Burden of Proof

by Davis Bunn

  If only.

  “We divorced seven years after we were married.” He felt like the words emerged with the emotionless beat of a metronome. “By that point, there really wasn’t anything much to salvage. You needed to be there for your mother. I let you go.”

  She released the wheel and wiped her face. Her hands were as unsteady as her breathing.

  “As far as my own life went, nothing was ever as good as it should be after that. I didn’t try to get you back, mostly because I didn’t feel like I deserved you. Plus, well . . .”

  Her voice was almost as deep as his own. “Tell me.”

  “I knew you were right to go. And I was afraid if I asked you to come back, to try again, I would only bring you more hurt and harm.” He could no longer bear to watch her, so he turned to the window. “Right to the end, I woke up too many nights, feeling this great void in the middle of my life. The day I learned about the cancer, I just sat there in the doctor’s office thinking this was exactly what I deserved for having gotten it all so wrong. And hurting you—”

  Ethan stopped when she wrenched open her door and started for the hotel. He sat and watched her hurry along the front walk. Not running. But close.

  He breathed in and out, thinking she was right to leave him. Again.

  But when she reached the front step, Gina just stopped, staring at the doors ahead of her, captured by the sunlight and her sorrow.

  Ethan emerged slowly from the car, straightening in stages, then walked up to her. Gina stood motionless, blinking slowly, releasing tears she probably was not aware she shed.

  He started to reach for her arm, then hesitated and asked, “Can I help?”

  She nodded, and a crystal drop of sorrow stained the sidewalk by her feet.

  When she reached over and took hold of his hand, her fingers still wet from her tears, he felt his heart crack wide open.

  The nice young lady behind the reception desk watched them enter but did not say anything. A young family with two toddlers laughed and played in the lobby area.

  Ethan started to guide Gina toward the stairs, but she stopped him by the bottom step and demanded, “Is there more?”

  “Only if you want,” he replied. “I’ve told you Sonya brought me back. But not how it happened, or . . .”

  She released his hand and headed down the rear corridor. Ethan watched her push through the doors leading to the pool and veranda. He felt eyes scrutinize him as he followed. The attention made him feel ashamed. As if no one as beautiful as Gina should be brought so low.

  He was exhausted, and he was more hungry than he was tired. Even so, he was glad to be out here on the sunlit deck. He wanted to finish his telling, give her a chance to ask any questions she might have, and then leave her to decide. Now that it was out, he knew there was a very real chance she would just walk away. Close the door on all this sorrowful confusion. Erase him from her life before he could cause her any more pain.

  The rest of the telling did not take long. He related his final paddle-out, meeting Sonya and her grown-up daughter, their invitation. He described the alternative he faced, the constant pain, the approaching end. His chest ached throughout, but he could not tell whether it was from his recent ordeal or the words and their impact on Gina. His shoulder and head hurt almost as badly as his chest. The two new prescription bottles made a lump in his right pocket, but he was not tempted. The pain had a rightful place in this hard hour.

  Ethan finished the telling by describing his return. The days before he met her had formed a counterpoint to the hard truths. He described the contest, the bet, the struggle to make sense of his next steps. Then he stopped.

  He sat and reveled in the sense of release. Sonya had been right, he knew that now. Gina loved him. She deserved to know.

  Finally she turned and looked at him. Tears hovered on her lower lids, like sobs poised to break open the evening.

  He rose and made his way to the empty outdoor bar and returned with two napkins. “Here.”

  “Thank you, Ethan.” Her voice was soft. Ancient. She wiped her face. “I knew it had to be something terrible. Like maybe you had gotten married while I was gone. Or you had a child or something.”

  “You believe me.” It was not a question.

  “All of these things that haven’t fit together right, now they form a picture.” She bundled the napkins in her hands. “I suppose it’s better to say I don’t not believe you.”

  He breathed in and out. Until that moment, he had not realized how important it had become for her to accept that he was telling the truth. “I want to apologize.”

  “For things that never happened?”

  “They have to me. So much of what we went through comes down to how selfish I’ve been. I caused you a lot of pain, Gina. You didn’t deserve that. I see you now, how beautiful you are, how genuine, how much in love . . .”

  She rose from the chair and rushed from the veranda. She almost collided with the family bringing their toddlers out for a sunset swim. Ethan doubted she saw them at all.

  He slowly made his way upstairs and ate a solitary meal with the gathering night for company.

  Gina did not call.

  CHAPTER

  THIRTY-FOUR

  Ethan was woken twice by nightmares. Both were tangles of two fractured sets of events. In the first, he retold his story, only this time to the old Gina at her mother’s funeral. In the second, he watched helplessly as Adrian was shot on the courthouse stairs. Only now it was Jimmy Carstairs, the opposing counsel, who fired the bullet.

  Strangely enough, he woke up feeling both better and refreshed. He left the hotel and watched the morning strengthen while doing his physical therapy exercises in chest-deep water. He returned to the hotel and showered, and as he was dressing he had the first glimmer of an idea. Something that might, just might, begin to make a difference in the courtroom. As he went downstairs for breakfast, he wondered if perhaps the idea had been there all along, only it needed him to clear his mind and heart through the retelling before he could see.

  Ethan kept hoping Gina might appear. He was tempted to call her room but was halted by the simple fact that he had no idea what to do next. He missed her terribly. It felt as though she had already left. There was nothing he could do about it this time either.

  When Adrian appeared in the dining room’s doorway, Ethan could have hugged him for pushing away the fears. Adrian slipped into the chair next to his and asked, “How’s the patient?”

  “Good.”

  “For real?”

  “I did a half hour of my physical therapy exercises in the ocean at dawn.”

  “Then I guess you’ll live.” He pointed to Ethan’s empty plate. “What was that?”

  “Spanish omelet and hash browns.”

  When the waiter walked up, Adrian said, “I’ll have one of those. Skip the potatoes and bring me brown toast. And coffee.” He turned to Ethan. “Where’s Gina?”

  “I have no idea.”

  Adrian waited until the waiter had filled his cup. He added milk, stirred, and sipped. “Must have been some spat, the way your face just turned upside down.”

  “There was no argument,” Ethan replied. “I told her everything.”

  “When?”

  “Soon as we got back.”

  “And?”

  Ethan shook his head. “I tried to apologize. She left.”

  Adrian studied his brother over the rim of his mug. “Was that wise?”

  “She suspected. She asked. Demanded, really. Sonya was right.”

  “Yeah, she often is.” Adrian did not speak again until the waiter deposited his plate. He took a couple of bites, then said, “Sonya asked me to tell you she had a cardiologist take a close look at all the EKG tapes from the hospital. Consistency is everything, according to her and Madeline. They are fairly certain there’s no long-term damage.”

  Ethan decided there was no reason to point out how the event might have shortened his remaining time. Especially com
ing as it did on top of his being shot.

  Adrian asked, “You plan on sitting around here moping all day? I’m asking because I could use your help.”

  “Sonya’s case?”

  “No, sport. Our case. Either you come up with something I’ve missed or we’re as well toasted as this bread.” Adrian used his fork to point at the exit. “Go get dressed for downtown. We’re due in court.”

  When he returned downstairs, Ethan left Gina a note with the receptionist, saying he was in court with Adrian and she was welcome to join them if she wished. As they drove away from the hotel, Ethan watched the ground-floor corner window. The drapes were closed.

  Adrian glanced over and said, “At least she hasn’t taken off for Orlando.”

  “You don’t know that.”

  “Actually, I do.”

  “You asked the receptionist?”

  Adrian jiggled his eyebrows. “We’re a full-service operation.”

  Ethan felt his band of tension ease a notch. “I’m glad.”

  “I figured you would be. And you’d be afraid to ask. I sure would.” Adrian shrugged. “You just told Gina you’re back from a future where you two were divorced. Give the lady some space.”

  Ethan had no idea what to say, so he remained silent. When they turned onto the inland waterway bridge, he spotted a dark Chevy SUV staying close on their tail. “Is that Sinclair’s security team dogging us?”

  “None other. They’re on us 24/7. It must be costing you a fortune.”

  “Money is not the crucial issue. Speaking of which, you and Sonya need to go by and sign the documents for our investment account.”

  “Your banker phoned me yesterday.”

  “That would be Reginald Firth.”

  “Reggie’s been sent down from Boston. He figures joining the right clubs and showing up at the right lunches make him a local.” Adrian turned into the courthouse garage and rolled his window down for the ticket. “Reggie complained you were blowing all your capital on some childish investments. That was the word he used. Childish. If somebody stole the man’s vests, he’d collapse like a punctured balloon. I told him to do precisely what you said, else I’d sue his sorry hide all the way back to Yankeeville.”

  “Thanks for backing my play.”

  Adrian pulled into a parking space, put the car in park, and sat staring at the wall. “Sonya and I have to leave town this evening. We won’t be back until Sunday afternoon. Her mom suffers from dementia, and we’ve got to move her into assisted living, which means making her our ward. We have a court-appointed specialist meeting us tomorrow. The papers are all drawn up. We move her Sunday. If we get back in time, Sonya wants you over for dinner. But we won’t know for certain until Sunday morning.”

  “I’m a big boy,” Ethan said. “I can take care of myself for the weekend.”

  “Still, I wish we could be here for you.”

  “You are,” Ethan said. “And it means more than I could ever say.”

  Adrian cast him a dark look, then resumed staring out the front windshield at the concrete wall. “There’s every chance the judge is going to throw out my case today. Which means on Monday Sonya will officially hand the new owners her resignation, even though it means leaving behind the work that has been the center point of her adult life. If you’ve got anything to offer, now’s the time.”

  “I do have one thing. Actually, it’s only part of a thing. More like a tiny, fractured—”

  “Skip the windup, bro. We’re due in chambers.”

  Ethan found it easier if he copied his brother’s position. He stared at the grimy whitewashed cement and said, “It seems to me that everything we’ve been doing is reacting. They make a move, you respond. But if we’re really down to the wire—”

  “We are.”

  “Then what do we have to lose? Why not take the fight to them?”

  “You mean change tactics.”

  “To tell the truth, I have no idea what that means. You’re the lawyer. But yeah, changing tactics sounds good.”

  “That actually makes sense.” Adrian still spoke to the wall. Tense. Alert. “The problem is, I can’t find a motive for why they’re pushing us so hard. I’ve been over and over this. I can’t see what it might be.”

  Ethan’s middle-of-the-night impressions were no clearer now. Just the same, he said, “What if it’s because you’re looking at the one big issue, the elephant in the room? Sonya’s pain research.”

  “Which holds potential,” Adrian said. “I mean, we’re talking hundreds of millions, but not for years. And if they move now, they lose her, and that slows them down. Maybe stops them cold. You see?”

  “Yes, Adrian. But that’s not . . .”

  Adrian turned from examining the wall, his gaze one shade off frantic. “Let’s hear it. Warts and all.”

  “What if the reason they’re pressing isn’t her primary research? What if she’s stumbled onto something that might, just might, hold even bigger potential? At least as far as they’re concerned.”

  “Such as?”

  “Like shooting me back thirty-five years.”

  Adrian was shaking his head before the words were shaped. “She’s already told you. That doesn’t wash. She’s been over and over her research, and there is no—repeat, no—indication this is even the slightest bit . . .” He stopped talking as Ethan lifted one hand and held it between them. “What?”

  “Then a different issue. Something you and Sonya have discounted because, say, it didn’t work.” It was Ethan’s turn to be halted. Adrian’s gaze flashed in the murk, like a light had gone on inside his head. “What is it?”

  “Go on. Finish the thought.”

  “What if their motive isn’t Sonya’s primary research at all? What if something else they’re doing gives them a totally different perspective? Say you were about to hit a button they can’t afford for you to push. Maybe it’s, I don’t know, a sidebar. Something that doesn’t mean anything regarding her core aims. But for somebody else it could be big.” Ethan felt as if his brother’s intensity formed the required cohesive force to pull his thoughts together. “Say they’re hiding some ulterior motive for being interested in her company. Can you use the court to uncover it? Maybe ask the judge to help find out who is actually behind Cemitrex?”

  Adrian froze a second time.

  “No legitimate investment group is going to come after you with a guy they’ve sprung from prison. Two people with fake marshals’ IDs spring a guy from prison and just vanish? Please. What if Cemitrex is just a smoke screen?”

  “A front.”

  “Whatever. They’re hiding the real buyers, who have totally different reasons for wanting Sonya’s company. Could the judge go for that?” Ethan felt deflated by everything he couldn’t offer. “I wish I had more. Sorry.”

  “No, no, this could actually do the trick.”

  “Really?”

  “Hey, we’re in a better position than ten minutes ago. If I could give Judge Durnin one legitimate reason, he would help us. I know it in my gut.” Adrian opened his door. “Let’s go ask him to help us slay some dragons.”

  CHAPTER

  THIRTY-FIVE

  When they entered the courtroom, Adrian directed Ethan into the pew directly behind his table.

  Jimmy Carstairs and two younger attorneys, one male and one female, were already seated at the opposing counsel’s table. Their chairs were turned inward so they could cluster together in a tight huddle. The young man looked up when Adrian pushed through the swinging barrier. He smirked and whispered something to the others.

  Adrian ignored them. As he opened his briefcase and pulled out a pair of bulky files, a young man in shirt and tie and no jacket emerged from the door beside the judge’s bench and said, “Counsels are requested to join Judge Durnin in chambers.”

  Ethan was left alone in the empty courtroom. The minutes passed slowly. He didn’t mind in the least. It reminded him of surf sessions in huge, clean waves. There was always that cra
zy interim stage between paddling out and taking off on the first set. Success on big days often depended on how this time was spent. Inexperienced surfers and those dominated by the fear factor struggled to get their breathing and hearts under control. They remained overwhelmed by the sheer uncontrollable power that surrounded them on every side. When standing on the shore, beginners often thought the major challenge was simply getting out. It was only now, as they sat in the narrow space between the approaching mountains and the impact zone, that they could realize the real trial was yet to come.

  Experienced big-wave surfers used this time to prepare. The larger the swell, the more dynamic the currents. Winds and tides and rips and the number of waves to each set, the structure of the bottom and how the waves would break—all these elements could only be gauged from this narrow region of calm called the lineup. Reading the situation correctly was often the make-or-break issue—the difference between being pounded in the impact zone and having a great ride.

  That was precisely how Ethan felt now. He sat on the hard wooden bench and studied the terrain. There was a great deal of satisfaction in how Adrian had reacted to his suggestion. The way it had resonated. How it had offered his brother a ray of hope. This was enough to confirm that Ethan was on the right path. Maybe.

  He began tracking out, seeking the unseen danger elements in this final moment of calm. He was hard at it when Gary slipped into the pew beside him and asked, “Where is everybody?”

  “The judge called them into chambers.”

  “When?”

  Ethan turned around to read the clock over the rear doors. It said a quarter to eleven. The problem was, he had no idea when they had entered. It felt as though time had become a relatively unimportant factor. Far less vital than him being ready when the next step became visible.

  He replied, “A while ago.”

  Gary seemed to find nothing wrong with that. “I stopped by the hotel. Gina was checking out. She said to tell you she had spoken with Sonya and was moving in with them.”