Flight Risk

by Cara C. Putman

  Addy knew not to use that code unless she had an excellent reason that required instant intervention.

  The rest of the walk to the office was hushed as she sidestepped the accumulating slush. She wondered how the weather would play with rescue efforts around the crash. Savannah’s mind kept flashing to the September 11 attacks. Dustin lost a buddy who’d been assigned to the Pentagon, and his death had hit him hard. Dustin shipped out the next month, because life was too uncertain to stay. He left divorce papers behind.

  It was his way of making sure she knew he wouldn’t be back . . . without speaking a word.

  She’d ignored the documents for the two years he was deployed in the hope that when he returned he would have changed his mind. He didn’t, and when he came back, he pushed to get it finished.

  With no-fault divorce in Virginia requiring a year apart, Uncle Sam had helped with that detail. Savannah had stared at the divorce pleadings and wondered if she could pull a Sweet Home Alabama and simply refuse to sign.

  Then Stasi, her sister who lived on the edge, became pregnant with Addy a year after he returned. And Dustin was the dad.

  The truth was a kick to Savannah’s gut, and it stole her last hope of reconciliation. Dustin stayed long enough to see Addy born, then served on another tour, and when he returned, announced he liked being single and dragged her to the courthouse. Four years after her nightmare started, it ended without the miracle she’d longed for.

  “You okay, Savannah?” Hayden’s question startled Savannah from her thoughts.

  “Yes, just thinking about 9/11.” She forced a small smile in place as they reached the end of a block.

  “I think we all are.” Emilie slipped next to Savannah and locked arms with her. Her blue scarf made the color in her eyes pop. “There’s no reason to think this is anything like that day.”

  “Absolutely.” Savannah took comfort from being with her friends as they reached the firm.

  When she entered the lobby, the first thing she noted was the warmth. Then she took in Bella’s face, which looked pale as she sat at the reception desk and watched a local news channel on TV. A Western World Airways flight had crashed shortly after takeoff into the Fourteenth Street Bridge. Helicopter shots of the broken plane, half submerged in the Potomac, were obscured by swirling snow. Before Savannah could make sense of the images, Reginald Nash and his client, a representative for Flight Technology Solutions, walked in. Reggie wore his usual good-ol’-boys-club look as he sauntered into the lobby. From his heavy trench coat covering a seersucker suit, which looked woefully out of place in the cold, to the derby he set aside, he presented himself as the quintessential older man who didn’t think women in the legal arena had anything to offer. She’d never understand why law had so many holdouts, but change came as long as she stared them down, one at a time. As the older generation retired, the younger men who replaced them were more open to women and the strengths they brought to negotiations and trial work. She didn’t really care if they underestimated her, because she could use that and her intuition to her advantage.

  Savannah checked the small conference room and noted John and Rochelle were back, half-eaten pastries and mugs of coffee in front of them. “We’ll be ready to begin soon. We’re just waiting for the mediator to arrive.”

  Rochelle looked up and nodded, then Savannah continued down the hall.

  When she reached her office, she hung up her coat before collecting the three accordion folders that held the files she’d need for the next few hours. If they were successful, her clients would walk out free of the lawsuit. A trial would bankrupt them, a fact the other side understood very well. This complicated her strategy.

  She braced herself to wage war against Reginald Nash.

  She barely had time to reorient her thoughts with strategies before Bella stood in her doorway. “Did Mr. Garbot arrive?” Savannah asked.

  “Yes.” Bella had regained some of the color in her cheeks. “William is waiting in the large conference room. Nash and his client are cooling their heels in the reception area.”

  “Thanks. I’ll collect John and Rochelle.”

  Bella left with a graceful spin, and Savannah moved to the small conference war room where John and Rochelle waited. Since the mediator would alternate between sides, John and Rochelle would use this space for working when the mediator wasn’t with them.

  Rochelle set her iPhone aside with a small smile. “We ready?”

  “Just about. How soon can you restart the tests after the lawsuit ends?” Savannah already knew the answer, but needed them to remember. To let the information calm them and remind them of the strength of their position once the judge lifted the injunction prohibiting developing and selling the software.

  Rochelle met John’s gaze, and they engaged in nonverbal communication that was more effective than many people’s words. Then she focused on Savannah. “Days. We just need thirty days of data to analyze in conjunction with the prior data. That should be sufficient to give us the statistical validity to convince the FAA and NTSB that we are a viable option and can sell the product to airlines.” The National Transportation Safety Board wasn’t eager to adopt new technologies, but this duo seemed on the right track.

  “In the meantime, we’re doing what we can.” John rubbed his hands down his khakis and looked to the side. “We’ve continued the pressure and salt-water tests in the lab, the only ones allowed. It’s not cheap, but we’ve got much more than is required to exceed the NTSB’s requirements.” John held his right thumb and forefinger about an inch apart. “We were this close. And then this lawsuit.”

  “They don’t have a case, right?” Rochelle begged for reassurance.

  “No. Not based on what we’ve seen from them so far.” Savannah smiled, calm and in control. “Let’s see how it goes.” She looked from one to the other, pausing to connect with each. “This can work. But I need you to go in there and talk to the mediator. He’s good, and you need to let him do his work. By the end of the day all of this could be over except the judge’s signature on the settlement.”

  John studied her. “Words like lawsuit and infringement are terrifying.”

  “It’s outside our comfort zones.” Rochelle stifled a small shudder.

  “But this is mine. Don’t forget we countered their claim of patent infringement with one of our own. You had the technology and patent first. All we have to do is prove it. Then they disappear.” She infused her words with every molecule of faith she could muster. “Let’s go in there with confidence, heads high.”

  The two nodded, then followed her to the larger conference room with John on her left and Rochelle on her right.

  * * *

  An hour later she fought disappointment as the mediation looked like it would only be a tangent and not the solution she’d hoped. They’d made their opening statements with the mediator sitting at the head of the table between the parties. William Garbot had a distinguished look with his tailored suit and close-cropped salt-and-pepper hair. He listened intently and took notes, then Reggie took off his gloves and the initial round began to derail.

  The more he talked, the more Savannah wanted to pull out her phone and check for updates on the crash, or do anything other than listen to his bluster.

  “Savannah, don’t you agree?” His nasally voice slipped past her distracted thoughts. He must have finally ended his diatribe about her odious clients and their stolen code.

  She smiled at him. “I make it a practice to never agree with opposing counsel.”

  “Might not be the best idea.” Reginald’s smile was as fake as a three-dollar bill.

  “I’ll decide that.” Her phone dinged, and she checked to make sure it wasn’t Addy before silencing it.

  “You seem distracted, Ms. Daniels.” Reggie’s patronizing tones about had Savannah climbing the walls.

  “Not at all.” She caught the nervous glance John and Rochelle exchanged. Time to get this moving. “Mr. Garbot, are you ready for us to
separate?”

  The mediator’s expression was hooded, unlike his usually open, fatherly demeanor, though he continued to treat her with patience and respect. “I’d like to have a bit more background first.” He pointed to Reginald and his client. “Y’all sued Mnemosyne for patent infringement, claiming you created the system first. Then”—he turned to Savannah—“your clients countersued, claiming the code was theirs first.”

  She leaned forward and smiled firmly. “Yes. As we outline in the memo we submitted, Mnemosyne’s employees generated the unique code and the delivery system ahead of FTS. We have the patent to prove it.”

  Nash snorted. “That’s what this lawsuit is supposed to determine. They stole our technology.”

  “No, they took it from us.” Savannah glared at Nash, then forced herself to pause. “His client has submitted no evidence that reinforces their claim to have created the device or the supporting technology first. Mnemosyne, on the other hand, has both a patent to protect the idea and a copyright to protect the actual code.”

  She smiled brightly as confusion flashed in Reggie’s eyes. She glanced at Rochelle and John and had no doubt the executive and dreamer would become incredibly successful and save lives. “My clients will never accept the terms you’ve outlined. They have worked too hard to build Mnemosyne to have your client steal its heart.”

  Rochelle nodded and John straightened as if Savannah’s words instilled hope. She turned to the mediator. “If this is how the mediation will proceed, we can end it now. There’s no need to waste your time, Mr. Garbot.”

  “Now wait a minute, Savannah.” Reggie patted the air with his hands in a pacifying gesture that only increased her frustration. “We should at least see the process through.”

  “Why? So you can continue to gouge your client for fees?” She stood and collected her files into a neat pile. “You are welcome to stay, but I will not do the same to mine. They are hard-working individuals who expect me to protect their best interests.” Interests that did not align with another wasted moment or word.

  William Garbot gathered the papers in front of him as well. “I’ll begin with Mr. Nash and his client.” His tone was steady, almost soothing.

  “All right.” She nodded to Mr. Garbot, then with a small lift of her hand had Rochelle and John standing too. She stepped toward the door with the two a beat behind her. With a quick backward glance at the men sitting around the table, she paused. “I’ll be in my office when you need me.”

  With that she stepped out of the room and, after her clients exited, closed the door with a soft click. She held a finger to her lips and leaned against the wall, curious to hear what Reggie would say.

  Chapter Eight

  How much time would Garbot need to bring Reginald Nash and his client around?

  Why wasn’t Addy responding to her messages?

  Savannah rubbed her forehead as she contemplated the questions.

  She set her files on the desk and then sank onto her desk chair. She’d use this time to work on the stack of documents resting on her desk.

  Three clients had matters at varying stages of litigation. Another was less than two months from trial if it didn’t get moved or settled. Three were weighing the costs of filing suit, and another was evaluating whether settlement was best. None of that counted the run-of-the-mill matters that came up on a daily basis, the blips that felt like emergencies to clients but weren’t necessarily . . . until they were.

  A pop-up announced new emails. The first subject line read, “Follow-up question.”

  Savannah clicked on the mail icon.

  From Jglover@WASource.com.

  Really? That reporter was contacting her again? Didn’t he get the hint when she didn’t respond to his prior email?

  The image of his chiseled jaw and direct blue gaze filled her mind before she could press it to the side. A movie-screen-worthy face wouldn’t sway her. It was tempting though.

  Men didn’t love her. They were intimidated by her or overlooked her. She didn’t even long for love. Not really. It wasn’t something she could expect in this life. It was for other people, but not part of her destiny. She’d had her shot at it and lost.

  The fact she was wasting time thinking about it was a sign of how much she needed to delete the message unread.

  She hovered the mouse over his email address, then clicked without thought. What would it hurt to see what the man wanted?

  Did you see the article? He included a link as if she wouldn’t know where to find it if she wanted to read the drivel. Comments coming in. Outrage like expected. Any comment to add to the story now?

  Short. To the point. Rude. A question she’d already answered.

  She’d known better than to read it. Next time she’d trust her gut. It was wiser than she was. She hit delete and returned to her files.

  Her phone rang, and she answered it as she picked up the remote for the small TV Bella had insisted she keep in a corner of her office. “Hello?”

  “Aunt Savannah?”

  “Addy Jo? Why did you 911 me and then not answer my call? I’ve been worried.”

  “Mom’s passed out on the couch.” Addy didn’t add it was the third time that week. She didn’t have to. Savannah and Addy monitored Stasi’s addiction issues with the same seriousness. “I’m going to need a note.”

  Savannah pressed her free hand to her forehead as she tried to imagine why it had taken Addy this long to call her back. It was after two o’clock. She wouldn’t need a note for school today. “What’s the real reason you aren’t in school?”

  There was a huff on the other end, but Savannah let the silence lengthen. “I had a headache this morning and turned off my alarm. Mom didn’t wake me. When I got up, Mom was crashed on the couch. It took a long time to wake her, but she’s out of it, Aunt Savvy.”

  Unfortunately, Savannah could imagine the entire scene. It had happened too many times before. She had called the school for Addy each time Stasi was too high on her pain meds or combined them with alcohol to make a noxious cocktail. As the TV flickered to life, Savannah couldn’t look away from the image of smoke spilling from the fuselage of a plane sinking in the waters of the Potomac. “Addy, have you seen the news?”

  “No. I’ve been trying to wake Mom. I need help.” Her niece sounded too old and worn out for a high school freshman.

  “Don’t worry.” Savannah could do enough of that for both of them. “I’ll call the office. Let them know you won’t be in.”

  There was a moment of silence instead of the quick thanks she expected. “I really needed to be at school this afternoon. Finals are in another week and a half.” Addy sighed. “When do I get to be the kid and worry about normal things? I had a test in geometry I shouldn’t have missed.”

  “You’ll reschedule it.”

  “With finals? That’ll be fun.” Addy huffed, then seemed to relent as she sighed. “But what do I do about Mom?”

  “Is she awake now?”

  “Yes, but out of it.”

  “Any different than the other times?”

  Another sigh. “No.”

  “As long as she doesn’t get worse, let her rest.” Based on the number of emergency vehicles at the crash site, there wouldn’t be any available for nonemergencies. “I’ll come by tonight after work. Try to talk to her.”

  “Talk doesn’t work.” The duh in her niece’s voice would normally earn a mini-lecture, but not today.

  “Promise you’ll stay home.”

  There was a pause. “Why?”

  “There’s been a plane crash. Stay put until we know more, okay?” Images of the chaos of 9/11 fired through Savannah’s mind. The cell phones shut down. The subway silent. Traffic gridlocked. If chaos erupted, Savannah needed Addy to be safe where she could find her. “Promise.”

  There was a pause as if Addy was considering her options. “Yes, ma’am.” There was a meekness in her voice that clued Savannah in.

  “You’re online?”

  �
�I am now.” There was a hesitation. “Are you safe?”

  “Absolutely.” She infused the word with all the conviction she could muster. “It’s a tragic accident. I’ll see you tonight.” She rubbed her forehead and tried to infuse her voice with a smile. “Stay out of trouble until I get there, okay?”

  “Sure. I’ll work on something in my room. How much trouble can I find there?”

  “None if you aren’t looking.” Savannah didn’t mention her sister had found a long list from the safety of her room as a teenager. Trouble followed Stasi like a puppy. So far Addy had avoided it, but Savannah wouldn’t take that for granted. As long as she could, she’d be there to fill the gaps left by her sister. She said good-bye and hung up.

  Bella stepped into her office. “We’ve got a problem.”

  * * *

  The gangway overflowed with business travelers striding quickly toward a gate, and harried parents tracking children who yanked brightly colored suitcases as they plodded down the walkway. Jett sat like a stone at the edge of a stream of pulsing water, his cracked chair tucked against a wall at a United gate in Boston Logan International Airport. Noise-cancelling headphones were perched on his head, a Chick-fil-A bag with a late lunch sat next to him, and his laptop lay open on his legs. He hoped anyone walking by would assume he was a bored businessman killing time, but with a clear do-not-disturb vibe. His rescheduled flight was already running an hour behind.

  The snow system that was working its way across the Eastern Seaboard was the given reason. He wasn’t sure he bought it. Not when his phone lit up with alerts about a Western World Airways plane that crashed into the Fourteenth Street Bridge crossing from Virginia into DC.

  He hadn’t wanted to believe it when the first alert popped up, but then he confirmed it with the paper.

  He checked his phone for an update on the status of his flight. So far just a delay. Maybe he should have the paper’s travel guru change the flight to Dulles. Taking a taxi from the other airport wouldn’t be fun in the snow. He also checked for a message from his mystery caller.