The Great Divide (34 page)

“I think I should be the one to decide what is and is not pertinent, Mr. Kendall.”

“Of course, Your Honor, but—”

“Wouldn’t you say that was my choice, Mr. Kendall?”

“Certainly, I merely—”

“Then why don’t you sit down and let us get on with this.” To Marcus, “Proceed, counselor.”

“There at the top of page eleven, Mr. Hadley. Would you please read for the court what you say about Factory 101?”

“I don’t—I’m not certain this …”

“Do you not state here, in a document you prepared for the President of the United States, that Factory 101 is one of the worst pirates operating within the textile industry? Do you not state that in black and white, Mr. Hadley?”

“I may have,” he muttered, now seeking to bury his face in the document. “There were several dozen such papers prepared by my subordinates. I can’t recall them all, often I just sign them.”

“But it is your signature there at the bottom of the document, is it not?”

“It appears to be, yes.”

“All right. Let’s go to the second paragraph on that page. The one where you describe how, because the factory is owned and operated by a high military official, this very same General Zhao Ren-Fan,
it has been protected from closure. But New Horizons, a company that has been a major contributor to the President’s own campaign, had lodged an official complaint. Do you not state this, Mr. Hadley?”

“I told you, it was probably prepared for my signature by—”

“Do you not also state that New Horizons claims to be losing as much as seventy million dollars annually through Factory 101 selling copies of its product, copies so good only an expert can tell the difference?”

“Objection!” Logan’s voice was bitterly furious. “This is ridiculous, Your Honor. As I said before, counsel is attempting to submit evidence that is clearly in violation of the rules of relevance.”

Marcus was locked and loaded. “Your Honor, I submit that the State Department has been intentionally dragging its feet over these depositions. The reason for this is clear. They are concerned about being implicated in the collusion between New Horizons and Factory 101.”

“What
collusion?” Logan almost shouted the words. “The plaintiff hasn’t proven a thing!”

But all that was about to change. Marcus walked back to his table, picked up the next set of papers and said, “Your Honor, I wish to submit as evidence documents that I feel will demonstrate beyond a shadow of doubt that the New Horizons board fled the country to avoid answering questions related to how they had established a joint venture with Factory 101 in order to bring an end to the pirating. And that the State Department has been collaborating with the board to mask this.”

Hadley shouted, “That’s absurd!”

“Your Honor!” Logan’s face bore the strain of battle. “This has absolutely no foundation whatsoever! Counsel is intent on tainting this jury with lies and baseless allegations!”

“All right, calm down!” Judge Nicols had the ability to strike with the softness of a velvet-covered fist. “There will be no further histrionics in this courtroom, do I make myself clear?”

Hadley mistook the resulting silence as an opportunity. “This is crazy. We haven’t got a thing to hide.”

She glared down. Hard. “You just hush up.” Then to Marcus, “This had better be good.”

“I submit that they have a very great deal to hide, Your Honor. And for very good reason.” Marcus approached the bench, handed over the document. He waited as Judge Nicols read, and watched her features harden. Only then did he pass on a second copy to Logan. In the ensuing silence he noticed Charlie standing by the central aisle. He walked over, saw the old man mouth the word “Friday.” He nodded his agreement, turned back to the courtroom.

“All right, Mr. Glenwood. I am allowing this as evidence.”

“Objection.” Logan’s voice was as weak as the hand holding the papers. “This has no bearing on the case, Your Honor.”

“Overruled. Proceed, Mr. Glenwood.”

Marcus handed the witness a copy of the document. The man was clearly reluctant to take hold. “Would you state for the jury the nature of this document?”

“I—this is confidential, you shouldn’t—”

“Does it not contain a list of the business leaders who traveled with the President to China on that trip five years ago?” Marcus waited through the silence, letting it settle and squeeze. “Answer the question, Mr. Hadley.”

“It appears … Yes.”

“All right. There are two names marked halfway down. Would you please tell the jury what those names are?”

The witness mumbled an inaudible response, which was fine with Marcus, for it gave him a reason to trumpet, “Do they not belong to one Mr. James Southerland, chief executive officer, and Frank Clinedale, assistant chairman of the board, of New Horizons Incorporated? Does this not suggest that these men went to China to solve the pirating problem once and for all? Did they not decide then and there that it would be better to establish a joint venture and share profits, rather than risk years of further lost revenue? Answer the question, Mr. Hadley. Has the State Department not been reluctant to supply these depositions precisely because they are terrified of this coming out?”

“No.” The man had sweated a stain the entire way around his collar. “That’s not it at all. I don’t know anything about this. Nothing.”

“Fine.” Judge Nicols cracked the word like a whip. “In that case, the State Department will have no objection to supplying this court with those depositions immediately. And State is hereby sanctioned to
the tune of ten thousand dollars per day for every day the depositions do not arrive. And you, sir, are hereby ordered to remain in Raleigh and on call to this court until the depositions arrive.”

“Judge, I can’t, I’m scheduled to fly—”

“You are so ordered,” she snarled. “I would be delighted to find you accommodations in the local holding pen if necessary.”

L
OGAN KENDALL’S FURY carried him through a battery of protests, mostly from females, all of them rising in tone and temper as he marched on. He did not run, but his stride was such that few could have caught him without jogging, which was hard to do within the staid confines of Randall Walker’s law firm. The complaints that followed him had alerted Randall’s secretary, who was in the process of rising and moving to block the door when he appeared. Logan said nothing, just looked at her, his raging glower enough to halt her in midstride. Which was good, for he had no desire to release what he contained upon anyone other than the man himself.

But he had no choice, for when he opened the door and stormed the inner sanctum, he found Randall seated at the coffee table with a silver-haired couple. Logan held Randall with his gaze, and said simply, “Get them out of here.”

“Really, Logan,” Randall drawled, trying for a light tone. “There are better ways to get my attention than—”

“Glenwood came up with yet another surprise,” Logan snarled. “You and I are going to have it out—right here, right now. This is your last warning.”

Randall seemed to deflate, all the bonhomie and superiority flowing out with his sigh. He looked at his secretary crowding into the doorway behind Logan and said, “Perhaps you’d be so good as to show my guests down to Sandra’s office.”

The two silver heads turned as one. The male client had the cultured tone of trust funds and genteel afternoon teas. “Really, Randall. This won’t do.”

“I’m sorry, Stanley. Truly I am.” Randall struggled to his feet. “But we have an ongoing crisis here that I cannot entrust to anyone else.” When the two had left, Randall returned heavily to the sofa. “Have a seat.”

Logan remained firmly planted where he was. “Marcus Glenwood came up with documents that tie New Horizons to official complaints rising all the way to the White House, Randall. The White House.”

The older man’s gaze seemed to go vacant. “Oh my.”

“The judge has slapped a ten-thousand-dollar-per-day penalty on the State Department until the depositions are received. She has put off further testimony until Friday, at Marcus’ request. He could have asked her to tango and she’d probably have agreed. She didn’t even notice when I waived my right to cross-examine the witness.”

“Yes,” Randall said quietly to the empty space before his eyes. “I imagine Judge Nicols was rather irate.”

“Is that all you’ve got to say?” Logan had a sudden urge to lift the coffee table and send it crashing down upon this pompous balloon in a three-piece suit. “Do you have any idea what you’ve done?”

“I can only imagine—”

“No! If you did, you’d find some hole to crawl into and die!” Logan shouted the last word so loudly it seemed to stretch his throat out of shape. Not that he cared. “I fought my way out of South Baltimore, made it to the top of my law-school class, worked hundred-hour weeks, made partner, and for what? So some slimeball like you could come by and set me up for Marcus Glenwood to use as target practice?”

Randall drew his gaze upward, focused with effort, and waved vaguely at the chair opposite him. “Please sit down, Logan.”

Logan reared back and kicked the chair so hard it catapulted over the coffee table and cracked the wall paneling. The sound reverberated like thunder. Beyond the closed door, voices rose in strident concern. Logan lowered his face until it was inches from Randall’s, a fear of litigation the only thing that kept him from tearing the man limb from limb. “My reputation was on the line here, and what happens? My
client
puts me in the position of lying before the court
again!
And this time in front of a sitting jury!”

“Logan, you have—”

“If Nicols gets it into her skull that I’ve been intentionally holding back, she’ll have me disbarred!” He wiped the spittle from his
chin with a shaky hand. “I’m walking. I’m off the case. I’m calling the paper and making a public proclamation. I’m telling everyone who’ll listen how I’ve come into evidence that makes me suspect that my client has not only been lying, but they might actually be guilty. And then I’m suing you, Randall. I’m going to have you stripped down to your sorry silk shorts and kicked right out on the street.”

Randall slowly shook his head, defeated not by Logan but by whatever it was graying his cheeks. “You’re not going anywhere.”

“Watch me.”

“Believe me, Logan. This is the case you’ve always dreamed of.” But there was no pleasure to the announcement. Only defeat. And worry. “I’m sorry to say.”

Logan realized his chest was hurting. And his foot from kicking the chair. “I’m listening.”

“We told you nothing because there was nothing Marcus could know.” Randall’s voice had the sound of reeds rattling in the wind, toneless and weary. “We used your ignorance like a firewall. One that could only be breached by Marcus having information he could not logically possess.”

“But he did, Randall. He did.”

“Yes.” Accepting the news aged him further still. “And what he doesn’t have yet, he will soon. He must. He’s gone too far not to come up with it all.”

“I’m not convinced of anything except you’re a lying dog.” But the wind had left Logan’s sails, and he knew his voice revealed it. “And I’m still planning to walk and sue unless you can convince me otherwise.”

Randall did not seem to hear him. “Marcus is going to hit the core issue, and at the rate he’s digging it won’t take much longer. When that happens, you and your career are both going to be catapulted into instant stardom.”

Logan backed up three paces, leaned upon the corner of Randall’s desk, and crossed his arms. “I want it all. Everything, right down to the final word.”

Randall made a vague effort at flattening his vest against his hollowed chest, and said simply, “Get ready for the surprise of your life.”

M
ARCUS SPENT Wednesday and Thursday tending to legal matters that had been left abandoned since the trial began. Charlie Hayes arrived and remarked over the strange man gardening in October, then set to work beside him. Marcus waited for a call from Kirsten and ached mildly at her continued absence. Questions about Gary Loh and other secrets came and went like shadows beneath windswept trees. Even so, at times he felt ready to let the mysteries lie unresolved, if only he could have her nearer in body and spirit.

The
News and Observer
made much of Tuesday’s courtroom disclosure, and on Thursday morning Marcus fielded calls from both the
Washington Post
and the
Atlanta Constitution
. It took the Richmond paper until that afternoon, and the Charlotte paper did not call until he was preparing to leave for dinner. He answered with patient thoroughness, going through all he was able to substantiate by public testimony. Yes, New Horizons had undisclosed international subsidiaries. Yes, it appeared that there was some hiding of profit from the tax authorities. Yes, they were reviewing allegations that the company operated offshore sweatshops. Yes, there were indeed other cases that detailed how the company used underage, underpaid workers in Southeast Asia and exposed employees to cancer-causing materials. Yes, he had written documents to back up these claims. No, he could not make any comment with regard to the missing woman, but they were welcome to call and interview her parents.

Thursday evening he dined in with Charlie and Boomer and Libby Hayes and their eldest son, back from Wake Forest for a long weekend. They ate in the formal dining room off Spode dinnerwear
custom-made with an angry Carolina ram’s head delicately painted upon every plate, saucer, cup, and bowl. Boomer made much of Marcus’ new housemate, a man whose name Marcus did not even know, who continued to sweep each room of the house daily for bugs of the metallic species. Charlie laughed much and ate little. Marcus realized that none of them wished to disturb the fragile evening’s tranquillity with anything so onerous as the truth about Charlie’s illness. Marcus marveled at their easy laughter, the friendship, and the tight bonds of a family facing something so painful they could not even bring themselves to discuss it. Instead, they showered Charlie with every possible opportunity to laugh, to quarrel, to shine. Marcus found himself with little to say, he was so caught up in observing a spirit he had assumed was lost and gone forever.