2
Mercer couldn’t write fast enough. The trial had pushed her into overdrive and she worked through the nights. Now the story was suddenly national, and as she struggled to absorb the flood of new material, she feared getting lost in it. She was also worried that too much exposure might dampen interest in her book, whenever it was published. Thomas reassured her that the publicity would only heighten awareness of Lovely’s story.
Mercer called Miss Naomi and urged her to ask Lovely to avoid talking to anyone. Though reporters could not get her on the phone, they might try and find her in The Docks. Just keep the door locked and avoid strangers.
Late in the afternoon, Mercer and Thomas met Steven, Diane, Bruce, and Gifford at the patio bar of the Ritz-Carlton, away from downtown and prying ears. The story by Thalia Chan had gone viral and they felt like celebrating. Gifford confessed that he had introduced Thalia to the story, and once she realized its potential, he fed her bits and pieces of inside info.
Bruce, ever the bookseller, had already contacted Lovely’s vanity publisher and ordered five hundred more copies. His thin supply sold out before lunch and he was expecting a wave. And he wanted to talk to Lovely about another signing, as soon as possible.
How might the news affect Judge Burch’s decision? Steven had mixed feelings. The case was not complicated and he expected a decision soon enough. The trial had gone their way because of Lovely’s performance on the stand, but the law was not squarely on their side. There was no doubt that neither Lovely nor anyone else had claimed the island in the past seven years.
Steven took a drink and said with a smile, “Regardless, folks, this little brouhaha is over. My phone is still ringing. The African burial folks have gone ballistic. The environmentalists are cheering them on. The politicians and civil rights groups can’t wait to get involved. There’s no way Tidal Breeze can survive the attacks.”
“So we’ve won?” Bruce asked.
“Yes and no. My best guess is that Lovely has a fifty-fifty chance of prevailing. But if she loses, she still wins because the state will either yield to pressure and back down, or sell to Tidal Breeze and then watch from the sidelines as the litigation roils for the next ten years. In the end, no federal court in the country will allow an historic burial ground, especially one filled with the bones of enslaved people, to be tampered with in any way.”
Bruce asked, “Can they protect the cemetery while developing the rest of the island?”
“Doubtful. The cemetery is in the middle of the island, on the highest point. Plus, Lovely said there are other small burial grounds on the island. Friends, I hate to tell you this, but Tidal Breeze is screwed. Lovely has won.”
Bruce quipped, “I guess I need to order even more books.”
Mercer said, “And I guess I need to finish mine.”
3
The second bombshell arrived by email at exactly 9:00 a.m. the following Monday. Diane saw it first, in the office kitchen, at her cluttered card-table desk, sagging now under too much junk. It was an opinion from Judge Burch.
Both thoughtful and terse, the first five pages covered the facts, both contested and uncontested; then he spent two pages on the law of adverse possession.
His final paragraph read: “It is the opinion of the court that the Petitioner, Ms. Lovely Jackson, has met the burden of proving her claim of ownership of Dark Isle under the Florida statutes referenced above. It is therefore ordered and decreed that the title to Dark Isle shall be confirmed in her name, as the sole owner, and that the claims of the state of Florida are hereby dismissed. It is so ordered. Signed, Clifton R. Burch, Special Master.”
Within minutes, the opinion was zipping around the island. Then it went viral and the little Barrier Island Legal Defense Fund was bombarded with phone calls and emails.
4
By noon, Bruce had Bay Books ready for a party. A table near his office was covered with hors d’oeuvres, finger sandwiches, and wine bottles. And, of course, a stack of Lovely’s book. Sniffing free wine, and after being hazed by Bruce, the writers showed up. Myra and Leigh, Amy Slater, Bob Cobb. Sid Larramore from the newspaper. Several of Diane’s friends. Mercer and Thomas and two of their friends. A dozen or so loyal customers who never missed a gathering arrived in fine spirits. When Lovely entered behind Miss Naomi, she was greeted with a loud ovation. She preened and bowed and kept saying, “Oh thank you. Oh thank you.”
She declined a glass of wine but took a soda. When it was time for words, Steven tapped his glass and offered a toast to the best client he’d ever had the privilege of representing.
Bruce announced there would be a book signing on Friday. He asked Lovely to pose with her book for a round of photos, and within minutes they were posted on Bay Books’s social media.
5
Tuesday morning, Monty Martin issued a statement saying he was obviously disappointed with the Court’s ruling but had great respect for Judge Burch. He would appeal immediately on behalf of his client and was optimistic about their chances. Tidal Breeze had no intention of walking away from Panther Cay, a “futuristic project” that would provide jobs for thousands of Floridians.
Wilson Larney read the statement and shook his head. He was sitting on the sofa in his splendid office, looking at the Atlantic, having coffee with Dud Nash. No one else was present.
“How would you rate Monty’s work in the trial?” Wilson asked.
“Good. We had a bad set of facts, Wilson. Plain and simple. We didn’t know about the burial site.”
“It was in her book.”
“Yes, but we didn’t really believe her book, did we? We paid Harmon a ton of money to check out the island. They found nothing.”
“And those four guys died?”
“Yep, later. In four different places.”
“And Harmon hid this from us?”
“Yep. The truth is that once the cemetery was discovered, we were flat out of luck.”
“You know we’re getting hammered. I just got a call from our PR people. The blacks in Dade County are threatening to boycott our casinos. That’s about twenty percent of the traffic. We’re getting calls from black activists everywhere.”
“I know, I know.”
“And the chances on appeal are slim?”
“Eighty percent of the time the Supremes stick with the local judges in these types of cases. It’s a real long shot. And if we get lucky and win on appeal, then we have even bigger problems on the island. The litigation could take years.”
“How much have we spent on legal fees so far?”
“About a million.”
Wilson grimaced, as always, when discussing fees paid to Dud’s firm. “Ballpark, how much would the federal litigation cost us?”
“Twenty-five million over eight to ten years, with a good chance of losing.”
“Why are your fees so high?”