“Mr. Jefferson? I’m Sasha McCandless. I represent VitaMight.”
He clamped his hand around hers and pumped it. His palm was moist. “Call me Warren.”
“No, you go right ahead and call him Mr. Jefferson,” Donaldson interjected with a fake laugh.
Sasha raised an eyebrow and withdrew her hand. “As I mentioned to your attorney, Mr. Jefferson, I understand we’ve agreed on the terms of a settlement and just need to let the judge know. It shouldn’t take long. Perhaps the three of us can meet after this to work out the details?”
Jefferson opened his mouth to speak but his lawyer beat him to it. “Perhaps.” Then Donaldson leaned in and started whispering in his client’s ear.
* * * * * * * * * *
Anton and Gregor were choking on the stench of smoke that permeated the stairwell. Waiting.
The security guard at the lawyer bitch’s office building had said she always took the stairs.
She blew past them in a hurry in the lobby, so they’d left the car and trailed her on foot to the courthouse. She was moving pretty fast, so they were almost a whole block behind. Close enough not to lose her, far enough not to be noticed.
When they got to the courthouse vestibule, she had already gone through the security set up. Gregor hated to draw any attention to them, but he had to know where she went. While he was filling out the paperwork to check their cell phones in the public cubbies, he asked the guard as casually as he could manage, “Which courtroom is Ms. McCandless in?”
The guard raised his hands, palms up. “Beats me.”
But the older guy running the scanner said, “Must be Judge Cook. On the fourth floor. He’s got a nine thirty hearing on a case of Mr. Peterson’s, rest his soul.”
The old guy read every court calendar every morning. Had done so for as long as he’d been working the lobby.
“Fourth floor. Got it. Thanks.” Gregor and Anton strolled over to the elevators. Anton hit the button.
They got off on three and headed for the stairwell. Coughed on the smoke stink and lumbered up one flight of wide marble stairs. Anton had cracked the door to the fourth floor hallway open and stuck his head out.
“All clear.”
“Find out where the courtroom is.”
Anton had slipped through the door and shoved his hands in his pants pockets. He strolled past the men’s room to the courtroom that had Cook’s name above the door, then wheeled around and hurried back to the safety of the stairwell.
“This is the closest stairwell.”
Gregor had nodded, satisfied. He positioned himself at the landing on the fifth floor. Anton walked back down to the third floor landing.
They waited.
Chapter 22
Brett returned with the court reporter, who set up her equipment at a table just in front of the judge’s bench. Sasha walked up, careful to avoid the well, and placed a business card in front of her machine.
She glanced up at Sasha, “Thank you. Party?”
“Defendant.”
The woman scribbled that on the card then peered over the top of her square glasses at Donaldson. He was pawing around in his mounds of papers.
“Does plaintiff’s counsel have a card I can use to set up the caption?”
Donaldson’s head snapped up. He patted himself down, breast pockets first, then pants pockets. Shook his head.
“Sorry, I guess I’m all out. The name is Eric, E-R-I …” He stopped when his client elbowed him and handed him a business card from the table in front of them. “Oh, I do have one after all.”
As Donaldson crossed the well to hand up his card, Sasha caught the court reporter shoot Brett a look like
can you believe this guy?
“Don’t traverse the well!”
Brett’s tone left no doubt Judge Cook was one of those jurists who did not appreciate any break in protocol. Hardliners insisted that attorneys never enter the well—that space between the counsel tables and the bench—without asking for and receiving permission to approach.
Donaldson stopped mid-step. “But the judge isn’t even on the bench.”
Brett shooed Donaldson to the side with an impatient wave of his hand. “Stay out of the well.”
Donaldson scuttled to the side of the room and shoved his card toward the court reporter. His face was red.
Sasha really couldn’t believe Noah had convinced the client to settle with this clown.
Immediately, she emptied her mind of Eric Donaldson’s apparent incompetence.
More times than she could count, she had flattened a sparring partner at her Krav Maga class. Usually a newcomer. Someone who looked at her and saw a tiny girl. Someone who had not yet learned that Sasha was as vicious as she was small.
It was never smart to underestimate an opponent. Just look at poor Connelly, roaming around town with two black eyes, a broken nose, and a broken trigger finger. It wouldn’t do to end up like him.
And then she almost did.
The judge swept into the room from his chambers. With his black robe flapping behind him and his bright, close-set eyes, he looked like a crow. Or maybe a hawk.
Everyone except the court reporter rose and Brett opened the session. “This Court is now in session. The Honorable Cliff Cook presiding.”
Judge Cook ascended to his bench and sat. Sasha, Donaldson, and Warren Jefferson bent their knees to return to their seats as well. Only Donaldson and his client made it.
“Counsel for Defendant! Did I tell you to sit down?”
Sasha straightened. “No, your honor. You did not.”
“Very good, counselor. I’m glad to see your time at Prescott & Talbott hasn’t so dulled your wits that you can no longer play Simon Says.”
Sasha’s pulse thumped in her ears. It seemed the judge’s grudge hadn’t died with Noah.
“We’re here on your motion, counselor. Let’s get started.”
She stared up at him for a minute then shifted her gaze to Brett. The deputy clerk didn’t meet her eyes. Could Judge Cook not know?
She drew herself up and said, “May it please the court, Sasha McCandless for VitaMight, Inc. Your honor, if I may, this motion was actually made by my colleague—or former colleague, rather—Noah Peterson. Mr. Peterson was killed last night in a car accident and, for that reason, I ask the Court to continue this hearing …”
The judge cut her off. “Oh, come now, Ms. McCandless. Surely you don’t mean to suggest the late Mr. Peterson was the
only
attorney at your
venerable
law firm capable of handling this matter against the hapless Mr. Donaldson over there, do you?”
Donaldson’s smirk faded. But the judge was just getting warmed up.
“Your honor,” Sasha started.
“Don’t you tell all your old money clients the reason your rates are so high is because of the
depth
and
breadth
of your talented cadre of litigators, spread throughout the world, but integrated
seamlessly
?”
He was quoting from the firm’s website now. He was also half out of his chair, arms waving.
“Your honor, in addition to Mr. Peterson’s tragic death, there is another reason to postpone the hearing.”
“Oh, do tell.” Judge Cook returned to his seat, put his elbows on the desk, and propped his chin on his fists, doing a fair impression of a child anticipating a treat.
“The parties agreed to settle this matter. All that remains is working out the details, which Mr. Peterson had undertaken but, unfortunately, had not finished before his death.”
“Oh, really?”
“Yes, your honor.”
Sasha looked at Donaldson, who was suddenly very interested in his cascading pile of folders.
“Mr. Donaldson, is this true?”
Donaldson stood, one hand clamped around the knot in his tie, like it was his security blanket. “Your honor, um … Mr. Jefferson objects to VitaMight even … uh, raising the subject of a confidential settlement agreement. But, um, the fact is no agreement was finalized and, uh, as I informed the court this morning, we are ready to proceed with the class certification hearing today. Mr. Peterson’s tragic death notwithstanding.”
Sonofabitch
.
She couldn’t breathe. It was like he’d delivered a solid blow to her diaphragm. Judge Cook had set her up. Donaldson couldn’t possibly have planned this ambush. At least not without some guidance and suggestions from someone whose synapses actually fired.
“Excellent. Ms. McCandless, it is, as they say, show time. Unless you’d like to withdraw your motion?”
Forget the Hemisphere Air case. If Sasha messed this up, her partnership prospects were over. She took a moment to hope Noah had really enjoyed the incremental increase in his millions that he’d probably gotten by screwing Judge Cook over at his country club.
She squared her shoulders. “VitaMight is ready to proceed, your honor. VitaMight has moved for a denial of class certification at this early stage for all the reasons set forth in our papers. But, I’d like to focus on the very simple point that class certification is not appropriate unless the same issues of law and fact apply to all the members of the proposed class. Here, those issues of fact would require all class members to have taken VitaMight according to directions and, not just failed to lose the desired amount of weight, but to have actually gained weight. To prove this up would require mini-trials for each class member to determine that there were no other factors, such as a health problem, responsible for the weight gain.”
She paused and poured herself a glass of ice water from the cut-glass pitcher on the table. She was pleased to see her hands weren’t shaking. She took a sip. Then she looked over at Donaldson and his slovenly client and smiled.
She picked back up, her voice stronger now. She was about to decimate Donaldson’s case and he had no clue it was coming.
“Indeed, these issues of fact illustrate why Mr. Jefferson cannot possibly serve as the class representative. To that end, we are seeking not just a denial of class certification, your honor, but a finding of summary judgment in VitaMight’s favor and the dismissal of this case.”
Donaldson turned to stare at her and Judge Cook’s fuzzy eyebrows shot up.
“Oh, you are?” the judge said.
“Yes, sir. Because Mr. Jefferson failed to follow the Slim Down weight loss plan, he cannot represent a class of plaintiffs who did follow the plan.”
Donaldson stood. “Your honor, I object. There is nothing in VitaMight’s papers that establishes Mr. Jefferson did not follow the plan. Of course he did. That’s the crux of our complaint!”
He was right. The papers didn’t allege that. But, Sasha figured Donaldson wouldn’t stand on that point. He’d be eager to prove Jefferson was a good class rep. Otherwise, he would never be approved as class counsel. Some moderately competent attorney would swoop in with a suitable representative and he’d be left with nothing.
She baited him. “Mr. Jefferson is here today, I see. Why don’t you put him up on the stand and let the Court make that determination?”
He bit. “We would be more than happy to.”