Where Rivers Part (22 page)

Cyril rubbed at his chin as if conjuring memories of his own. “In Italy, we celebrate something similar. Carnevale is our huge winter festival. We celebrate with parades, masquerade balls, and parties. Children throw confetti, and older patrons pull pranks, hence the saying
A
Carnevale Ogni Scherzo Vale
, which means ‘anything goes at carnival.' For the feast of Carnevale, we Italians celebrate with bugies, which translated means ‘little liars'—a sweet fried dough
dusted in powdered sugar, meant to tattle on those who sneak off with them by leaving a wispy trail of sugar.”

She laughed then, an easy laugh. He was a great storyteller.

They chatted for several more hours, even after dinner walking the riverbank and enjoying one another's company, comparing cultures and childhood memories. A strange thing happened during their time together. She forgot to be self-conscious and nervous, and found herself laughing breezily and sharing in an open manner she had no idea she was capable of. Even when his comments grew personal.

“I see a hint of sadness when you speak of your family.”

She let her eyes meet his own, knowing yet again he saw much deeper than the surface. “My mother recently passed away.” She couldn't help it. Her eyes suddenly teared. “I'm afraid I miss her terribly.”

He touched her forearm. “I'm so sorry. I didn't know.”

“Yes, only a couple weeks ago. Here on the Riverwalk, just several blocks away from where we were sitting.” Her shoulders trembled, from the chill in the air or her emotions, she wasn't sure. Regardless, Cyril removed his jacket and draped it over her arms, his warmth and the light terpenic scent of his cologne evident.

“I find it remarkable you made yourself available to intercede with the authorities on behalf of Larimar Springs during such a personally trying time. I'm also aware you are close with Tavina Mosely. Yet you didn't buckle under the pressure.”

He knew her assistant's name, again pointing to the fact no detail missed this man. He cared enough to assimilate the things that mattered. Maybe she was being overly sentimental, especially given the raw emotion connected to talking about losing her mom, but Cyril Montavan was someone worth knowing. Instinctively, she knew this man was light-years different from the overly ambitious and self-centered Greer Latham. She needed a friend—at least she tried to tell her head that she only saw him as a friend—and hoped they'd stay in touch.

When he walked her to the parking garage and they stood at her car, he voiced the same. “Dr. Ryan—”

“Juliet,” she reminded him.

He smiled and nodded. “Juliet. I had a lovely afternoon. Frankly, I never planned to spend that much time away from the work waiting for me in my hotel suite. Regardless, I enjoyed spending this time together. I hope we'll have an opportunity to do this again.”

In a brave move, she placed her hand on his arm. “I was just thinking the same.”

She learned he was flying back to Italy over the weekend. “I've done all I can do here,” he said. “From all indications, Larimar Springs is past the most critical danger. Now all we have to do is buoy public confidence and weather the litigation we all know will come.” In an even bolder move, he tucked a stray piece of her hair behind her ear. “But I have faith things will work out.”

And for the first time since that awful day when her mother died, Juliet dared to believe the same.

 32 

T
he first lawsuit was filed on the day before Thanksgiving, at precisely three o'clock in the afternoon and in plenty of time to hit the nightly news broadcasts. Named defendants included Larimar Springs Corporation, with Harris and Alexa Carmichael and Montavan International as shareholders.

Larimar's counsel, John Davison Lucier (and yes, he liked to go by all three names), called an immediate meeting in his downtown office. Everyone on the executive board was required to attend, despite many having travel plans for the holiday.

Mr. Lucier was an intense person who seemed to take great pleasure in making people jump when he instructed them to do so. Juliet found him one of the most arrogant men she'd ever encountered.

The first time he'd shown up at Larimar, she was struck by his plastic appearance. Texas had its share of overstretched women, but rarely did you see a man so acutely preserved.

Regardless, he had some impressive courtroom wins, including defending a highly publicized cruise line when hundreds of passengers fell ill as a result of a norovirus outbreak. Victory came when Mr. Lucier convinced a Texas jury that only the ordinary head cold was more common and his client could hardly be held culpable for an illness they had no chance of eradicating.

The other thing Juliet found strangely odd was that he always sported a red tie.

Today was no different.

Wearing a slate-gray suit and a bright red tie, he stood when his receptionist showed them in, and invited them to sit. Alexa slipped into one of the guest chairs in front of the desk, with Greer quickly taking the spot next to her. Juliet held back and positioned herself with Fred and Dale on the leather sofa against the wall to the right. Ellen Shaffer moved to a chair in the corner and prepared to take notes.

He made introductions from behind a massive desk with a black marble top, with absolutely nothing on it except for a leather portfolio engraved with his name and a black enameled Waterford fountain pen. The guy also kept his credenza and bookshelves cleared of paper of any kind. In fact, the whole room looked like a showroom for executive furniture, without any files in view.

“Thank you for coming,” he said, and explained the lawsuit that had been filed was on behalf of a single plaintiff, an elderly woman who had lost kidney function and remained on dialysis. “There will be more,” he promised, explaining he'd just gotten off the phone with plaintiffs' counsel and learned several more filings were in the wings. “His plan is to file individual cases in federal court and then petition to have a class certified.”

“A what?” Fred asked.

Mr. Lucier sat straight-backed in his chair. “In layman's terms, a class action is where one representative action proceeds through the court system on behalf of a number of plaintiffs.”

“Isn't that to our disadvantage?” Greer asked.

“Not necessarily. I'll argue that administrative consolidation would be just as effective. However, I intend to move that damages be determined on an individual basis.”

He directed his attention to Alexa. “This is where we'll have an opportunity to negotiate low settlements that favor you.”

She nodded. “I only hope this litigation won't drag out for years. Our plan to go global is stymied until we get our legal matters resolved.”

“Well, if you're willing to write big enough checks, this and all future cases will go away. But I caution, that will be costly. And if I've understood correctly, you've hired someone of my skill to make sure you only have to use the company change purse.” He grinned.

Juliet's ears perked at the conversation in light of Alexa's earlier plan to pay for all the victims' medical expenses. Most of them in this room knew the financial outlay could grow to be a substantial amount, but that's why businesses carry multiple layers of liability insurance.

She scowled, hoping this guy hadn't talked Alexa into something else so he could grandstand. Ellen was right. If Larimar Springs had any opportunity to regain public sentiment, the effort would require an extraordinary show of compassion to the ones hurt in the outbreak. Plus it was the right thing to do.

Greer pulled on his cuffs and asked, “Tell us about plaintiffs' counsel. Is he any good?”

Mr. Lucier straightened even more, if that was possible. “I'm afraid he is. Leonard Paternoster is one of the premier food poisoning attorneys in the country. Don't get me wrong,” he said. “I'm going to give him a run for his money, but Leo will be an extremely tough opponent.”

Her palms went moist.

Why hadn't she seen this coming?

Of course the guy on the podium with her at the food safety symposium would rush to be involved in an outbreak of this magnitude. If the past was any indicator, Leo would paint the entire situation as a fast-moving disaster that had been entirely preventable—especially given her level of knowledge and expertise. She could even hear him using her speech that day against her.

He'd made a name for himself in this kind of litigation, and
he wouldn't stop until everyone associated with Larimar Springs' role in the outbreak had been pushed to the creek bottom, with no air to breathe.

Her fears were immediately affirmed.

“The biggest obstacle we'll face is in discovery. If any suitable fact is uncovered, Leo Paternoster will push for punitives. That's when we'll be talking serious money. I've even seen occasions where he's amended to name individual executives and board members to his list of defendants, and in some cases he's been successful.”

Greer paled. “How could he name the executives individually? We don't share ownership. And except for Dr. Ryan, none of us were charged with the responsibility for detecting pathogens in our product and keeping these organisms from harming the public.”

Juliet's blood surged. The creep was acting like a jilted junior high football jock in need of more acne medicine. Because of his bruised pride, he'd throw her under the bus at any opportunity.

Inside she dared to smile, knowing a day was coming when he'd be sorry he took that approach, given she'd soon be president and he'd report directly to her. Of course, as soon as Alexa made the announcement, Juliet fully expected that Greer would elect to resign. She took great satisfaction in anticipating that moment.

Even so, the pleasure she'd get from Greer's reaction wouldn't erase the risk she, and apparently the others in this room, faced.

Their wrinkle-free attorney had made his assessment clear.

Leo Paternoster would be out for blood.

 33 

J
uliet woke on Thanksgiving morning feeling alone and restless. Rather than sitting home feeling sad, she headed for Children's Hospital to offer Tavina a break. If she'd even go for it.

Knowing Tavina had rarely left her little son's bedside since his admittance, Juliet had arranged for dinner for her and her mom and brothers at Morton's Steakhouse. The downtown location would be close to the hospital, and the town car Alexa had made available could transport them. She'd even thought to stop at Nordstrom's and pick up fresh outfits for Tavina and her mother, and jackets for the guys.

It would do all of them good to spend some time together away from nurses, heart monitors, and plastic dining trays of hospital food. Especially on a holiday.

Tavina put up a fight, of course. Thankfully, her mother gently guided her into changing her mind, reassuring her with the promise Juliet would take her place by MD's bed and would call them immediately back to the hospital if needed. They could get back in minutes should anything come up. Besides, her mama reminded her, little Marquis DeAndre had been holding his own now for days.

“C'mon, honey,” she urged her daughter. “It'll do you good.”

Tavina rolled her tired eyes. “All right,” she said, finally giving
in. After changing in the bathroom down the hall, she leaned down and kissed her son's forehead. “Be good, little man. Mommy will only be gone for a little while.” She teared up while brushing the back of her hand across his cheek. “Bye, baby.”

The Mosely family had only been gone a short time when Juliet moved from the larger chair by the wall to a small, hard plastic one next to the gurney holding the little guy hooked up to IVs, monitors, and catheters.

His black curly hair was sweaty and matted, his skin the color of dried-out mud. Deep blue circles rimmed puffy eyelids, shiny from ointment applied to lubricate and keep his tear ducts moist while he was on the ventilator.

The sight made her throat ache and left her chest cavity weighted like rocks. She struggled to swallow the emotion.

How did Tavina do it? Sit here all day watching her baby waste away?

Recent tests indicated a possibility his bowel was bleeding internally—at least intermittently. Very soon a decision would have to be made about whether he was strong enough to survive surgery to remove a portion of his colon, which doctors hoped would eliminate a great deal of the toxins from his system but would leave him dependent on a colostomy bag. Maybe for his entire life.

Out in the hallway, Tavina's brother had told Juliet the risks were very high. By doing the procedure, complications could arise, including severe hypotension and compromised cardiac functioning.

Until the surgical team gave the go-ahead, MD mainly slept, and his anxious family waited.

She gently rubbed his little arm. “I'm so sorry, little buddy,” she said, remembering the Jack in the Box case that had pressed her into this profession in the first place.

She kept fingering his wrist, letting her mind drift to his mother. In normal times, she'd likely have ignored professional propriety
and confided in her assistant that she'd seen Cyril Montavan yesterday when she got home.

She'd try to portray her interest as merely casual as she shared he'd been married, but lost his wife to cancer nearly four years ago. One internet article said he'd taken a leave of absence and never left her side.

He was even on the board of several nonprofit foundations. One was based here in Texas and raised money for a feeding program and to build water wells in some of the hardest-hit areas of Angola and South Sudan. Another focused on ending sexual exploitation of children in Thailand. Both had Christian affiliations. A fact that would've thrilled her mother.

She could hear Tavina say it was about time for her to hook up with someone like that. “Girl,” she'd say, “life's too short to go living it alone.”

Of course, then she'd have to remind her assistant she was a pot calling the kettle black.

Together, they'd have a good laugh. Especially at her choice of words.

Tavina was like that—easy to be with, a girl who had learned to travel life holding tight to a ticket with JOY printed across the front in large, bold letters. Despite much hardship, the beautiful girl knew what mattered and didn't bother messing around with anything that didn't.

She sure didn't deserve this.

Juliet had given a lot of thought as to how she could make up for the medical horror her spunky assistant had to endure.

When made president of Larimar Springs, she'd promote Tavina and provide a compensation package that would make these ventilators and heart monitors a far distant memory. She'd help her find a house in Stone Oak, a gated community filled with families. Despite any lingering medical frailties, little MD could swim and go to camp with other kids in the affluent neighborhood, even if
a nursing companion was required. Private schools and the best colleges would be made available. Given the chance, Juliet would make things right.

She had to, because no matter what anyone said, her company was responsible for MD being here.

Suddenly, a machine to the right of the bed started buzzing loudly.

Juliet jumped from her chair, looking frantically at the foreign equipment. Another beeped—then another. And they kept beeping.

Something was terribly wrong. “Help!” she screamed.

A nurse dashed to the door. One look and she yelled in the direction of the nurses' station, “Get the crash cart! STAT!”

Immediately, medical professionals swarmed the room. Someone grabbed Juliet's arm and pulled her to the door. “Out,” she was told.

Frantic, she pulled her phone from her pocket and punched Tavina's number. When she answered, Juliet could barely choke out the words.

“Tavina—you've got to come quick.”