Alligator Park (33 page)

“How did you happen upon
her?”

“I had contacted a professor,
Jessica Parker, about getting help with my dissertation. We scheduled a
meeting, but the person that showed up was Judy Swass. I didn’t know it at the
time, but she was impersonating Parker in order to spy on me. We were in the
heat of conversation and she said GWI was hiding something. It must have
slipped out because she never mentioned it again and probably figured I’d
forgotten about it.”

“Maybe she was privy to
confidential information, damaging information, information that could
implicate GWI and bury their stock price,” he says.

“If you’re suggesting the
company is falsifying results, that would be impossible.”

“Why?”

“Because even the tightest
organization has at least one disgruntled employee, and no large corporation would
risk it. And doesn’t the law protect whistle blowers?”

“Sometimes, depends on the
circumstances.”

“Well, I’m pretty sure no
professional researcher would risk their career lying to the EPA, even if the
company pressured them.”

“Call me insecure, but this
Ellis guy gives me the creeps. I feel like something shady is going on,”
Berkeley says.

“Like what?” I ask.

“I don’t know... Let’s do a
background check. I have this contact, a hacker type, gleans information from
diverse sources, places you would never think of. Nothing illegal, mind you. He
simply digs through public domain sources and then has a knack for putting
seemingly unrelated bits of information together in a cohesive discourse.
Amazing what he comes up with. It’s worth a grand to find out who we’re up
against.”

Berkeley types out a text
message.

“He’s fast. Give him a couple
of hours.”

After lunch, Berkeley shows
me some of the Jacksonville attractions, St. John's Cathedral, the
Riverside/Avondale Historic District, the Kingsley Plantation, and then drives
down to Jacksonville Beach and cruises along the beachfront with the soft-top
down, getting his own adrenalin rush from the oohs and aahs he gets when
bystanders realize he’s driving a Lamborghini.

We get back to the yacht at
5:00 PM and he leads me through the hatch into the cabin. He fires up his
laptop and checks his email.

“He answered me already.
Listen to this: After law school, Ellis found work at that well-known lingerie
company, ‘Pretty Desires’ where he achieves a VP position in only two years.
Four years later, he becomes next in line for the CEO position after he
impresses the Board of Directors by doubling profits in only six months. He did
it not by boosting sales, but by ruthlessly cutting costs, sending production
to a third world sweatshop where women were forced to work sixteen hour shifts
seven days a week. And then, tragedy struck. There was a fire and many
fatalities, some of the girls as young as twelve. The investigation revealed
workers were locked inside violating government regulations. The shop foreman
spilled his guts when he was charged with manslaughter and told police Ellis
Grimes wanted it that way, threatened to fire him if he didn’t follow
instructions. He even admitted to bribing the fire safety inspectors with money
supplied by Ellis. And then, when the prosecutor dropped all charges, the
victim’s families accused the local government of accepting even more bribes,
but of course, it would be impossible to prove that in a third world country
where almost everyone in power is getting paid off. Even though Ellis managed
to escape prosecution, he was asked to resign because the bad publicity had so
damaged sales the stock price was in the sewer.”

“You were right. He is a
sleaze.”

“It gets better. I don’t know
where he finds this stuff. About six months after Ellis was hired by GWI, he
and Judy Swass get in a car accident in Las Vegas. Neither was hurt badly, but
it was enough to make the local news and trigger a police report. She was a
staff lawyer for GWI at the time, working under Ellis’ supervision, but
apparently, she was spending more time under him than the company had bargained
for. When the accident happened, Ellis was driving her back to the hotel, after
an abortion, which he presumably paid for. Although her injuries were minor,
the trauma caused excessive bleeding requiring a twenty-four hour stay in the
hospital for observation. According to public records, Ellis was married at the
time, but six months later his wife divorces him for the usual irreconcilable
differences, which doesn’t tell us much, but my guess is she either found out
about the abortion or got tired of him spending so much time away from home.
Either way, it doesn’t really matter because right after that, Swass leaves the
company and sets up her own practice taking on legal work from GWI. Later, she
takes on other high-profile clients, but GWI remained her largest account. It
appears she and Ellis had an ongoing relationship up until the day she was
killed.”

“And your guy gets all this
by legal means?” I ask.

“His contract says he does.
And that’s all I need to know. Plausible deniability.”

“So everything she told me was
a lie. Her life, her family, her aspirations... all a lie,” I say.

“They were two peas in a
pod.”

“I thought it was weird when
there was no on-line obituary, even weeks after her death.”

“Ellis probably quashed it to
keep people from asking questions. It appears she had no other family.”

“How sad,” I say.

Berkeley closes the laptop
and invites me to dinner at seven, adding: “There’s a very nice pool at the
marina where we can cool off. If you need a swimsuit, they have a decent
selection at the gift shop. Pick out what you want; it’s on me.”

I thank him, but decline,
telling him I’m already committed for the evening. He’s a great-looking guy,
and fun to boot, but I’m not really interested in a transient relationship with
someone who’s twenty-five years my senior. He walks me to my pickup; I thank
him, and then set off for the trip home.

As I drive quietly along the
deserted highway with only the engine noise and the flattened remains of an
occasional roadkill to break the monotony, my mind wanders and I find myself
unconsciously pondering the options. I have just seven days to put together a
world-class case against GWI or, if I can’t do that, admit defeat and try to
convince the Stewarts to accept the $2.6 million offer. But should the deadline
pass, and I flub the case, there’s going to be some very unhappy souls on my
side of the isle. My stomach churns with anxiety as the enormous task plays on
my psyche. Oh why did I ever get myself into this?

With all this pressure on me, I’m having
nightmares over the outcome. For three nights in a row, I’ve had the same
dream, the hazy figure of a judge behind a bench glaring at me with an angry
look, pointing, with his arm outstretched, and his black robes flowing
backward, as if there’s a wind in the courtroom. He pounds his gavel on the
bench, screams out, “Rule 11 sanctions, Rule 11 sanctions,” those dreaded words
that hold us liable for the defendant’s legal fees. I stand there struggling to
explain why I can’t deliver what I promised, and then, Berkeley and the
Stewarts bare their teeth and their faces turn to anger. I dash out the
courtroom into the street, look behind me, and see the entire courtroom on my
tail. And directly in front there’s another crowd heading right for me, Logan,
Dean Haas, and all the other suits that attended my dissertation. They get
closer and closer and I’m trapped, nowhere to squeeze through, and then, just
before they grab me, I wake up in a cold sweat. I sit up in bed, try to relax,
and rationalize it’s just from the stress. And then, I make my way to the
kitchen and get a drink of water.

I lay down in bed, but can’t
sleep. I’m too wound up. My mind is a whirlpool of activity and it’s only 3:00
AM, two hours before my normal rise time. The thing that bothers me is GWI’s
claim they have documented proof high levels of Farm-eXia have no effect on
aquatic wildlife, yet I saw with my own eyes what these rogue alligators are
capable of. In no way was that normal behavior. But I’ve checked and double
checked for every known chemical and pathogen and the only one that makes sense
is Farm-eXia. Am I missing something? Is it something else?

I have to assume the results
GWI obtained with laboratory animals are valid and not a bluff. If they tainted
the results, it would be fraud, and fraud exposed would be a public relations
disaster for them. If there was any trickery going on, there is no way they
could keep it a secret. There are too many people with loose lips that would
spill the beans. And once the press latched on to it, it would go viral in
hours.

I get up at my regular time,
do my normal morning routine, and then head off to my job at Semi-Environmental.
I confront Doug with my dilemma, recounting the results GWI reported with
laboratory animals.

“Sounds like your case is too
weak to go to trial.”

“Our results are
diametrically opposed. And guess who the jury will believe?” I say.

“GWI of course. Their experts
will hammer away at you, discredit your work, and make you look like a quack.
The jury, not being chemists, will naturally believe the one with the most
convincing argument.”

“What shall I do?”

“There’s only one thing you
can do, acknowledge that their results differ from yours, and then go on to
show what they missed during their analyses and how that would make their
results invalid.”

“What did they miss?” I ask.

“They must have missed
something or your results would be the same.”

“Obviously. But that’s not
helping me.”

“Well, how about the
isomers?”

“The isomers?”

“Yes, isomers. Molecules with
the same chemical constituents but with different structure.”

“I know what isomers are.”

“Well, what did you find?”

“Who looks at isomers?”

“My point exactly. The reason
you don’t hear much about isomers is that, in most cases, the chemical
structure has no significant effect on properties.”

“That’s what they say.”

“But not always. You’ve heard
about the drug Thalidomide?”

“Yes, it was given to women
in the 1960’s to combat morning sickness.”

“It was touted as the most
tested drug in history, and it was. Unfortunately, ten-thousand babies were
born without arms or legs and both doctors and researchers were baffled.
Something had gone awry, but what? After years of research, the problem was
eventually isolated to the isomers. The R-form isomer was a surprisingly
effective drug for nausea with very few side effects. But the S-form had a much
greater affinity for embryonic proteins allowing it to alter development of the
fetus. This was an abrupt reversal of the conventional wisdom of the day since
both isomers had the same physical properties and they shared the same chemical
formula. The only observable difference was one version had the oxygen on the
right and the other had the oxygen on the left. No one believed that could make
a difference.”

“So you’re saying it’s the
isomers?”

“I’m just saying you need to
look at the problem differently than anyone else. Textbook learning got you
this far, but now you have to analyze and understand molecular interaction at a
level of sophistication well beyond the state of the art. Ask yourself: Does
Farm-eXia have an isomer? How does it form? Does it combine with living
proteins in a different way? Can it affect reptilian behavior when it passes
into the brain? Sounds to me like your work is cut out for you.”

“And I only have seven days.”

“No time like the present to
start.”

I guess that’s Doug’s way of
telling me I’m excused from my daily workload so I grab my laptop, pour myself a
coffee, and retreat to the conference room. I go
into the program, open setup, check the box, SHOW ISOMERS,
and then go through each of the water samples, one by one, plotting the
isomers, and saving the results. An hour later, I join Doug in the office.

“What did you
find?” he asks.

“Well the isomers
of glyphosate, atrazine, chlorpyrifos, metolachlor, and metam-sodium, were
either insignificant or less than one percent.”

“Anything else?”

“Yes. The S-form
isomer of Farm-eXia was coming in at forty percent.”

“What does that
tell you?”

“Seems high.”

“And that’s the
best you can come up with?” he asks.

“Well, I suppose
I should try to find out how it got into the water supply.”

“I just happen to
have a few liters of Farm-eXia left over from a job I did a few months ago. The
stuffs brand new, right from the factory. It’s a good place to start.”

I retrieve the
Farm-eXia from the storeroom and test it at 100% concentration to establish a
baseline. Then I reduce the concentration to 25 grams per liter, 10 grams per
liter, and finally, 1 gram per liter, matching the sample concentrations I
obtained in the wild. I test each one separately, carefully recording the
isomers.

In all cases, the
R-form isomer came in at 99.98% and the S-form, the bad one, at 0.02%,
practically insignificant. I double check the water samples I had obtained in
the wild, and once again, they show 40% for the S-form isomer. I take my
results to Doug and offer him my conclusions.

“Someone around
here must be using a defective batch. The stuff you had in the storeroom is
fine, but the samples I obtained in the wild are contaminated.”

“Sounds like
you’re on to something,” Doug says.

“I’ve got to call
Berkeley,” I say.

I dial his
number, and when he answers, I explain my results.

“So you’re saying
the product is defective,” he says.

“Here’s what we
know: First, the product we have here, brand new, is almost 100% R-form isomer.
Secondly, the R-form material appears to have no effect on aquatic wildlife.
Third, all the water samples I gathered from the lakes contain about 40% S-form
isomer. Forth, all the rogue alligators had S-form isomers in their blood
samples. Fifth, we can logically conclude it was the S-form isomer that caused
the aggressive behavior and ultimately, Kevin’s death. Personally, I think GWI
accidently shipped out some defective material.”

“And what would
make it defective?” Berkeley asks.

“It could be one
of many things. Perhaps the ingredients changed, or it wasn’t processed right,
or it was inadequately tested. Either way, it’s a quality control issue.”

“This is
wonderful news.”

“Really?”

“Well yes, it
makes our work so much easier.”

“In what way?”

“There’s a legal
doctrine known as ‘res ipsa loquitur’ which relieves us of having to prove GWI
was negligent. It’s a huge advantage. Basically, we can say, Kevin wouldn’t
have been killed if the alligators weren’t aggressive, and they wouldn’t have
been aggressive if GWI didn’t sell defective product. The incident speaks for
itself. But it goes even further; GWI now has to prove it wasn’t negligent so
they have to use more resources to defend themselves.”

“I’m glad I have
a lawyer on my side.”

“And if that
doesn’t work there’s another legal principle known as ‘strict liability’ where
negligence is not even an issue. The fact the product was defective shifts
liability to the manufacturer. It relieves us of having to delve into their
manufacturing processes, which, as you know, can be quite complex to present to
a jury.”

“So all I have to
do is show they sold defective product?”

“Exactly.”

“You make it
sound easy.”

“I need you to
put together a brief report, two or three pages, explaining that isomer thing.
How the R-form isomer was harmless but the S-form was the culprit and how you
believe it was a defective batch of pesticide. Then I’ll send it off to them.”

“Why would you
send it to them? Doesn’t that give away the element of surprise?”

“Aside from being
ethical, the law requires it. We have to disclose all evidence whether it helps
or hinders us. Otherwise, if we spring it on them at the trial, they could ask
for a delay to give them time to study it, or worse, have it declared inadmissible.
An essential point of law is the search for truth. Withholding evidence is
always a bad idea.”

“And suppose they
don’t buy it?”

“That’s what the
trial is for. But if they see the evidence, and it’s compelling, it might
provoke them to settle for the full $8 million. I need you to give it your
best.”

I conclude the call and then
frantically get to work on the report. By mid-afternoon, it’s completed, and I
email it to him. I follow up with a phone call and he tells me he’s going to
add some legal jargon to it, but otherwise it’s fine. The intense effort has
exhausted me so I decide to call it a day and head home. There’s still much to
do, but for now, I need a break from all this hectic intellectual activity.

At the restaurant, Will and
Juanita are working the floor so I chip in and assist them for a couple of
hours. As dinnertime approaches, I put together a meal for the four of us using
surplus food from the kitchen and carry it back to Fargo’s cabin. For a change
of pace, I cover the table with a fancy tablecloth, light some candles, and
open a bottle of wine. A few moments later, Fargo, Will, and Juanita wander
into the dining room.

“What’s the occasion?” Fargo
asks.

“Just the fact we’re
together. I feel like I’m spending too much time working, and forgetting what’s
important.”

“Yeah, we don’t see you much
these days,” Will says.

“Well, I’ve decided to put my
work aside tonight and spend some time with you guys.”

I fill four glasses with wine
and pass them along to the group. We click glasses and then everyone takes a
sip. Next we each fill our plates with mashed potatoes, broccoli, and meat
loaf, and then dig in.

“How’s the lawsuit going?”
Fargo asks.

“Pretty good. The Stewarts
rejected the settlement so it looks like we might be going to trial.”

“How much longer will you be
seeing that Berkeley guy?”

“I’m not seeing him.”

“Well, it seems like you’re
always over there.”

“He’s our lawyer.”

“Couldn’t you just email him?”

“I do, all the time. Why do
you ask?”

“I’m not blind you know. He’s
got the yacht, and that Italian sports car. I’d imagine it’s pretty hard for
someone to resist that life style.”

“Don’t worry, he’s not my
type.”

“Isn’t that what you always
wanted, to be rich? You said so yourself.”

I think to myself, he’s
right, I did say that once, but that’s not what I meant. Sure, I want money,
lots of it. But it’s not only money I’m after, it’s love. Money without love is
pointless.

“I told you, he’s not my type,”
I say, and Fargo takes the answer without further comment.

We finish off dinner then
settle down for a game of Trivial Pursuit, drinking wine, telling stories, and
laughing a lot. It’s great being back with the group again. They make me feel
like a person, like I’m appreciated. And then, at 10:00 PM, Fargo gets up and
announces he’s going to bed.

“I’m hunting tomorrow, alone.
Indigo, why don’t you come?”

I start to tell him I’m too
busy, then stop myself. Heck, I’ve been driving myself relentlessly for the
last four months. If I keep this up, my friends will drift away and I’ll have
no one to confide in.