“What’s Sleeping Beauty?” Nigel demanded.
Indira patted his arm soothingly. “The compound that put Justice Wynn into a coma. Developed by Advar. In a few months, GenWorks and Advar will debut a wonder drug that can put humans into lifesaving comas and bring them out, with minimal side effects.” She turned to Avery. “My understanding is that he maintains minimal brain activity, which is what the drug causes. Think of it as low-grade cryogenics. His condition may be reversed, in time.”
Jared demanded, “You barter for his life?”
“Yes. Do we have a deal?”
Jared squeezed Avery’s hand, and, unwilling to demand such a sacrifice of him, she gave a stiff nod. “Yes.”
She’d protected Ani with the rumor that he’d been killed, and now she had to make her final moves.
Indira rose gracefully and summoned several associates from a nearby room. When the documents had been finished and the notary exited, she limped over to the wide bay windows of the suite. “I inherited evil, but I didn’t create it.”
Avery bent to lift the notarized statements. “You didn’t stop it either.”
Jared walked Avery to the door, then gave Nigel a pitying look. “I’d be careful of your partners, Mr. Cooper. Very careful.”
FIFTY
Noah dropped off the complaint at nine a.m.
Judge Kenneth Stapleton was a bluff oak tree of a man, from the dark brown complexion down to the tree trunk limbs. Before taking up law, he’d been on the short list for the Heisman Trophy. Less than a month later, a car accident had ruined his football career, and he’d spent his recovery time studying for the LSAT. His conservative leanings and his stellar career as prosecutor for the state of Virginia had secured him a spot on the District Court of the District of Columbia, courtesy of the first round of appointments by President Brandon Stokes.
In two years, though, his affinity with his benefactor had weakened. To his mind, President Stokes had systematically shredded the Constitution, a document Stapleton held as sacred as the Bible. Both of them sat on his nightstand at home and his desk in the DC District Court.
Lifetime appointment stood as the finest of the perks of federal judgeships. Unless the judge committed an act of hubris that landed him in an impeachment hearing, he couldn’t lose his job. But if he failed to uphold the standards of the party that had brought him to the dance, he wouldn’t move any higher up the ladder.
At fifty-two, Judge Stapleton hadn’t quite decided whether he intended to stay put on the DC court or strive for an appeals court post. But the complaint lying on his desk seemed determined to make the choice for him.
Frivolous complaints landed on his desk every day. Pleas from federal prisoners, immigrants facing deportation, and generally annoyed citizens, intent on leveraging the remarkable accessibility of the federal courts, crowded into the hoppers on his clerks’ desks. Few, however, arrived with his political future attached as an exhibit.
By eleven thirty, he’d memorized the sparely written pages and their arguments. He could act as his gut said he should, summoning the courage that had gotten him through eight months of rehab. Or he could punt, recalling the best advice his old coach ever gave him: “Don’t stand there holding the ball if a freight train’s headed for you. Can’t play in the second quarter if you’re dead.”
With Coach’s words ringing in his ears, Judge Kenneth Stapleton rejected the complaint on the grounds that Civil Action 2012-1058 had been improperly filed in his office. But, aware of the client of the young attorney who awaited his decision, he immediately kicked it up to the United States Circuit Court of Appeals for the District of Columbia. Signing the paperwork, he glanced bemusedly at the heading, his own head shaking in disbelief.
HOWARD JEFFERSON WYNN,
Associate Justice of the Supreme Court of the United States
Petitioner,
v.
THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA,
Respondent.
Among the judges sitting en banc on Tuesday at the DC Circuit Court, none had played college football. In the three legal minds, though, the varying metaphors resolved themselves into a singular notion of a ticking time bomb and a fatal explosion. Wrestling their collective cowardice into action, they did as anyone would when faced with the ability to pass the grenade.
They concurred with the lower court and chucked Civil Action 2012-1058 off to the very folks who’d benefit or burn from the blast. With a unanimous vote, the complaint to invalidate the stunning resignation of Associate Justice Howard Wynn, by the very legal guardian who’d submitted the same only the afternoon before, went flying down Constitution Avenue to the United States Supreme Court, the court of original jurisdiction in a dispute between a citizen and his country.
And into the lap of Chief Justice Teresa Roseborough.
FIFTY-ONE
Wednesday, June 28
The United States Supreme Court
9:05 a.m.
During the previous September, days before the start of the new term, Justice Howard Wynn had administered the oaths of admission to his law clerks. He’d found it asinine, he told them, to have judicial assistants not permitted to appear before the bench they aided. Thus, Avery Keene had standing to argue before the United States Supreme Court.
The Chief’s injunction against her had been lifted to allow Avery a few moments of privacy in her old office. The entire suite was empty—the secretaries had been idle for the past week, and with today’s highly unusual hearing, they’d been relieved of their daily duties and permitted to view the proceedings.
Avery entered the chambers slowly, her eyes running over the familiar furniture. Behind her, Jared waited in the doorway. Ling and Noah had already gone down to the main level to await the hearing. But she’d wanted Jared to see where his father had done his work for the nation.
“He was always here before even the secretaries,” she murmured as she reached for the closed door to his office. “Justice Wynn read every brief and every case cited by an attorney. Even the citations’ citations.” She motioned for Jared to follow her into Justice Wynn’s carpeted office. Books lined every free surface. Brown volumes with red piping and others in blue and black contained the case law of every federal court in the country.
A number of them were scattered across his worktable, their pages untouched in his absence. Tabs and pens marked pages, and yellow legal pads bore his familiar green scrawl. A scholarly clutter of newspapers and journals leaned drunkenly against shelves and rose in haphazard towers from the carpet. “No one was allowed to clean his office,” she explained with a soft smile.
“Ever?”
“Rumor has it that a secretary attempted to do a cleaning after session several decades ago. He had her transferred to the Commerce Department.”
Jared had a hazy memory of his mother scolding the judge for the state of his office at home. “Mom wouldn’t let him get away with it,” he remembered. “She told him he could be as messy as he wanted to at work, but home was her domain.” He thought of the orderly study they’d searched. “I guess he never forgot.”
They stood side by side in the quiet chambers, and Avery reached out and squeezed Jared’s hand. “Justice Wynn is a hard man, but he was always good. Not kind, no. But good.”
“I suppose that’s something.”
She thought of her mother, lying in a treatment ward in a posh Maryland hospital. “Sometimes, it’s everything.”
Annoyed with himself, Jared exhaled and turned to Avery. “I appreciate you bringing me here, Avery. Showing me something of him.” He studied her, his eyes tracing the fine texture of her skin, the shadow of exhaustion beneath the green eyes. “He made the right choice, turning to you.”
“It’s not done yet.”
“Maybe not, but you’ve done more than he had any right to expect. You’ve brought this full circ
le. Whatever happens in there, you’ve been his champion. I just want to say thank you.”
She smiled at him, and Jared leaned toward her slowly, giving her time to escape. But Avery held herself still and ready. When his mouth covered hers, she lifted her hands to his shoulders, holding on to the solid strength of him. The kiss stretched beyond time, beyond promise.
Too soon, she let her eyes flutter open, and the pair quietly broke apart. She swallowed once. “Well, that’s something I never expected to happen in this room….”
Jared grinned, and Avery laughed. “I guess it’s showtime,” she said.
* * *
—
The U.S. Supreme Court chamber boasted a forty-four-foot ceiling and twenty-four columns of Siena marble from Liguria, Italy. Avery sat alone at a glossy mahogany table, her foot tapping restlessly on the carpeted floor. Before her stretched the bench, and to the left sat the clerk of court. The marshal of the Court kept time from a desk on the right, flashing white and red lights to hasten the closure of oral argument.
A bronze railing ran the length behind her. Red benches arrayed against the left side of the courtroom were crowded with reporters primed for an unusual sight. Across the room, red benches held guests of the justices, including invitations for Jared, Noah, and Ling, courtesy of the Chief. Black chairs in front of those benches held an assemblage of unusual guests, men and women who spent lifetimes avoiding the entry of a courthouse. The Speaker slouched in one chair, his shoulder nudging the majority leader of the Senate.
“Must hurt,” DuBose whispered.
“Hmm?” Ken cocked his head to listen to the low tone. “What does?”
“Having some girl hand you your wet dream and then snatch it back in public.” The Speaker spiked a finger toward the solitary young woman seated at the respondent’s table. “Son of a bitch almost had an open seat during recess.”
The majority leader nodded vigorously. “Had senators camped outside my door yesterday. Everybody screaming about recess appointments and right-wing judges. No one wanted to be on a plane Tuesday, and no one could afford to stay. Primaries are coming up fast, and everybody has to hit the money trail.” As the leader of the Senate, he scrupulously hoarded an immense war chest, but he’d stayed in power by taking nothing for granted. Especially the desperate acts of fools. What he didn’t know was what could happen today. “You went to law school. Does she have a shot?”
“How the hell should I know?” DuBose muttered. “Never heard of anything like this in ten years as a DA. Complaint zipped through district court and the appeals court like it had grease. Or an STD. My guess is, none of the judges wanted to be on either side of a bad ruling. Legal counsel says what’s happened is technically legal, but don’t quote her on it.”
“Think the law clerk will win? Knock Stokes on his ass?”
“Against the solicitor general?” The Speaker examined Avery Keene, who was hunched over a stack of papers. She scribbled notes on a legal pad, then paused to slash through what she’d written. He gave a chuckle. “The solicitor general will eat her for lunch.”
“Better hope he gets indigestion, or we’ll have a packed court unless we permanently cancel recess. In an election year, that’s impossible.”
“Sly son of a bitch.” Cracking his knuckles, DuBose cursed, “Damned if you do, defeated if you don’t.”
Behind them, a stir trickled through the crowd, and both men angled to see the latest development. A phalanx glided into the courtroom, and the Speaker cursed. President Brandon Stokes, attended by the U.S. solicitor general and a cadre of Secret Service personnel and assistants, threaded through the aisle.
Avery watched too, and the nerves that had been coursing now scraped with jagged spikes. President Stokes had not come alone. Major Vance walked a pace behind. Her eyes glued to their progress, she saw the president take his seat beside the Speaker and the majority leader. Armed men fanned out to cover exits and vulnerable points.
David Ralston, the solicitor general, strode over to Avery’s table, and she hastily stood.
“Ms. Keene,” he greeted her, his hand extended. She placed hers inside, and he gave the slender hand a perfunctory pump. “I understand from my staff that you’ve been very busy this week. A resignation one day and a complaint to invalidate it the next. I can’t for the life of me understand what we’re doing here, though.”
“Sir?”
“I’ve reviewed the tapes and your brief.” The smile he gave her gleamed with condescension. “You didn’t seem all that distressed when you relinquished Justice Wynn’s seat, Ms. Keene. No evidence of coercion.”
Avery bristled. “I’m a good actress.”
“But, my dear, this is a court, not a theater. You’d do well to understand the difference. I don’t take a lawsuit against my nation lightly.” He spun on his heel and took his place at his table.
Avery sank into her seat and returned to her notes, staring blankly. She hadn’t expected the president to actually come to the Court. To her knowledge, no sitting president had come to watch an oral argument. With him sitting next to the congressional leaders, the physical separation of powers had fully collapsed.
When she felt her internal chuckle edging toward hysteria, she dragged in a calming breath. Coming to the Supreme Court had been a gamble—a huge one. As the court of original jurisdiction, the Supreme Court had no obligation to follow the rules of civil procedure. However, in this court, there were no sympathetic juries or surprise witnesses.
She was winging it.
Hope rested in the gravity of the accusation and the vigilance of women and men obliged to seek justice. Behind her, in the gallery, Indira and Nigel sat still as statues. Their fates rested with hers.
They were all doomed.
Then the watch at her wrist ticked off ten a.m. Like everyone in the courtroom, including President Stokes, she rose to her feet as the eight justices filed onto the bench. The rostrum, a winged bend of mahogany, held seats for each one. She’d witnessed the spectacle dozens of times, first as a law student and then as a clerk. Never, though, she thought, as a petitioner.
Never with the ninth chair empty.
Chief Roseborough called proceedings to order at 10:03 a.m. “We’ll hear argument now on Associate Justice Howard Jefferson Wynn versus the United States of America.” The kindly brown eyes held no favor as they focused on Avery. “Ms. Keene, traditionally you would begin; however, we have received a special request from the solicitor general to make prefatory comments. Given the singular nature of this proceeding, we have agreed to permit him to address this body. Mr. Ralston.”
With carefully practiced gravitas, Solicitor General David Ralston rose and stood solemnly before the eight justices.
“Madam Justice and may it please the Court, I have requested this opportunity to state the categorical objection of the United States to this proceeding. In Marbury v. Madison, Chief Justice John Marshall decided that the Supreme Court’s original jurisdiction did not extend over U.S. federal government officials. President Stokes accepted the tendered resignation of Justice Howard Wynn, not the United States. Under that precedent alone, this case should not be before this court. Moreover, no motion to void a resignation exists within the canons of law or as a federal question. Ms. Keene cannot legally achieve her objective, which is to unring a bell. I challenge her standing and the ability of this Court to entertain her cause célèbre.”
Avery stirred at her seat, ready to object, but the Chief spoke: “We received your brief, Mr. Ralston, and while this Court agrees with your concerns about this action, we have determined to hear oral arguments. Your objection, and that of your client, is duly noted.”
“Thank you, Madam Chief Justice.” A visibly hostile Ralston returned to his table and sat heavily.
“Ms. Keene.”
Avery moved to the lectern and waited for the white
light to flare. Apprehension shivered over her, but she forced her voice to project a confidence she prayed she’d feel. “Madam Chief Justice and may it please the Court. Today is an unusual plea for remedy from this body. On Monday, June 26, I submitted a letter of resignation for Justice Howard Wynn, acting as his legal guardian. Subsequent to that action, I filed the complaint before you, the intent of which is to void the letter of resignation. I do so on the grounds that the resignation was not tendered in the best interest of Justice Wynn and instead was the result of coercion.”
Justice Bringman, whose vitriol against liberals found its most consistent target in Justice Wynn, opened with the first volley: “While my colleagues have opted to hear this petition on what I find to be spurious legal grounds, I have been democratically outvoted. But for my peace of mind, Ms. Keene, can you tell me how this is a valid case against the United States? Would it not be more accurate to file against the president, as the person who accepted the resignation?”
Avery flashed to moot court, the rite of passage for law students who wanted to litigate. While most TV lawyer shows focused on the fight between the prosecution and the defense, law students and grown-up attorneys knew that the real agony came from judicial grilling. Being forced to defend your every thought in front of hostile judges who faced no limits to what they could ask and how deeply they could insult you. Bracing herself, Avery answered almost steadily, “I stand by the accuracy of this filing, as the president stands in the stead of all American citizens. Therefore, the United States is the only actor with the ability to accept the resignation of Justice Wynn or to vitiate it.”
Surely, she told herself, no one could hear the thumping beat of her heart. “A Supreme Court justice is nominated by the president, confirmed by the United States Senate, and seated by the Supreme Court. The act of becoming a Supreme Court justice requires the participation of all three branches of the federal government. By extension, any action related to Justice Wynn must involve the entire government too—the United States of America.”
While Justice Sleeps Page 37
