Authors: Larry D. Thompson
Lucas Vaughan parked in an open lot across the street from the old Harris County courthouse in downtown Houston. As he came to a stop, he looked in the rearview mirror and studied his face.
I don’t like what I’m seeing,
he thought. It’s only 2004.
I’ll be forty next month. My hair is turning gray, and I’ve got dark circles under my eyes. The lines on my face make me look fifty. No wonder. I was up half the night with stomach cramps. Maybe it’s time to be doing something else.
Luke sighed at the mirror, reached for a bottle of Maalox in the cup holder of his Toyota Sequoia, and took a giant swig. As the Maalox settled into his stomach, a determined look crossed his face.
Last day. It’s the biggest case of my career. Time to win it.
He grabbed his oversized briefcase from the back, tossed the Maalox in it, waved at the parking attendant, and waited at the corner for the light to change.
“Morning, Luke.” Another lawyer approached. “You in trial?”
“Hi, Jock. Yeah, I’m in the third week of a products case against Ford. My client’s husband was killed in a rollover.”
“I thought the tire manufacturers were responsible for all those SUV deaths. Who’s up today?”
“We settled the tire case for a large but confidential amount, enough to pay back six-figure expenses that I borrowed from the bank and put some money in my widow’s purse. Hopefully, today is my payday. My experts say that Ford has at least equal responsibility, maybe greater. I’m crossing the Ford design engineer this morning.”
Luke entered the courthouse, walked through a metal detector, and boarded the decrepit elevator that creaked and moaned its way to the sixth floor. When he stepped into the hall, he found it crowded with lawyers and clients. He smiled at two jurors and entered the courtroom.
Luke’s client was seated on the back row, obviously deep in thought. “Morning, Nancy,” he greeted her. “This should be the last witness. Good chance we can argue this afternoon.” Pain shot over Luke’s face, and he grabbed his stomach.
“Luke, you okay?”
“I’m fine. Just some indigestion. Happens a lot during trial. Let’s get seated.” Luke led the way to their counsel table.
“All rise.”
Judge Ruby O’Reilly came through the back door as the jurors entered from the side.
“Good morning, ladies and gentlemen. Mr. Vaughan, you may recall Mr. Alberson for cross-examination.”
A slender, graying gentleman who could have been a college professor rose in the first row of the audience and made his way to the witness stand. He had done an excellent job the day before, establishing that the plaintiff’s car had some risk of rolling over, but no more than any other SUV. He blamed the crash on a tire that had lost its tread after only twenty thousand miles. As to the roof design, which was a major issue in the case, it met every federal standard. Fred Ayers, Ford’s lead lawyer, knew that he had some problems in the case, but was satisfied that Alberson had managed to handle all of them quite nicely.
“Mr. Alberson, you would agree that Ford markets these cars as SUVs that are safe and passenger friendly?” Luke asked.
“Yes, sir. I certainly would.”
“You understand that we’re not here to talk about tires?”
“Sorry, Mr. Vaughan, but I disagree.” Alberson shook his head. “The jury has already heard that the accident was caused when the tire tread on the right front came completely off.”
Several jurors had puzzled expressions, wondering why the tire manufacturer was not in the case. Of course, they didn’t know that the Texas rules of evidence barred them from learning that the tire company had settled.
Luke put his hands in his pockets and walked away from the witness to stand at the rail behind his client. Switching gears to get away from a discussion about tires, he continued, “You know, don’t you, that my client’s husband died from a fractured skull, following the crash?”
“Mr. Vaughan, I’m very sorry for your client’s loss,” the professional witness said sympathetically.
“And you automotive engineers have to anticipate that a crash may happen. You’ve got to meet certain federal standards with regard to crashworthiness of various parts of the vehicle, including the roof.”
“If that’s a question, Mr. Vaughan, the answer is yes.”
“Yet you folks at Ford twice reduced the roof strength on this vehicle to save a few bucks on each one, right, Mr. Alberson?”
“Mr. Vaughan, the roof was changed in an overall design overhaul. Money was not the issue,” Alberson said, exasperation in his voice.
“Still, Mr. Alberson, the design of the car driven by my client’s husband just barely met federal standards most of the time, and, allowing for manufacturing variance, some of the cars came off the assembly line with roofs that were below federal guidelines, true, sir?”
Alberson folded his arms and looked to his lawyers for some help, but they had their faces buried in documents. “Probably so.”
“And those design changes saved Ford tens of millions of dollars that went to bottom line profit, right, Mr. Alberson?”
“Yes,” the witness answered, but before he could explain his answer, Luke’s legs buckled as he broke out into a sweat. He managed to take a seat before he collapsed. Judge O’Reilly saw his condition and called for an early morning recess.
As the jury left the courtroom, the bailiff rushed over to Luke. “What can I do, man?”
“I’ll be okay in a minute. Just get me some water and that bottle of Maalox from my briefcase.”
After a half hour Luke assured the judge that he could proceed and then, to her surprise and that of the defense lawyers, said that he had no more questions. The defense team sized up where they were and elected to rest, satisfied that Luke’s cross had barely scratched the surface.
Luke had worked hard on his closing argument, even rehearsing it before his mirror three different times. He had been prepared, but not for what had just happened. He had no fire, no enthusiasm, no thunder. It was a bland and ineffective closing statement, causing a number of jurors to switch their attention from Luke to the minute hand on the clock on the back wall. Three hours after retiring, the jury returned a verdict in favor of Ford. Luke could only apologize to his client. At least he had recovered on the tire case. That would give Nancy enough to raise her children, but after the gigantic expenses of a fight against Ford, Luke knew there would be little left for his three years of work. Certainly not the big payday he had anticipated. Then he collapsed on the courtroom floor.
Luke was wheeled on a stretcher from the ambulance into the emergency department of Memorial Hermann Hospital, conscious but in severe pain. After a cursory examination, the emergency physician admitted him to a medical unit. Over the next twenty-four hours, Luke was put through a battery of tests. Finally, Dr. Vincent Lee, a general surgeon, entered Luke’s room for the first time. After introducing himself, he said, “Mr. Vaughan, all of our tests are conclusive. You have a perforated ulcer. Surgery is the only solution.”
“Then let’s get it over with.” Luke nodded in agreement. “The sooner the better.”
Lucas Vaughan had been born and raised in San Marcos, Texas, a college town perched on the edge of the Texas Hill Country about halfway between Austin and San Antonio. His father was a real estate agent who sold rural land suitable for second homes. His mother worked as a nurse in the community hospital. By the time he graduated from high school, he was six feet tall and pushed two hundred pounds. His undergraduate grades at the University of Texas were barely good enough to get him into UT Law School, where he graduated in the lower half of his class three years later.
Unlike those at the top of his class, he didn’t have offers of summer internships with big firms, and no job offers came as he completed his senior year. When he graduated, he figured that Houston was the biggest city in the state and there had to be room for one more lawyer. After pounding the pavement for weeks, he moved in with a plaintiff personal injury lawyer who had billboards on most of the freeways. All he got was an office and a promise of cases that the billboard lawyer didn’t want. Still, it was a start. He leased an efficiency apartment close to the office and learned to move the small cases with a minimum of expense. Within three years he was making a decent living and opened his own law firm, putting up a few of his own billboards. The cases produced enough fees to pay his landlord and his secretary and to live comfortably but not lavishly. He taught himself to try lawsuits. At first he was clumsy and ill prepared, but he eventually developed a reputation as a fender-bender lawyer who could try a very respectable case when the need arose.
He tried to find time for sports, even signing up for a flag football league one fall, but his trial schedule interfered. By the time he was in his early thirties, his weight had ballooned to well over two hundred pounds. One day he looked at himself in the mirror after a shower and was disgusted. He postponed work while he took a slow jog around the neighborhood. Thereafter, he squeezed forty-five minutes out of his hectic day for an early morning run, and the pounds disappeared in a year.
Luke really had very little interest in getting married and chose to have no serious girlfriends. There were a few one-night stands, but that was it. Then he made what turned out to be a colossal mistake. He had a few too many drinks on a Friday night at the Inns of Court Club in downtown Houston and picked up an eighteen-year-old waitress at closing. They had a few more drinks and ended up in his bed, where they had boozy sex. Three months later she called to tell him that she was pregnant and he was the father. Luke wasn’t sure that she hadn’t just chosen him from a number of lovers and anointed him as the father of her child, but he had no proof to the contrary. So he did what he considered the right thing and married Josie. Six months later they had a daughter they named Samantha.
The marriage was rocky, to say the least. Luke continued to work long hours and rarely had time for Josie and Samantha. He began to suspect that Josie was running around on him, but he really didn’t care. When Samantha was three, he got home one night to find a note from Josie: Samantha was next door, and she was leaving him to move to Nashville to become a country music star. He didn’t go after her. In fact, he was happy to close that chapter of his life. Only now he had a daughter to raise.
Luke sold their condo and bought a small house in the Memorial area of West Houston. The most important feature was that it had servant quarters over the garage. He hired a Hispanic nanny and housekeeper named Teresa Delgado, paid her well, and moved her into the garage apartment so that she could always be available for Samantha. Satisfied that he had provided well for his daughter, he returned to his long hours, seeing Samantha only on an occasional night when he would get home before her bedtime and for a few hours on Sunday, after which he would usually retire to his home office.
The elevator doors opened on the fourth floor of the hospital, and Samantha, now thirteen and with yellow roses in hand, burst out, followed by Teresa. She paused only long enough to check a sign for the location of room 414 and then was off to her right.
“Samantha, knock on the door if it’s closed.”
Samantha got to room 414 and ignored Teresa’s admonition. She pushed open the door to find her dad asleep.
“Dad, are you okay?”
Luke opened his eyes and smiled at his daughter. “I’m fine, Sam. Just a little tired, and I’ve got a sore belly.”
“I brought you these,” Samantha said proudly, as she put the flowers beside her dad.
“Thanks, Sam. They’re beautiful.”
Just then Teresa got to the room. “Here, let me have those. I’ll bet there’s a vase around here somewhere. I’ll get them in some water and we can put them on the windowsill.”
Luke reached for a remote control and pushed a button, and the head of the bed rose. When it got to a comfortable position, he adjusted himself. “How was school today?”
“It’s okay, Dad. I’m still making all A’s,” Samantha answered as she sat in a bedside chair. “Why’d you need an operation?”
“I had an ulcer in my stomach. I’ve probably had it for a long time, and it finally ate through the wall of my stomach.”
“Yuk! Are you going to be okay?”
“Doctor says I should be just fine. I’m thinking about some lifestyle changes, though.”
“What does that mean?” Samantha asked, a look of concern crossing her face.
“Why don’t we talk about it tomorrow? I just got out of surgery this morning, and I think I need to sleep.”
“Sure, Dad. Here, let me have that control. I’ll lower the bed for you.”
Luke didn’t hear the last words. Samantha lowered the bed, adjusted his covers, and tiptoed out of the room with Teresa following.
Samantha and Teresa were back the next afternoon. Teresa stopped in the waiting room by the elevators and told Samantha to visit with her dad alone. Samantha looked puzzled but walked down the hall and this time knocked on the door.
“Come in.”
Samantha found Luke sitting up in bed, watching CNN. “Hi, Dad. How’s your stomach?”
“Still tender, but feeling a lot better. I’ll probably be able to go home tomorrow. Where’s Terry?”
Samantha nodded her head in the direction of the hall. “She stopped to watch TV in the waiting room.”
Luke raised the head of his bed higher so he could better see Samantha. “Sam, I told you yesterday that I’ve been thinking. I’ve got to make some changes in my life. I’m only forty, and trying lawsuits is going to kill me. If I keep this up, I won’t see sixty. I’m going to start an office practice.”
“Okay with me,” Samantha said, nodding. “What’s an office practice?”
“Doing wills, real estate documents, contracts, that kind of thing. We won’t make as much money, but we’ll do just fine.”
Samantha looked at her dad, not sure what to say.
“There’s one more major change, too, Sam. We’re going to move from Houston. My secretary brought my laptop this morning, and I’ve been on the Internet. We’re going to move to San Marcos. I’ve got my eye on three houses over there.”
Astonishment filled Samantha’s eyes, then turned to anger as she rose from her chair. “No, Dad. I’m not going to leave my friends!”
“Sam, calm down and lower your voice. This is a hospital. You’ll like San Marcos. You used to like visiting there when Grandma and Grandpa were alive.”
“You can go to San Marcos. I’ll stay here with Terry. She’s the one who’s raised me anyway, not you.” Tears filled Samantha’s eyes as her voice choked. “Dad, you don’t understand. You don’t even know me. You don’t even know that I still lie awake at night, wondering why my mother left me. I was abandoned by her and by you, too. Only you didn’t just disappear. Instead, you turned me over to Terry and I’ve seen you for a few minutes at night and a couple hours on a weekend. I tried to please you. I even made good grades because I knew that if I made a B you’d be disappointed.”
Luke had never realized that he might not have been a good father. He’d always thought that he was there for Samantha. Certainly he knew he had done his best, but as Samantha cried beside his bed, it hit him that he might have failed.
“Sam, I’m sorry. Look, when we move to San Marcos, I’ll have more time for you. You’ll see.”
Samantha shut her eyes and clenched her fists. “I don’t need you anymore. You’ve never been my dad, just my biological father.”
She turned and ran from the room, almost knocking over an attendant bringing a dinner tray. As she ran crying down the hall, she vowed that she would never call Luke “Dad” again.