Blood Brothers (37 page)

“I think we all know the real reason why Gunnar wants to see Karl forced out on the street. He had wanted Karl to come crawling to him and that didn’t happen. He had wanted to be the alpha dog, the undisputed head of Bjornsen Pharmaceuticals, but that didn’t happen either. In fact, the company’s directors chose Karl to lead the company instead of Gunnar.

“So what did Gunnar do? He left the company and took the Neurostim formula with him. He held it hostage and tried to use it to blackmail the company into giving him Karl’s job. That also didn’t work—the company called his bluff and sued him to make him give back the formula.

“Gunnar knew he couldn’t defend his actions, so he did what came naturally for him by this point: he launched another unjustified attack on his brother. He accused Karl of committing a number of very serious crimes, with virtually no evidence. Partway through this trial, he was forced to retract his most outrageous allegations—that Karl had arranged attempted murder and arson. And you heard what happened when Mr. Corbin questioned Karl about the rest of these imaginary crimes—his entire theory blew apart like a ripe tomato hitting a brick wall.” A scattering of smiles and chuckles from the jury, but one well-dressed older woman rolled her eyes.

“To be fair to both Gunnar and his lawyer, crimes
were
committed and they did stumble across evidence of those crimes. But no matter how hard they try, they can’t pin those crimes on Karl. Mr. Corbin thinks it’s unbelievable that extortionists would try to plant incriminating documents in the files of an executive they wanted to blackmail. I don’t know about you, but that makes perfect sense to me. And if you listened closely, you will have noticed that Mr. Corbin and Gunnar
never denied that someone was trying to blackmail Karl
. That’s because they know it’s true. So since we know that Karl was the target of a blackmail plot, is it really unbelievable that the blackmailers would have put some blackmail-worthy documents in his files?

“Mr. Corbin talked a lot about Henrik Haugeland. He said Mr. Haugeland was ‘the most credible witness’ you heard. That’s flat-out false. If he had said Mr. Haugeland was an honest witness, I might have agreed with him, but Mr. Haugeland was
not
credible. ‘Credible’ doesn’t just mean that a witness is telling the truth to the best of his ability; it means the witness is believable. Those aren’t always the same thing, and they weren’t here. Remember what Mr. Haugeland said, what his whole testimony led up to?” He clicked the wireless mouse again and a quote appeared on the screen: “‘I strongly believe Karl was involved [in the shootings and arson at Bjornsen Norge] . . . I think he discovered what we were doing, probably from a spy in Bjornsen Norge. Then he sent a criminal to stop us and destroy the evidence we found’—Henrik Haugeland.”

Siwell paused to let the jury read the words on the screen. Then he pointed to them. “We know that isn’t true. I’m willing to give Mr. Haugeland the benefit of the doubt and assume that he wasn’t intentionally lying; that he really did ‘strongly believe’ those things. But it really doesn’t matter. Either way, he was one hundred percent wrong—as even Gunnar and his lawyer now agree. That means Mr. Haugeland’s testimony is, by definition, not credible. If he was so wrong on something so critical, can you really trust his other testimony? And even if you do, all he really said was that there were documents in Bjornsen Norge’s files that were consistent with the blackmail plot Karl Bjornsen described—and remember that his testimony on this point was completely unchallenged by any witness or document. At least one of the blackmailers was an accountant at Bjornsen Norge, so is it really surprising that there would be documents in Bjornsen Norge’s accounting files that would be helpful in the blackmail plot?”

He clicked the mouse again and Henrik’s words vanished from the screen. They were replaced by an image of the verdict form the jury would receive. “So when you come back with your verdict, I ask you to answer
yes
to the special interrogatory asking whether Gunnar Bjornsen should return the Neurostim formula to Bjornsen Pharmaceuticals”—he highlighted and enlarged the interrogatory as he spoke—“and
no
to the interrogatory asking whether the company should be deprived of its duly elected president and chairman, Karl Bjornsen.” He highlighted and enlarged that one too. “And I ask you to order Gunnar to pay for at least some of the hundreds of millions of dollars’ worth of damage he did to the company.”

He clicked again and the screen went blank. “This is an important case. I know you know that. Billions of dollars are at stake. Karl Bjornsen’s career and reputation are at stake. Thank you for taking time away from your jobs and families to be here. I know you had no choice, and that only makes your sacrifice greater. I ask you to take only a little more time, enough time to review the evidence carefully and fairly and make sure your verdict is the right one—a verdict for Bjornsen Pharmaceuticals and Karl Bjornsen.” He paused and smiled. “And may your next jury service end after a morning of drinking coffee and reading the paper in the jury assembly room.” Even Ben and Gunnar had to smile at that one.

Karl sat in a chair on his balcony and watched the last remnants of the sunset fade from the western sky. A half-empty glass of Petite Sirah sat on a small table by his right elbow. He picked it up and looked at it thoughtfully. In the gathering darkness, the wine looked very much like blood. The consistency and smell were very different, though. He swirled his glass gently for a few seconds, then drained it.

A hand touched his shoulder and he jumped, spilling several drops of wine on his white shirt. He snapped his head around and saw Gwen looking down at him. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you. Here, give me your shirt and I’ll get it soaking. I’ll make sure Maria takes care of it tomorrow morning.”

“I didn’t hear you come out,” he said as he stood and unbuttoned his shirt. He handed it to her and she disappeared into the apartment.

She reappeared a minute later with the wine bottle, a second glass, and a fresh shirt. She stood for a moment in the rectangle of warm light cast by the dining-room chandelier through the sliding-glass balcony door. The diamonds at her neck and ears sparkled, and she looked magnificent in her black silk cocktail dress. She embodied the image that aspiring luxury vineyards try to capture in their advertising. “You’ve been so tense recently,” she commented as she filled their glasses. “Is it the trial, or something else?”

“A little of both,” Karl replied as he slipped on the new shirt. “The jury deliberated for a little over an hour today without reaching a verdict. Bert thinks they’ll go our way, but he isn’t sure.” He took a sip of his wine. “And Gunnar’s up to something. I’ve heard from three different people that he’s been meeting with directors and major shareholders over the past week or so. He has Ben Corbin and Henrik Haugeland and a detective put on a show about what a terrible guy I am. Then he makes a pitch for why they should vote me out and vote him in.”

“That’s outrageous! Can you stop him?”

“Bert says I probably can’t. Gunnar is still a director and shareholder, so he probably has a right to talk to other shareholders and directors. Besides, it would send the wrong message. I don’t want anyone to think that I’m afraid to have them hear what Gunnar has to say. Once we have the jury’s verdict, I’ll have my own meetings with the directors—if that’s still necessary. In the meantime, though, it’s putting me a little on edge.”

“I can tell.” Gwen stood and walked around behind him. She began to massage his thick shoulders. “Your muscles are all knotted up. Do you want me to set up an appointment for you with my masseur? He’s really good.”

“No.”

She stopped kneading his shoulders and picked up her wine glass. “Speaking of Gunnar, I saw Anne and Markus the other day. They were having lunch at the University Club with Pat and Jacqui Gossard. Markus was the only one drinking. He had one of those little martini carafes, and it was almost empty. Jacqui told me later that he actually drank
two
of those during lunch.” She sighed sadly. “We both felt so sorry for Anne. It must be humiliating for her to have a son who behaves like that.”

“I’m going to bed,” Karl announced. He stood abruptly, knocking over the wine bottle. He grabbed the bottle and set it upright with a quick move of his hand, but not before a splash of red spread across the glass tabletop and began to drip onto the floor. He turned and walked through the door. “Good night.”

“What has gotten into you?” Gwen demanded.

He stopped momentarily but didn’t turn to face her. “I’m under a lot of pressure. It will be over soon.”

“I certainly hope so,” she said icily as he walked away. “I’d better get the old Karl back soon.”

Later that night, Anne Bjornsen woke to find herself in an empty bed. She looked at the clock. It was 11:35. She got up, pulled on her robe, and went to look for her husband. She found him in the den in his recliner. A brass floor lamp surrounded him in a pool of light, and a thick leather-bound book lay open on his lap. He looked up as she came in. “Trouble sleeping?” she asked as she stood blinking in the light.

He nodded. “I thought I’d come down and read something that would put me to sleep.” He gestured to the book in his lap. “Markus got me thinking about the Norse sagas, so I pulled out my father’s copy of the
Heimskringla
, the stories of the ancient Norwegian kings.”

She smiled. “That would put me to sleep in ten minutes. How’s it working for you?”

A low chuckle rumbled in his throat for a moment. “Not very well. I read the Saga of Olav Tryggvason and I’m more wide awake than ever.”

“Is it a good story?”

“I suppose so. It’s the tale of a king who liberates Norway from a Swedish
jarl
and builds it into a strong company.”

“You mean ‘country,’” interjected Anne.

He chuckled again. “I suppose I do. King Olav was a good ruler in many ways and accomplished a lot, but he could be . . . undiplomatic. He offended people. Eventually, his enemies gathered together against him and ambushed his fleet of longships at sea. There was an epic battle, and he lost. As the battle ended, he fell into the water and vanished. No one ever saw him again.”

He stopped and dropped his eyes to the book in his lap. Anne stood in the doorway and waited for what was inside him to work its way out. After a long moment, he looked up again. “I was wondering what . . . after all of myself that I’ve invested in the company, what will happen if I lose?”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, if the company’s gone, what’s left of me?”

She smiled gently. “Will you have disappeared in defeat like King Olav?”

He closed the book and set it on an oak reading stand by the chair. “Yes.”

She walked over and sat on the arm of the chair. “What will be left of you? Nothing—except the man I married almost thirty-five years ago.”

By nine thirty the next morning, Dr. Antonio Gomez had the preliminary autopsy reports ready. He saved the report for Bedford Lavelle and e-mailed it out. That one had been easy—multiple skull fractures, torn cranial artery, and massive brain damage. There had been alcohol and trace amounts of steroids in his blood, but nothing that contributed to his death.