A House Divided

by Robert Whitlow

  “I figured that’s why you wanted to talk,” Nate said. “So I huddled with Simpkin and Brown before driving over here.”

  At that moment, a man with a booming voice hailed Nate from across the room and came over to their table. The man launched into a story about a round of golf the two men had played a few weeks earlier. Apparently they’d lost a hundred dollars to their playing partners because Nate missed a three-foot putt on the final hole.

  “My five-year-old could sink that putt eight out of ten times,” the man said. “You choked, big-time.”

  “And who hit a nine iron twenty feet over the green from forty feet away two holes earlier?” Nate countered. “If we’d halved that hole, my putt wouldn’t have meant anything.”

  “You still owe me a drink,” the man said.

  “And you haven’t paid my legal fees for the lease I prepared for that piece of commercial property you own on Hixson Street.”

  “The check is in the mail.”

  “Right. I’ll hold my breath till it comes.” Nate motioned toward Ray. “Charlie, this is Ray Gage. He’s worked at the DA’s office for several years and will be joining our firm as soon as we iron out the details.”

  Ray looked at Nate, who had a big smile on his face.

  Charlie extended his hand. “Nice to meet you,” he said. “I’d rather be Nate’s law partner than depend on him to sink a putt.”

  “Next time we’ll see who makes the money shot,” Nate said.

  Charlie moved away.

  “Does that mean I have the job?” Ray asked, just to be sure.

  “With Charlie as your witness.” Nate patted Ray on the shoulder. “It wasn’t a hard sell. Simpkin and Brown knew we needed to snatch you up. We’ll prepare a written employment contract after our monthly meeting. I think you’ll be pleasantly surprised at the starting salary.”

  Roxy didn’t have time for lunch. She nibbled raw carrot sticks at her desk, then popped a caramel into her mouth for dessert. As soon as the caramel dissolved, she replaced it with another. It created a bulge in her cheek that she quickly hid when Mr. Caldweller appeared in her doorway.

  “How was the phone conference?” she asked as she maneuvered the caramel into the center of her mouth.

  “Satisfactory,” Caldweller answered. “You dodged a bullet and saved us from getting blindsided by our own client. The head of R&D wasn’t happy when he realized some of his own people had tried to bury data. Our shadow expert in Chicago earned his fee on that point alone.”

  “What is the client going to do about it?” Roxy positioned the caramel so it wasn’t a threat to stick to her teeth.

  “Give us greater flexibility to work out a settlement. We’ll put up as hard a front as we can for the other side, but when it comes to crunch time they know it will be better to pay for a few more months of exclusive distribution of the drug than try to shut the door on release of the generics. The money side will be more an accounting function than a chemical one, and since we know the case won’t go to trial, I’m going to let you take a more active role in the litigation.”

  Roxy’s eyes opened wider. The senior partner could jerk her from the basement to the penthouse so fast it made her head spin.

  “Uh, if you think I’m ready—”

  “You’re ready to do what I tell you to do. Once the CFO realized we’re not going to go to trial, he wants to keep a lid on legal fees. You bill at less than half my hourly rate.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “I dictated a memo to the e-file that you should read. We’re going to request mediation before discovery is completed.”

  “Won’t that tip the other side off to our willingness to settle?”

  “Not if we raise a stink in discovery and set it up to informally address discovery issues. We’ll designate a former judge as mediator, then float the idea of settlement at the mediation without looking too eager.”

  Roxy doubted she could finesse a move like that and sell it.

  “I’ll handle the mediation,” Caldweller said as if reading her thoughts. “Your job is to be as aggressive as you can be in discovery so I can look like the good guy at the mediation.”

  Roxy burst out laughing. Fortunately the caramel had shrunk enough that it didn’t come shooting out of her mouth. Caldweller glared at her for a moment, then a grin creased his face.

  “Okay,” he said. “You’ve made your point.”

  Roxy covered her mouth with her hand as Caldweller’s grin grew.

  “That’s the kind of story you can tell when I retire,” the senior partner said, pointing his finger at her. “Until then I want to maintain my image.”

  Roxy wiped her eyes and took a deep breath. “I have no doubt about your ability to do that, sir.”

  Corbin finished lunch and returned to the office. He made a couple of phone calls, then spent the rest of the afternoon behind closed doors researching different courses of action against Colfax. Forty years removed from law school, he felt like a first-year student wrestling with a hypothetical case study developed by a sadistic torts professor. Strict liability, negligence, hazardous substances, trespass, public nuisance, fraudulent concealment, and other concepts ricocheted around inside his head.

  He jotted down notes and drew arrows from one thought to another, but when he looked at what he’d done an hour later, he wasn’t sure why some of the arrows existed. What he wanted was a theory that would make the company strictly liable for injuries caused by its actions, bypassing the need to prove negligence. If Colfax introduced a substance inherently dangerous to public health into the environment, and the dangerous substance made the boys sick, Corbin would automatically get a chance to make a plea for justice and compensation in front of a jury. He read cases about asbestos, benzene, cigarettes, and hazardous waste. But until he knew exactly what Colfax dumped onto the land, he wouldn’t know which path to take.

  At five o’clock he leaned back in his chair and rubbed his hands against his temples. He was getting a headache that would only worsen if he didn’t do something about it. Not sure if Janelle was still around, he buzzed her desk.

  “Yes,” she answered.

  “Are you still here?”

  “Unless you fired me and forgot to tell me, I work for you.”

  “And usually leave around four thirty.”

  “I’ve been busy.”

  Corbin went into the reception area. Janelle was surrounded by stacks of papers.

  “What’s all this?” he asked.

  “Medical records. I faxed release forms to the local doctors and drove over to pick up copies so we wouldn’t have to wait for them to be mailed. Of course, the hospital records and information from the out-of-town specialists will be delivered in the usual way from a copy service. They should be here next week.”

  Corbin picked up a sheet of paper. It was an office note from Mitchell Kilpatrick’s pediatrician. The report was filled with unfamiliar medical terms that Corbin knew would have to become part of his vocabulary.

  Janelle continued. “I’m starting an index for each boy. There’s no way we can keep this much stuff straight without continually organizing it. Did you know there are three main types of non-Hodgkin’s lymphoma that affect children?”

  “No,” Corbin replied. “And both boys had better have the same kind. Otherwise, there may not be a link between the disease and a chemical exposure.”

  “Are you sure about that?”

  Corbin hesitated. “Not really. I don’t know enough to say anything with certainty. I’ve spent all afternoon trying to wrap my head around the different legal theories. My brain can’t ramp up as fast as it used to.”

  “I have a solid theory about that,” Janelle said.

  “Keep it to yourself.”

  “One thing you do want to know,” she said.

  “What’s that?”

  Janelle touched the thickest stack of the records in front of her. “The boys are getting treatment, but there may be options out there that re
quire more money or better health care coverage. Lymphoma can be aggressive. If you want to help these folks, you’re going to have to act fast. What did you tell the families was the goal of the litigation?”

  “To make Colfax pay damages if its actions caused the boys to get sick. You know the company is going to do everything it can to get the cases dismissed and then drag them out as long as possible.”

  “If that happens, you could end up with wrongful death cases.”

  Corbin’s headache worsened. “Go home,” he said. “I’m ready to leave too. These records will be waiting for us tomorrow.”

  Corbin locked the door of the office. He needed a stiff drink. On his way out of town he passed the Hopewell Methodist Church, the place Max Hogan mentioned as the location for a local AA meeting. There were several cars in the parking lot, and Corbin recognized Max’s vehicle. Jimmy Broome, the auto parts store owner, was walking across the parking lot. Corbin didn’t slow down.

  Later that night Corbin was dozing in the recliner in his living room after a steady diet of bourbon on the rocks for supper when his phone vibrated. It was a text message from Roxy, identifying three law firms as good candidates to evaluate possible litigation against Colfax. He fumbled with his phone and deleted the message.

  The following morning Corbin had a pretrial conference in front of Judge Perry in a car wreck case. Hung over, he arrived at the office ten minutes before he was supposed to be in court.

  Janelle scolded him as soon as he walked through the door. “In all the hoopla yesterday, did you forget about the Anderson case?”

  “Maybe,” Corbin answered grumpily, “but I remembered when I saw your cheerful face.”

  “At least it’s good for something. I’m finishing up the proposed pretrial order.”

  Corbin went into his office and picked up the thin file. His client had suffered a whiplash injury in a rear-end collision but only missed ten days from work and had less than two thousand dollars in medical expenses, mostly tests to rule out a more serious problem. He returned to Janelle’s desk.

  “Judge Perry likes to do his own orders,” Corbin said.

  “That’s why I copied the one he issued in the Johnston case a few months ago. Maybe he’ll sign this because it looks familiar. You know he’ll chew you out if you don’t have something prepared, even in a little case like this.”

  “Little? Don’t start agreeing with the insurance company’s lawyer.”

  Janelle wrinkled her nose. Corbin turned toward the door.

  “Corbin,” Janelle called after him.

  He turned around. “What?”

  “Is there a reason you’re wearing one brown sock and one blue?”

  Corbin glanced down. He scooted his pants down a fraction of an inch so they covered more of his shoes. “If I’m able to get this case settled, I’ll buy extra pairs of both colors.”

  “That won’t solve the root problem!” Janelle called after him as he walked out the door.

  It was a pleasant morning, and the fresh air helped dispel some of the stupor from Corbin’s brain. Inside the courthouse he immediately began fielding questions about what happened to his face. He quickly developed a stock reply.

  “Got it fighting a monster bass at Braswell’s Pond while fishing with my grandson,” he said. “The fish won.”

  Judge Perry and Judge Ellington conducted pretrial conferences in their offices, not the courtroom. Corbin entered the waiting area and repeated his fishing story for the judge’s secretary, a plump woman who formerly worked for Jimbo Sanders in the DA’s office. As soon as he finished, a young lawyer with a square jaw and shortly cropped brown hair rushed through the door.

  “I’m Henry Byram,” he said, slightly out of breath. “I’m here for the pretrial conference in Anderson v. Cochran.”

  Corbin extended his hand and introduced himself. Hope of resolving the case evaporated when he saw that the insurance defense firm had sent an attorney who barely looked old enough to be a law school graduate.

  “Where’s Jack Granville?” Corbin asked.

  “He’s number two on the docket for a federal case in Atlanta.”

  “Do you have authority to settle the case?”

  “Yes.”

  “The judge is ready,” the secretary interrupted.

  “We’ll talk afterwards,” Corbin said, and led the way into Judge Perry’s chambers.

  Upon graduation from law school, Dexter Perry came to Alto to work for Simpkin and Brown, and also cut his teeth as an insurance defense lawyer. He and Corbin had been on opposite sides of at least twenty cases over the years. Corbin found Perry to be a sneaky lawyer who interpreted his obligation to his client as justification to see how close he could get to deceit without crossing the line into outright lying. Perry brought his defense bias with him to the bench. Corbin much preferred Judge Ellington, who at least often made both sides of a case mad.

  Judge Perry raised his eyes when he saw the bandage on Corbin’s face. Corbin quickly repeated his story.

  “Is your grandson okay?” the judge asked.

  “Yes, he’s a trouper.”

  The lawyers sat down. Because he represented the plaintiff, Corbin spoke first.

  “Judge, as you can see, this is a personal injury case, and I’ve prepared a standard pretrial order,” he said. He placed the order on the edge of the desk and handed another copy to Byram.

  “Discovery is complete,” Corbin continued. “We’re going to call our medical witness to testify at the hearing.”

  “The chiropractor?” the judge asked.

  “Yes.”

  “Then we’d like the chance to depose him in advance of trial,” Byram responded.

  “They’ve had nine months to do that,” Corbin answered. “Dr. Hannah was identified in our responses to their interrogatories, and they’ve known he provided treatment to the plaintiff.”

  While he talked, Corbin could sense Byram shifting nervously in his seat. The young associate wouldn’t want to return to Atlanta and inform his boss they were going to have to cross-examine the chiropractor without the benefit of a deposition.

  “Your Honor,” Byram began.

  “No need to respond, counselor,” the judge cut in. “I’m going to let you depose Dr. Hannah. How much time do you need?”

  “Four months,” Byram replied.

  “I object.” Corbin raised his voice. “This case is set for the trial calendar next month.”

  “And won’t be prejudiced by the delay,” the judge answered. “I’ll grant the defendant’s request and include it in the pretrial order. Any other depositions?”

  “We’d like to retake the plaintiff’s deposition,” the defense lawyer said.

  “On what grounds?” the judge asked.

  “Newly discovered evidence.”

  “What kind of evidence?” Corbin asked, turning in his chair.

  “Surveillance video,” Byram replied smugly.

  “You haven’t supplemented your responses to my interrogatories and identified that type of information,” Corbin shot back.

  Byram handed Corbin some papers. “Here.”

  Corbin quickly read a generic description that revealed nothing beyond the name of a private detective.

  “Then I’d like to depose the private detective,” he said to the judge.

  “Certainly, but only after the defense retakes your client’s deposition. This further supports the need to bump the case down the trial calendar. Anything else?”

  “Not from the defendant,” Byram replied.

  “No,” Corbin groused.

  The lawyers stood up to leave.

  “Mr. Gage, please stay for a minute,” the judge said.

  “I’ll wait for you in the hallway,” Byram said.

  The young lawyer left, and the judge spoke.

  “I found out this morning that Ray is going to leave the DA’s office and work with Simpkin, Brown, and Stamper. He’s turned into a fine trial lawyer, and I’m sure you�
�re proud of him.”

  Corbin knew that from Judge Perry’s point of view, Ray’s going to work with the judge’s former firm was a big step up. He managed a crooked grin.

  “We’ll see how it goes. Ray has worked hard and tried a lot of cases. I never would have fit in—” He stopped.

  “No, you wouldn’t,” the judge said. “But I think he’ll do great.”

  Corbin turned to leave.

  “Any chance of settling this case?” Perry touched the file on his desk.

  “We’re going to discuss it now.”

  “Good. Let me know what happens. If you can’t resolve it, I’ll have the pretrial order signed by the end of the day.”

  Corbin stepped into the hall. He could see a mixture of pity and disrespect in the young lawyer’s eyes. “What do you have?” he asked, pressing past Byram’s youthful arrogance.

  “If we don’t settle and have to take these additional depositions, there won’t be an offer. We’ll take our chances in court.”

  “Which is where I’ve lived for the past four decades,” Corbin replied flatly.

  “I can offer forty-five hundred, which includes the medical lien. You’ll have to take care of that.”

  It was barely on the verge of acceptable, but the cost of taking the depositions would eat into Mr. Anderson’s possible recovery.

  “I’ll talk to my client and let you know,” Corbin said.

  “The offer is only on the table until five o’clock tomorrow,” Byram said. “Then it’s automatically withdrawn.”

  “Is that supposed to scare me?” Corbin replied.

  Byram blinked his brown eyes, and Corbin knew he’d caught the young lawyer off guard. He couldn’t resist needling him a bit more.

  “Oh, and be sure to tell Jack Granville you came up here and thoroughly intimidated me. Will you do that? Then ask him to tell you about the case we tried to a verdict about fifteen years ago. He’ll remember it.” Corbin turned and walked away.

  The formerly refreshing air outside the courthouse did little to dissipate the steam coming out of his ears as he waited to cross the street. He was irritated at Henry Byram, but also miffed at himself for letting the young lawyer get under his skin. He would need to do a better job of keeping his emotions in check in the Colfax litigation.