In Firm Pursuit (5 page)

I
stepped outside the courtroom and spotted Hamilton and Reggie standing just a few feet away. They were apparently waiting for me.

“Nice to see you again, counselor.” Hamilton extended his hand.

When I offered mine, he clasped it gently, then proceeded to hold on much longer than necessary. I finally had to ease my hand from his grasp.

“Thanks for the heads-up about joining the case,” I said, not hiding my frustration.

“Forgive me,” Hamilton replied. “If I hadn't been so busy trying to play catch-up, I would've called you.”

I rolled my eyes, then glowered at Reggie, who was still all smiles. “When did
your
telephone stop working?”

“I have to run,” he said, ignoring me. He extended his hand to Hamilton. “Thanks, brother-in-law.”

So they're family.
But that still did not explain things. Hamilton was far too concerned about his precious trial record to associate himself with a dog of a case like this one. At least it should've seemed like a dog based on the facts he knew.

“Let's stand over here, out of the way.” Hamilton
pressed his palm against my back and guided me from the middle of the busy corridor, closer to the wall.

“I'm really looking forward to going up against you again,” he said.

I had won a close case against him five years earlier. I was only a third-year associate at the time, and it had not looked good for such a seasoned trial attorney to be outdone by a novice.

“Don't tell me you still haven't gotten over losing the Byers case,” I said. This time I was the one smiling.

“I'll admit that it still stings a bit,” he acknowledged.

“But that's only part of the reason I decided to help Reggie out with the case. You
can
be quite a handful, you know.”

“Oh, so I'm the reason you're on the case?”

“As a matter of fact, you are,” he said. “Except I didn't realize you'd been taken.” He lifted my left hand and examined my wedding ring. “I'd heard you married some plumber. Tell me it's not true.”

“My husband's an electrician,” I said, annoyed that he was being so condescending. Hamilton was quite a playboy and had constantly hit on me during the Byers trial. But I never took the bait.

“Six of one, half dozen of the other. You could've done better. You could've had me.”

The man was such a jerk. “How's
Mrs.
Ellis these days?” I asked.

“Wouldn't know. I'm back on the market.” Hamilton straightened his tie and struck a pose straight off the pages of
GQ.
His black suit, pink shirt and silver cuff links probably cost half my weekly salary. “Even though
Reggie's sister and I got divorced a year ago, he and I are still pretty tight.”

Hamilton's blatant leering was beginning to unnerve me. “You guys really don't plan on settling?”

“Not sure yet,” he said. “Haven't had time to fully assess the case. But there's one thing I am sure of. It ain't settling for a measly thirty grand. I can't believe you didn't jump at that offer.”

I didn't need the reminder. “If we're going to trial, then I guess my record against you will be soon be two and 0,” I bluffed.

Hamilton chuckled. “I don't think I'll lose this time.”

“Your client grabbed Karen Carruthers in that elevator and you know it,” I said.

“Maybe. Maybe not. But it doesn't really matter.” He paused for several seconds, obviously for effect. “The judge loves me. And when Judge Sloan loves you, he has an unconscious habit of steering the jury your way.”

Hamilton gave me a sexy wink, then walked off.

When I felt my body veer sideways, I was glad there was a sturdy granite wall there to hold me up.

I
had just pulled to a stop at a traffic light at Grand and First Street, two blocks from my office, when my BlackBerry rang. I reached over and dug it out of the bottom of my purse, which was sitting on the passenger seat of my Land Cruiser.

When I heard Haley's voice, I wanted to ask God what I did to deserve such a lousy day.

“You told me to call the next time something important came up in the Randle case,” she said. “So that's what I'm doing.”

After the shocker I had just gotten in court, I could not handle any more bad news. I held my breath. “I'm listening,” I said as I made a right and headed into the underground parking garage of the O'Reilly & Finney office building.

“Well, you're going to freak out when you hear this.” Haley sounded like a kid who couldn't wait to tell a big secret.

“Just tell me,” I said, still refusing to breathe.

But Haley didn't say anything. “I'm listening, Haley,” I said again, even more impatient now.

Still no response.

“Haley, are you there?”

I looked down at my BlackBerry.
Shoot!
I had apparently lost my signal when I entered the underground garage. I rounded a curve to the second level, pulled into a parking stall and hopped out of my SUV. I took one elevator to the lobby of the building and another one to the twelfth floor. I squeezed out of the elevator without waiting for the doors to open completely and walked straight past my office and into Haley's. I didn't realize how winded I was until I came to a panting stop inside Haley's doorway.

“I lost you when I drove into the garage,” I said, my chest heaving underneath my black Evan Picone blazer.

“What's going on?”

She pointed to a chair in front of her desk. “I think you'll want to be sitting down when you hear this.”

Something told me not to object. I took a seat, dumping my purse and satchel on the floor next to me. I prayed that Haley was just being overly dramatic. “Okay, let's hear it.”

Haley rested her forearms on her desk. “Porter just got a call from somebody in Human Resources at Micronics. Karen Carruthers is dead.”

I could tell by the way she looked at me that she expected me to go into meltdown mode. It took a second for me to process her words.

“What do you mean, she's dead?”

“I mean, she's dead. As in no longer alive.”

“How?”

“Car accident. Her car went off a cliff up on Mulholland.”

My heart instantly went out to the woman. I had only
met Karen Carruthers a few times, but I could imagine the fear she must have felt as her car plunged off that cliff. I had driven Mulholland once during a heavy storm. The street was long and winding with lots of blind curves. Rain or shine, it could be a dangerous strip of road.

“When?” I asked.

“Five days ago. She apparently died the same day you turned down that settlement offer.” Haley's eyes were drenched with glee. “Some hikers found her body trapped inside the wreckage.”

Every muscle in my body tightened in alarm. I might be able to keep Hamilton and Reggie from learning about those other sexual harassment cases, but I could not hide the fact that Micronics's most important witness would not be testifying at trial because she was dead. There was no way they would settle the case now. They would insist on going forward, knowing that Micronics's case would be severely handicapped by having to rely on Carruthers's videotaped deposition to tell her story.

I stood up so fast I suffered an attack of vertigo.

“I guess you really regret not taking that thirty thousand, huh?” Haley said.

It would have given me tremendous pleasure to reach over and slap the girl. If she had tried harder to reach me when she got that fax, this case would have been settled last week.

“By the way,” I said, grabbing my purse and satchel from the floor, “I didn't appreciate you talking to Porter about that settlement offer before I had a chance to.”

Haley nonchalantly waved a hand in the air. Her nails were a shimmery lilac. Yesterday they were a soft red.
How in the hell did the girl find time to change nail polish every night?

“Excuse me, but I didn't think it was any big secret.” She raked her fingers through her blond curls. “He
is
the partner in charge of the case.”

I did not want to argue with the girl. I just wanted her to know that if she was trying to screw me, I knew what was up. “And that trial strategy memo you prepared,” I said, “you should've shown it to me before giving it to Porter.”

“Didn't I copy you on the e-mail I sent to Porter?” she said with patently feigned concern. She turned away and started pecking on her keyboard. “I certainly meant to. Let me double-check my outgoing e-mails.”

I waited as she went through her ruse.

She glanced up at me and shrugged. “I guess I didn't. I'm really sorry. I'll send you a copy right now.”

“You should've been spending that time working on the pretrial documents,” I said. “If I were you, I'd be a little more careful about how I apportioned my time.”

She smirked in response to my scolding. “I don't know if you know it,” Haley said, “but my mother's on the Ninth Circuit and my father's a highly regarded political consultant. Both are Harvard Law grads, so I grew up reading legal decisions for fun.”

“And your point is what?”

“My point is, I'm far more versed in the law than your average second-year associate. I don't need to be micromanaged.”

My vertigo returned. “Haley, I don't have time to micromanage you or anybody else,” I said. “Just remember
that
I'm
the senior associate on this case. Not you.” I walked out before she could respond.

Back at my office, I closed the door and paced. The Randle case was supposed to be my shining moment before the partnership vote, but it was exploding in my face. Even if Reggie and Hamilton never found out about the other cases, there was no way I could win without having Karen Carruthers take the witness stand to tell her story. You needed emotion to sway a jury in a sexual harassment case. Carruthers had been quiet and sullen during her deposition. The jury wouldn't feel a lick of sympathy for her.

I opened the middle drawer of my desk and took out a bottle of Advil, swallowing two of the tiny rust-colored pills without water. I stared out at the L.A. skyline. Something wasn't right. First, an extremely damaging memo that should have been produced months ago, wasn't. Then, the head of HR, who claimed he knew nothing about the memo, wanted the case settled ASAP—at any cost. Add to that, the unexplained departures of both the in-house attorney and the primary HR contact. And now, the only witness who could tell the company's side of the story was dead.

I looked at the clock. It was after five. I picked up the phone and dialed Special, my best friend and confidante. Besides my husband, Special was the only person who could cheer me up whenever I was in a funk.

“Are you going to happy hour at Little J's tonight?” I asked.

“Girl, why're you asking me a silly question?” Special
replied. “It's Tuesday, ain't it? I'm walking through the door right now.”

“I'm on my way there to meet you,” I said. “I just had the day from hell.”

I
t took me fifteen minutes to make the drive from my office to Little J's at Eleventh and Olive. I stepped into the darkened club and paused near the dance floor and watched for a minute as the thirty-and-over set grooved to the Isley Brothers' “Living for the Love of You.” The song immediately eased my anxiety.

I squeezed through the packed crowd and headed down a narrow hallway that led to the rear of the club. A short flight of stairs took me to the second level, which held another spacious dance floor. I spotted Special sitting in a circular booth, snuggled up with an attractive, well-dressed man who was not one of her regulars.

Special yelled out and waved me over. “Hey, girlfriend!”

When I got to her table, she leaned over to give me a big hug. “Meet my new friend, Jesse,” she beamed.

I slid into the booth across from them. “Nice to meet you,” I said.

Even though Special had a head of thick, shoulder-length hair, she was wearing a short, reddish-brown wig that had a girlish pageboy cut. I had never known anybody who changed hairstyles as often as Special. She was three inches short of six feet and had squeezed her
tall, shapely frame into a tight turquoise skirt and a frilly, low-cut blouse.

“Jesse's a Southern boy.” Special grinned.

Jesse nodded and smiled, exposing nice white teeth.

When a waitress arrived with drinks, Jesse sent the woman back to get a Diet Coke for me, but not before tipping her five bucks. Special cast me a look that shouted
big spender.

“Vernetta and I went to USC together,” Special bragged. “We go way back.” Special neglected to mention, however, that her college career ended early, due to too much partying and not enough studying.

“USC, huh?” Jesse said. “Two college girls. That's real cool. I bet y'all ski, play golf, all that fancy stuff.” He picked up a huge strawberry from a dessert plate piled high with hors d'oeuvres and stuffed it into his mouth, stem and all.

“I'm lousy on the golf course,” I admitted, “but I can hold my own on the slopes. And Special's not too bad herself.”

“I knew it. I knew it,” Jesse said, talking with his mouth full. “I bet y'all can learn me how'da ski.”

Deep lines of frustration appeared across Special's normally wrinkle-free forehead. She leaned in closer to Jesse. “What did you say, sweetie?” Even in the dim lighting, I could see the horror in my friend's eyes.

“Can y'all learn me how'da ski?” Jesse repeated.

Special spoke her next words slowly and softly, as if she were talking to a first-grader. “No, sweetie, I don't think we're good enough to
teach
you how to ski.”

“Aw c'mon.” He picked up a cube of cheddar cheese from the plate in front of him. “I learn fast.”

Special looked over at me, her eyes signaling defeat. “Vernetta, ain't that K.C. over there?” She pointed a finger across the room. “Jesse, we'll be right back.”

Before he could swallow the cheese and crackers he had just chucked down his throat, Special had snatched her purse from the table, slid around to my side of the booth and practically pushed me to the floor in her haste to escape. I had trouble keeping up with her as she stalked toward the stairs.

“I hate grown ass men who can't conjugate verbs!” Special complained as we zipped downstairs.

When we got to the first floor, I took off in the direction of an empty table at the back of the club. But Special stayed put, her arms defiantly folded across her chest. “I don't want to sit way back there,” she moaned.

I backtracked and grabbed her by the forearm. “Don't worry,” I said, tugging her along, “the men can still see you.”

“If I don't meet anybody decent tonight, you're going out with me next weekend,” Special said, reluctantly following.

“I'll probably be free,” I said. “As hard as Jefferson's been working lately, I doubt he'll make it home next weekend either.”

Special pointed a finger in my face. “Girl, I keep telling you, we need to roll down to San Diego and check everything out. One of the secretaries at my job just found out her husband had another wife and kid living up in Bakersfield.” Special was about to enter her eighth year as a manager for Telecredit and always had some wild story to tell about one of her coworkers.

We sat down at a cocktail table for two. “Special, I trust my husband,” I said.

“Trust my ass,” Special said. “You have to keep a brother in check. History should've taught you that.”

“History? What are you talking about?”

“Hillary trusted Bill. Kobe Bryant's wife trusted him. And let's not even talk about Jesse Jackson.”

“Whatever, Special,” I said. “I'm not here to talk about Jefferson. One of my cases is about to explode in my face.”

Special instantaneously perked up, always interested in hearing about my legal dramas. She scooted her chair closer to the table.

I leaned in until my head almost touched hers. “First, I'm dealing with this second-year associate who thinks she's superlawyer,” I whispered. I told her about the Micronics fax, the strategy memo and how Haley had blabbed to Porter about my missed settlement opportunity.

“That little girl is hella bold,” Special said.

“There's more,” I continued. “The opposing counsel, Reggie Jenkins, who can't litigate his way out of a paper bag, surprised me in court today by bringing in another attorney as lead counsel. A very, very good attorney.”

Special dismissed my concerns with a flick of her wrist. “Girl, stop trippin'. If you can whip one attorney, you can whip 'em all. You're pretty good in that courtroom. I've seen it with my own eyes.”

I inhaled. “Wait. You haven't heard the worst part. I just found out that my star witness—”

“Well, well, well. Fancy meeting you here.”

When I looked up, my throat constricted at the sight of
Hamilton Ellis, drink in hand, taking up far too much of my personal space. It took all the bladder control I could muster to keep from relieving myself right then and there.
How long had he been standing there?

I scanned the club. It was too noisy for Hamilton to have heard anything I had just shared with Special. I took a long breath. I definitely wouldn't be discussing another case in Little J's anytime soon.

“Hello, Mr. Ellis,” I said, looking up at him.

“Please, counselor, call me Hamilton.” He was talking to me, but his eyes were glued on Special. “Aren't you going to introduce me to the lovely lady here?” He took a sip of his drink.

Special treated Hamilton to a smile wide enough to drive a bus through.

“Special Moore, meet Hamilton Ellis, my new opposing counsel,” I said dryly, pointing from Special to Hamilton.

“Special,” Hamilton said, mulling over her name. “I like that. So are you?” His eyes were sending heat rays directly to her exposed chest.

“My mama and daddy certainly think so.”

“Well, that's good enough for me.”

I did not like the sparks whizzing past my head. Having Special hook up with Hamilton was a complication I didn't need. I had to cut this short.

“May I have this dance?” Hamilton said, gallantly extending his hand to Special.

Before I could think up a legitimate reason to protest, my best friend obediently clasped hands with my newest rival and pranced off behind him to the dance floor. I
watched them do a sexy cha-cha, moving smoothly to the music as if they had been lifetime partners on “Soul Train.” With the help of Special's two-inch heels, they were almost eye-to-eye. As Hamilton eased in close enough to bend down and lodge his nose into her cleavage, Special did not give him the usual brush-off she reserved for men she only wanted to tease.

After the third song, they returned to the table, still hand in hand. Except for a few beads of perspiration along her hairline, Special showed no other visible signs of the extended aerobic workout. She could dance up a funk and never get funky. Hamilton slipped out of his jacket and slung it over his right shoulder.

When he took a chair from another table and sat down at ours, I pounced out of my seat as if I had springs attached to my butt. “We were just leaving,” I said hurriedly. “You ready, girl?”

Special sat as still as a Macy's mannequin. “I'm not ready to leave yet.” She spoke in a pouty baby voice.

I gave her a stern look, but she ignored it.

“Well, just walk me across the street to my car,” I said. “I'll drop you back out front so you can return to your new
friend.
” Once I got her outside, I could give her the lowdown on Hamilton and nip any puppy love action in the bud.

“Let me have that honor.” Hamilton emptied his glass.

“Never mind,” I said, snatching my purse from the table. “I'll be fine.”

“No, I insist.” Hamilton winked at Special. “I'll be right back,” he said, pushing his chair back from the table. “You stay pretty.”