Applause, except for St. Amien and Bennie. She didn’t want to stop Linette now, in front of everyone, and nothing he had said fixed the determination of who would be lead plaintiff, or lead lawyer. The choice would be something she, Bill, and the big guns would hammer out in private, and the court would have to approve. The three guns would vote with their pal, and the contest would be between Linette and Bennie. For now, she held her applause, and her fire.
“Friends, I know we haven’t officially determined the class representative so soon,” Linette said, pointedly looking at Bennie, “and that is something ultimately for the court to decide. Today, I wanted to bring all of us here, so we can meet each other as friends and break bread together. On another day, we can move on to a discussion of the facts of the case, and the statements the defendant made at the trade association meeting, which gave rise to the wrong committed against all of you. And finally, we will need to determine and quantify the damages you all suffered as a result of the trade association’s grossly illegal and unfair acts.”
Heads nodded around the table, since everybody’s hands were tired from applauding.
“And we will establish a timetable for this litigation, which, as you know, will be managed more efficiently than most small countries.” Linette paused for laughter. “We need a government, and, as usual, at the head will be lead counsel and an executive committee. Reporting to them, as always, will be the briefing committee, the motions committee, the discovery committee, the experts committee…”
Bennie stifled a laugh when she realized he wasn’t kidding. Was this how class actions ran? She usually tried cases herself or with an associate, sitting second chair. She would have to play well with others. The kids still hadn’t called.
“… the exhibits committee, the damages committee, the fees committee, and although we won’t need it, the appellate committee. We will work together to divide and conquer. That’s the best way I know to assure a swift, certain, and very healthy settlement.”
More heads nodding. From across the table, Quinones interjected, “It worked like a charm in Bronson Mechanics.”
Next to him, Brenstein added, “Also Anderson-Wells. The proverbial well-oiled machine.”
Bennie had no idea what they were talking about and assumed the references were the names of cases they’d worked together. She had expected the class-action bar would be clubby, but this was the Mob. She wondered why she didn’t recognize any of the case names, at least from her legal research, and realized that none of the cases had made it to the federal reporters. They’d all settled before they got to court. Bennie looked around the table with new eyes. These were trial lawyers who never tried cases. They might have all the money, but they missed all the fun.
At the head of the table, Linette was saying, “So far there are fifteen law firms already signed on to represent various members of the class. As usual, everybody will have to pony up for the war chest. My thought is the usual ante will do, thirty grand in cold cash. I need to collect that from each of you by the end of this week.”
More nodding, except for Bennie, who couldn’t have nodded if she’d tried. Her neck had locked in place. Thirty thousand dollars? How the hell would she get that? What would she do? By the end of the week? She was so stunned she could barely focus. Thirty grand!
“At this juncture, we don’t know who the bad guys will hire as their mouthpiece, but my best guess is that it’ll be Yates amp; Gumm, in that big black building right across the street.” Bill winked as he gestured out the window. “I try to run ’em over when I can, but they’re too damn fast.”
Louder laughter from around the table.
“But make no mistake, my friends, Yates amp; Gumm is good. Very good. We may call ’em Stupid amp; Dumb, but they’re not. They’re three hundred strong and they got lawyers from Harvard, Penn, and Yale. I hear there’s one from my alma mater, Villanova, but nobody likes him much. He does all the real work.”
Laughter again.
“Whoever is on the other side of this case makes no difference, because if it ain’t Yates amp; Gumm, it’ll be somebody just as smart and experienced. And whoever it is, we’ll let ’em know that we mean business from the beginning, and that we will not relent until we have achieved justice for all of you.” Linette modulated his tone, bringing his message home. “If we all work together, we can make a just and fair settlement for everyone, no matter how large or small your damages. And that is my-and all of our-one and only goal. Justice, for all!”
Clapping surged in earnest, and Brenstein and Quinones stood up. Dostoyevsky followed, and then Bennie, and soon they all were on their wing tips, flushed and happy that victory was within their grasp, giving themselves and justice a standing ovation.
Inside, Bennie felt like crying. Thirty grand. And still no word from the kids.
Ten minutes later, she was walking back to her office, with St. Amien beside her. The sidewalks were crowded with people heading out for lunch, and Bennie eyed them as they walked by, suddenly hyperaware of her surroundings. Was Alice following her now? Could she have followed her to the restaurant? And why would she do any of it?
A gaggle of secretaries passed, laughing and talking, and then a group of first-year associates from one of the big firms hurried along. The ties of the bright young men flew over their shoulders, and the young girls carried tiny little purses. Bennie remembered when she had been one of them, working so hard at Grun amp; Chase, caring so much about her cases and the hours she billed. She had dreamed of the day when she’d be her own boss, and her life would be completely in her own control. Like now. Eek. She double-checked her cell phone, but no dice.
“Bennie, you seem quiet today.” St. Amien looked over as they walked. Whatever pomade he put on his gray hair made it glint like stainless steel in the sun. The sky above them was clear and cloudless, and he chose to pollute it by lighting up a cigarette from a superwide red-and-white pack. “Thoughts of the meeting?”
Not exactly. “You go first. What did you think of it?”
“I think Mr. Linette is quite the showman, but I also think we will achieve victory, in the end.” The smoke from his French cigarette smelled like burning ozone.
“Right on both counts. Let’s go back to my office to talk, and we can look over your complaint.” They reached the corner, then turned onto Locust Street, passing a brick rowhouse that had been converted to doctors’ offices, then another with green shutters, lawyers’ offices. The sidewalks thronged with people enjoying the ridiculously pleasant weather; none of the passersby was Alice. Bennie and St. Amien were closing in on her building when she noticed a crowd collecting. Two white police cruisers idled at the curb in front of her office.
“What’s that?” Bennie wondered aloud, and St. Amien looked down the street, squinting slightly through his acrid smoke.
“The police?”
Something’s the matter. “Oh, no.” Bennie picked up the pace to a light jog, and St. Amien stepped lively on his long legs, loose change jingling unhappily in his pockets. Two cops with light blue shirts stood around the cruiser. Their navy blue hats sat low on their foreheads, but under them Bennie could see the grave set of their mouths.
“Officer!” Bennie yelled when she was only a few feet away, hailing them. Her cell phone started ringing in her purse, but this was no time to answer. She reached the cops, her heart in her throat. “I’m Bennie Rosato. My office is upstairs. What’s the matter? Did something happen to one of my-”
“You’re Ms. Rosato?” one of the cops asked, rapid-fire. He stepped quickly to her, followed by his partner, a black woman.