win?”
Jack leaned on his cane. “We won the first round.”
“What’s this appeal of a discovery ruling?”
Jack shrugged. “It happens. She knows that she’s pushing the envelope. If she hadn’t certified the question for appeal, Christiansen would have gone to the appellate court to try to have her order stricken, anyway.”
Hampton paused in his note taking. “Just remember that our court of appeals is all Republican. Expect an uphill battle.”
Jack and J.D. were about to get in the car when J.D. grabbed Jack’s arm. “Dad, see those two men in dark suits three rows over.”
Jack glanced at the men. Both were wearing horn-rimmed glasses and had hats pulled low in an obvious attempt to conceal their faces now that they were outside. “Go on,” he said.
“They were sitting in the back of the courtroom away from the reporters. I went to the restroom while we were waiting for the judge. They were in the restroom, speaking a foreign language and stopped when I walked in. Sounded Eastern European to my untrained ear.”
44
The offices of Kevin O’Connell and his various PACs and political organizations on K Street in Washington, D. C. could only be described as lavish. He wanted to create the impression that power and money merged at the entrance to his suite. Stepping from the elevator on the penthouse floor, a visitor walked a few steps to oak doors that opened into a sitting area with French antique furniture from the nineteenth century. One wall was for artists who specialized in dramatic American landscapes. The wall across from it was overflowing with photos of O’Connell posing with Republican politicians and influential donors. He was shaking hands and showing sparkling teeth in each of them. In one-on-one meetings, it was obvious that he could overcome his modest looks.
Three doors opened from the entry. One to the left led to a hallway with small offices, ending in a bullpen filled with cubicles occupied by young people enamored with the power and wealth that engulfed them. The second door was directly behind the reception desk. It was the entrance to O’Connell’s spacious corner office from which both the Capitol and the White House could be seen. The last door opened to reveal a paneled conference room and a table with sixteen padded leather chairs. Once the door was closed, the conference room was sound proofed. No matter how sophisticated a listening device perched on another building might be, it could not penetrate to hear the secret conversations in that room. And, for good measure, O’Connell had it swept for listening devices every morning. A device had never been found, but when one considered the decisions that were made in that room, it was worth the effort, just in case.
O’Connell has summoned Cecil Christiansen for a meeting. His lawyer had groused at first that they could talk on the phone, but when O’Connell insisted, he decided that if a client wanted to pay his hourly rate of $600 for an overnight trip to Washington, he could deal with it. When he was escorted to the conference room, he was greeted by O’Connell, two of his senior staff and two advisers to the Republican National Committee. After the receptionist served him black coffee, the door was shut.
“Cecil, I asked you to join us because of the ruling that judge in Fort Worth made last week. What the hell is going on down there? I thought you and your firm contributed to every judicial campaign within a hundred miles of Dallas.”
Christiansen leaned back and folded his arms, not liking to be called on the carpet by anyone. “We did. People in my firm gave her campaign a total of $25,000 and she’s not even up for election. Unfortunately, that doesn’t guarantee she will go along with me on every ruling.”
O’Connell placed his hands flat on the table while the others observed. “I know Tarrant County is strongly Republican with heavy Tea Party leanings. Maybe we need to run someone against her in the next election, maybe have that person announce early and point to a campaign chest of a couple hundred thousand. I could get that done in a week. Wouldn’t that get her attention?”
Christiansen thought. “It might. She was a Democrat until about fifteen years ago when she realized which way the county was going. She held a press conference to announce that she wanted to be among the first of Democratic county officials to acknowledge that the Republican Party was the one of the future. Translate that to her saying that if she wanted to win in the future, she had to join the GOP. Still, I know she has some liberal views. Those obviously came out with the ruling in your case.”
O’Connell stood at his place at the end of the table. “That settles it. We’ll have a candidate announce against her within a month with a press conference alluding to her ruling. He or she will demand that social welfare organizations must be able to operate without risking that their donors might be disclosed, no matter what the reason. I’ll make sure he talks about the Boy Scouts, the Audubon Society, that kind of thing. Now that I think about it, such a candidacy will also get the attention of the judges on the court of appeals who will be grading her papers.”
Christiansen agreed. “Yeah, they’ll get the message. If they vote against us, they’ll face an opponent, too. We’ll take some flak from the media, but it’ll be worth it.”
One of O’Connell’s aides spoke up. “Tell us about this guy, Bryant. I hear he works out of an RV. Is he any threat?”
Christiansen shook his head. “Don’t be fooled by appearances. He’s one of the best trial lawyers in the state. He made a fortune in Beaumont. I hear around a hundred million. Moved back to Fort Worth a few years ago. He doesn’t need money; so, he represents people for free out of that RV. The head of the governor’s detail, Frazier, is an army buddy of his. They served together in Desert Storm. He’s as tough as they come.”
“Well, if we can’t buy him off, there are other ways to deal with him.” O’Connell’s eyes narrowed as he spoke.
Christiansen stared at O’Connell for a split second before replying. “I’m not sure what you’re getting at. I’m a hardball son of a bitch, but I play by the rules. I may bend one on occasion, but that’s as far as I’ll go. If you even think about harming him, I’m out. That clear?”
“Cecil,” O’Connell said with a wry smile, “I was thinking of no such thing. Besides, when you win in the court of appeals, my donors will be protected and we can move forward with the lawsuit. Money is not the issue. At the end of the day I want the whole country to know that what happened at that fundraiser was the result of incompetence on the part of the law enforcement agencies that were there to protect us all. That ought to clear my name. You accomplish that and there’ll be a substantial bonus at the end of the case.”
45
Jack’s phone beside his bed rang at three in the morning. On the fourth ring he realized that it was not part of a dream and groped for it. “Hello.”
“Jack, it’s Joe. She’s coming around.”
“I’m sorry. Who’s coming around?”
“Miriam Van Zandt. Why the hell do you think I would call you at three in the morning?”
Instantly awake, Jack said, “I’ll meet you at the hospital in thirty minutes. What room?”
Jack replaced the phone and threw back the covers.
Colby wiped the sleep from her eyes. “What’s going on?”
“Miriam Van Zandt is awake.”
“I’m going with you.”
“Not necessary.”
“I don’
t care. I want to be there.”
Jack was pulling a clean pair of jeans from the closet. “Forget make-up. We’re leaving as soon as we both make a bathroom stop.”
When he stepped from the bathroom, Colby followed. Within minutes, Jack was disarming the alarm and choosing a cane. Killer had been sleeping in a chair by the pool and wandered to them, curious as to what was bringing his people out in the middle of the night.
Colby stopped to scratch his ears. “We’ll be back shortly, Killer. Take care of things while we’re gone.” Twenty minutes later Jack parked Lucille in the visitor lot where he found a space on the front row. When they entered the lobby, they found Shannon waiting for them.
“About time you two got here. You know how these comas go. We may have missed our chance by now. Follow me.”
Joe led them to the elevator. He punched the button for the sixth floor. When they exited, he led them down a corridor where a Fort Worth cop was seated next to a door. Joe knew him. “Evening, Sam. I hear she’s awake.”
Sam got to his feet. “She’s drifting in and out. Her neurologist is in there with her. He came as soon as he got the word. Name’s Reddy. He said you could go in.”
They pushed quietly through the door into a room mostly in shadows, with one lamp on a table next to a visitor’s chair providing the only light. Various monitors flashed digital readouts and beeped regularly. A doctor with a dark complexion, dressed in a white coat studied the slight form of Miriam Van Zandt, her head still wrapped in bandages, and glanced at the monitors. He turned to them. “I presume that you’re Mr. Shannon.”
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