“That’s right,” he muttered.
Jimmy, who was sitting on the opposite side of the circle, looked at Corbin and nodded his head.
“One of the things I get from that chapter,” Jimmy said to the group, “is the relentless nature of God in seeking us out. I mean, who but God would want to hang out with a bunch of drunks? And who but God has the power to change us?”
When the meeting ended, Corbin walked over to Jimmy. “I worked on my inventory this afternoon,” he said, feeling proud of himself. “The toughest part was getting started.”
“And it’s even tougher not to quit too early.”
“That’s encouraging.” Corbin frowned.
“And when you think you’re finished, there’s always Step Ten, the continuing inventory. Life doesn’t stop.”
“Any other good news for me?”
“Yeah,” Jimmy said, smiling. “Once you committed to the program, you’re like my rottweiler with a chew toy. He’ll clamp down with those big jaws and dare me to try to take it away from him. I pity the person who tries to talk you out of what you’re gaining here.”
Corbin smiled.
“And you must be one heck of a lawyer.”
Corbin’s smile broadened.
“When you’ve not been drinking, of course.”
FORTY-SEVEN
Two days later Ray ended a morning call with Dr. Willard Sellers. The past forty-five minutes had been a cram course in the chemical makeup of 2,4-dichlorophenoxyacetic acid, its characteristics, its solubility, and its toxicity. But the conversation had been more roller-coaster ride than college lecture. Ray’s elation at the chemist’s confirmation that 2,4-D was clearly present in the well water dissipated when he told Ray that, based on current research, the concentration did not rise to a level that created a health hazard.
“This doesn’t mean it wasn’t higher in the past,” the chemist added. “2,4-D finds entrance into the water table as runoff, direct entry, or by leaching through the soil. Coarse, grainy soils are the most amenable to leaching.”
“This part of Georgia is red clay country,” Ray said.
“Which means the soil is more impervious to penetration.”
“How long can 2,4-D remain in the water table?”
“It has a relatively slow half-life of over three hundred days in most subterranean environments. Given the levels I found in the samples, which by the way were consistent with each other, I cannot state there has been a health hazard within the past year, if ever. It appears the company began developing the new herbicide product about eighteen months ago. Prior to that do you have any indication they were manufacturing anything except nitrogen-based fertilizers?”
“No,” Ray said.
“Then I wouldn’t be able to draw a causal connection between the presence of 2,4-D and a potential health risk.”
Ray racked his brain for something else to ask that might give him a glimmer of hope. His thoughts didn’t find a place to land, so he retreated to a fallback question.
“What am I missing?” he asked.
“Nothing unless you uncover additional data. Have you deposed anybody who works for the company?”
“Not yet. We wanted to know where we stood first on the well samples.”
“I understand. Sorry I couldn’t be of more help. Oh, and please give my regards to your sister. I enjoyed meeting her a few weeks ago.”
“I will, and as I told your assistant when we scheduled the call, there’s no need to contact Roxy about your findings.”
“That’s noted in my file.”
“And send your bill to me.”
“Ms. Gage took care of it.”
“She did?” Ray asked in surprise.
“Yes.”
After the call ended Ray stared across his office without bringing anything into focus, which was exactly how he felt about the Colfax case. After a few moments, he shook his head to clear it, then walked across to his father’s office to deliver the devastating news in person.
Corbin listened to Ray without expressing any emotion. “Roxy paid the guy’s fee? How much was it?”
“I didn’t ask him. But it makes sense that he wouldn’t work for nothing. I guess she felt sorry for us and wanted to help us out.”
“What’s next?” Corbin asked.
“I think you should apologize to Roxy for putting her promotion in jeopardy—”
“No, I mean for the case. What are we going to argue at the hearing on the motion to dismiss next week, and where are we going to find an expert?”
“You don’t care about what happens to Roxy?”
“Yes,” Corbin replied irritably. “But everything bad that happens in her life isn’t my fault.”
He immediately regretted his words, but before he could correct them, Ray spoke.
“As to the motion, we’ll stand on the allegations in the pleadings and tell the judge we have the right to conduct discovery to determine the exact nature of the wrong committed and its impact on the boys. The pleadings state alternative theories of recovery that can’t be adjudicated without evidence. We don’t have any evidence, but that’s not the issue. At least not yet.”
“You seem pretty confident.”
“About that I do.”
“Do you want to argue the motion?”
“Why me?” Ray asked in surprise.
“Because we both know what Judge Perry thinks about me. He’s less likely to go rogue on you.” Corbin checked his watch. “Especially after he accepts my guilty plea in about an hour.”
“I’ll get ready.”
“No.” Corbin shook his head. “I’ll take my medicine alone. Your time is better spent trying to find a chemist who can help us. I thought we were wasting our time with Roxy’s expert. I’m sure he always testifies for defendants.”
“I asked him that. He’s split about sixty-forty between defense and plaintiff.” Ray paused. “Are you sure you don’t want me beside you?”
“No,” Corbin grunted. “Everything bad that’s happened in my life is my fault.”
When it was time for him to leave for the sentencing hearing, nervous butterflies woke up and fluttered around inside Corbin’s stomach. He climbed the steps of the courthouse without looking at the lawyers who passed him on their way out. Solitude and isolation were friends in his moment of humiliation. He didn’t know if any of the lawyers stared at him or not.
Reaching the courtroom, he cracked open the door. He’d hoped placement of the case at the end of the morning calendar would result in an empty courtroom; to his dismay he saw a number of people sitting together on one of the front pews. It wouldn’t surprise him if Cecil Scruggs from the newspaper was among them.
Judge Perry was on the bench. Brett Dortch and an unrepresented criminal defendant stood in the open space before the judge. Using measured steps Corbin walked down the aisle and slipped into a seat across the aisle from the one where the people were sitting. Dortch glanced over his shoulder, saw him, and held up a single finger, which Corbin took to mean he was up next. He cast a furtive glance to the side and did a double take. He recognized everyone in the opposite row.
They were all from Alcoholics Anonymous.
There was Jimmy. Next to him was Max Hogan. All in all there were four men and two women. Corbin was stunned. His nervousness was replaced by bewilderment.
“Mr. Gage,” Dortch said. “Come forward, please.”
With a glance toward his AA supporters, Corbin stood.
“Are you here to enter a plea in your case?” Dortch continued.
Corbin faced the judge and was greeted with a look of disdain and disgust that made Corbin angry. Judge Perry was a sanctimonious hypocrite. The fact that he was about to pass judgment on Corbin was an insult. He wanted to shout out, “No!” and walk out of the courtroom. But the eyes on his back helped keep him sane. He cleared his throat.
“Yes.”
He stepped through the bar and stood straight as the assistant DA read th
e charges. The judge flipped through the papers in front of him as if uninterested.
“How does the defendant plead?” Judge Perry asked without looking up.
Corbin waited for Dortch to say something about the plea agreement, but the assistant DA remained mute. Corbin pulled the plea offer from his coat pocket and handed it to Dortch.
“Is this your recommendation?” the judge asked the assistant DA.
“The State has no objection to reduction of the charge to reckless driving and entry of sentence as stated in the letter you received, but we will, of course, yield to the Court’s discretion,” Dortch said.
“Let me take a look at it,” the judge said.
Corbin handed it to him, and the judge quickly scanned it.
“Mr. Gage, how do you plead?”
“Guilty to reckless driving,” Corbin responded.
The judge tapped his pen against the bench several times. Corbin stood ramrod straight. Judge Perry could reject the offer and send him to jail, but Corbin wasn’t going to beg for mercy.
“Plea accepted.”
“And the sentence?” Dortch asked.
Corbin felt the hair on the back of his neck rise up. He suddenly had the feeling that came over him in his younger days when a fight was about to break out in a bar, a potent mixture of excitement and fear.
“A thousand-dollar fine, credit for jail time served, completion of driving school program within thirty days, and three months’ probation, along with a $150-per-month probation fee.”
Corbin exhaled. But the judge wasn’t finished.
“I further order you to contact the Lawyer’s Assistance Program and undergo an evaluation. You will cooperate with their recommendations and report back to the Court confirming your compliance. Is that clear?”
“Yes.”
“Anything else, Mr. Dortch?” the judge asked.
“No, Your Honor. That completes the morning calendar.”
Without another glance at Corbin, Judge Perry left the bench. Corbin turned toward the group sitting on the bench.
“How did you know to come?” he asked, holding his arms open wide.
Jimmy spoke. “I called your office the other day and spoke to your son. He told me the date and time, and I asked him not to mention it to you. We were here in case the judge had a question about what you’re doing to stay sober.”
Several people nodded.
“I don’t know what to say,” Corbin said.
“That you’ll be here for another alcoholic someday would be a nice start,” one of the women replied.
“Yes, I will,” Corbin replied.
And he meant it with all his heart.
Roxy finished a forty-five-minute phone call with another member of the partnership committee. The lawyers on the committee apparently charged a huge amount of time to internal firm business. Otherwise they wouldn’t devote so much energy to the process. The woman who interviewed Roxy worked in the Denver office. Her emphasis was more on convincing Roxy of the benefits of partnership than grilling her about her qualifications. Roxy knew the firm left nothing to chance. The woman’s call was part of the process, and Roxy quickly realized she was being manipulated. Also, the call reassured her that the surreptitious contact with Dr. Sellers about the Colfax litigation remained secret.
She’d previously arranged to slip away for a longer than usual lunch date with Peter and was closing down her computer when there was a knock at her closed door.
“Come in!” she called out.
It was Mr. Caldweller. He had a thin folder in his hand, which he held tightly. Roxy had a sinking feeling that a last-minute project was about to be deposited on her desk and abort her lunch date. The senior partner closed the door behind him.
“May I sit down?” he asked.
“Yes,” she replied, slightly puzzled at his politeness.
Caldweller sat across from her desk with the folder still in his grasp. “Did you talk to Colleen Dankins?” he asked.
“Yes, we finished up a few minutes ago.”
“Did she give you the hard sell on why you should become an equity partner in the firm?”
“I guess you could say that.”
“But you figured that out within a few minutes of the conversation, didn’t you?”
Surprised that Caldweller so readily confirmed her unspoken suspicions about firm strategy, Roxy wasn’t sure how to respond.
“It doesn’t matter,” Caldweller said with a quick wave of his hand. “I have something more pressing to talk to you about.”
He handed her the folder, and she opened it. At the top of the first page were the words Severance Agreement. Employment litigation wasn’t an area of expertise for Roxy, but she knew that past experience didn’t limit Caldweller’s present expectations. She read the first few lines of the document, then stopped.
“This has my name in it,” she said.
“That’s right. It’s the best I could do for you under the circumstances. Either sign it and take what we’re offering, or your departure from the firm will be categorized as termination for cause.”
“But why?” Roxy started, then stopped.
“Do you really have to ask that?”
Roxy knew but was having trouble believing it.
“You crossed the line in the case filed by your father,” Mr. Caldweller continued with more tenderness in his voice than Roxy could remember. “If you’d come to me first, I might have given you the okay to contact the chemist in Chicago, and when the firm was retained, there would have been a tactful way for you to back out. By not doing so, there’s nothing I could do to protect you. The firm has a zero tolerance policy for acting contrary to the interests of our clients.”
“I didn’t know—”
“But you knew you were over the line from the first step you took.”
“Yes,” Roxy admitted. “I didn’t think it through.”
“Which is another requirement for everyone who works here as an associate or partner. Ted Daughbert was livid when he spoke with the chemist in Chicago and made the connection with you and the lawsuit. It made it worse that we discussed the case before and during lunch, and you didn’t speak up. Daughbert went to the top of the firm ladder in New York and wanted you canned on the spot. I lobbied for what I could get.”
Roxy would receive three months’ salary so long as she agreed not to “disparage the firm” and kept the terms of her departure confidential. Most of the rest was boilerplate language. There was no effort to restrict the geographic area where she might seek other employment. That meant she could go to work for another law firm in Atlanta if the right job came along.
She took a deep breath and stared at Mr. Caldweller.
FORTY-EIGHT
Ray was in the middle of a phone interview with yet another potential expert when his cell phone vibrated and Cindy’s picture popped into view. He had to let her call go to voice mail while he continued listening to the chemist, a woman with impressive credentials who seemed genuinely interested in working on the case. Dr. Kimberly Clayton didn’t flinch when Ray brought up the results from Dr. Sellers’s tests for 2,4-D in the well water.
“That’s important, but it’s not the final word,” Dr. Clayton replied. “There are issues related to airborne transmission as well. Based on what caught the attention of the state officials, that is a factor linked to exposure and could result in manifestation of a disease process quicker than if it only occurred from a single source.”
While the chemist talked, Ray’s phone vibrated again to signal receipt of a text message. It was from Cindy, and he opened it.
AT THE DOCTOR, PLEASE PRAY.
Reading those five words erased everything Dr. Clayton had said to Ray over the past thirty seconds.
“I’m sorry, could you repeat that last part?” he managed.
“About the research into phenoxyacetic arrays?”
“Uh, yes.”
Ray tried to concentrate on the chemist’s words, but
it was no use. As soon as he could interject a comment, he did.
“Thank you very much,” he said. “Is it okay if I call you later to finish our conversation?”
“I’m leaving the office in an hour to attend an environmental conference in Sao Paulo, Brazil, and won’t be back for a week. Some of the things being done to the rain forest are criminal.”
“Yes, I’m sure that’s true.”
“And it’s my policy to charge for multiple phone consultations. I hope that’s not a problem. My assistant will send you a sample contract and financial requirements.”
“Great,” Ray replied absentmindedly, then ended the call.
He immediately called Cindy, who didn’t answer. Ray hurriedly left his office.
“Cindy is at her ob-gyn’s office,” he said to Janelle. “There’s some kind of problem, and I’m on my way over there.”
Ray drove as fast as he could across town to the doctor’s office and unsuccessfully tried to reach Cindy twice on the phone. He saw her car when he swerved into the parking lot and jumped out. Once inside the office, he dashed up to the receptionist.
“Cindy Gage?” he asked, slightly out of breath. “Where is she?”
“With the doctor,” the young receptionist replied nonchalantly.
“I have to see her!”
“She’ll be out after she finishes,” the woman replied, glancing down at the cell phone in her hand. Ray could see there was a game running on the screen. “Have a seat.”
“I’m her husband,” Ray replied with as much bridled intensity as he could muster without yelling. “And if you don’t tell me where she is, I’m going to search this building until I find her.”
The woman’s eyes got big. “Let me check,” she said, getting up quickly from her seat.
Ray fumed as the seconds passed. A very pregnant woman came in and stood behind him. He didn’t step aside. The receptionist returned.
“A nurse will be out in a minute to take you back to see her.”
A House Divided Page 34
