Leary is surprisingly calm when she says, “Your Honor, I object. This is highly inflammatory and prejudicial. On top of that, it’s absolutely irrelevant. It has nothing to do with the facts of this case, and Mr. Holloway is doing this to slander my client in front of the jury.”
“It’s relevant, Your Honor,” I say flatly. “It not only goes to her character but it also goes to her veracity. The jury has the right to judge those traits when determining whether or not to give credence to her testimony.”
Judge Henry looks back and forth between Leary and me while he considers our arguments. Finally, he gives a regretful sigh and says, “I’m going to allow the witnesses—”
“But Your Honor,” Leary pleads, and I hear panic in her voice.
“Your objection is noted, Miss Michaels. It’s now an issue for appeal. The testimony will be allowed. But Mr. Holloway, keep it narrow and do not attempt to go into sordid details. You’re only offering this evidence to rebut her denial of your request for admission.”
“Yes, sir,” I say quietly, not feeling like I’ve won a damn thing. Doesn’t matter if I keep the questions short and limited—the damage to Jenna and her case will have the force of a sonic boom.
We turn away from the bench, and again, I don’t have the courage to look at Leary. I’m afraid if I do, I’ll drop to my knees in front of the judge and the jury and beg her forgiveness.
Looking out into the gallery, I see the two witnesses I plan to call. The investigator originally interviewed three witnesses, but one of them called me just last night and left a voice mail that said she wasn’t going to show up. Her message was short and cryptic, but essentially she said, “I just can’t go through with it.” I took that to mean that she didn’t want any hand in the sordid actions of calling a woman a whore in front of a group of people.
Didn’t matter. Two witnesses are just as effective as three.
When I get back to my table, I say, “Your Honor, the defendant calls Holly Wharles to the stand.”
Then I bite the bullet and I do it.
I take a quick glance over at Leary.
Her back is to me and she’s leaning in toward Jenna, whispering into her ear. Her arm rests across Jenna’s back, and her hand is squeezing her shoulder. I can’t see Leary’s face, but Jenna raises her eyes and looks at me directly over Leary’s shoulder.
They’re filled with tears and my heart cracks farther open while my stomach cramps in shame. I swivel my head to look behind me at Tom Collier, sitting in the first row. His face is triumphant and filled with haughtiness. I look back to the jury, and they all watch Holly Wharles as she comes through the low swinging gate and walks toward the witness stand.
The clerk puts her under oath, she takes a seat, and I start to destroy Leary’s case by destroying the credibility of the plaintiff.
Easy as pie.
If I’ve calculated correctly, Leary has about a forty-five-minute head start on me, and I can’t imagine she’d be anywhere else other than her home. I’m prepared to grovel mightily.
The testimony of my rebuttal witnesses didn’t take long, and because they were a surprise, Leary wasn’t able to do an effective cross-examination. They were powerfully effective, and the jury was highly interested in what they had to say.
The minute they both testified, the jurors’ sympathetic looks toward Jenna turned skeptical and condemning. I doubted at this point that any of them remembered what a douche my client was.
Judge Henry insisted on dismissing the jurors and giving them a bit of a long weekend since it was just before lunch on Friday. He reasoned that closing arguments would take at least half a day, and he didn’t want the jury having to wait a weekend to begin deliberations. So instead, Leary and I stayed in the courtroom, and Judge Henry conducted the charge conference where we went over the jury instructions, that body of law that the judge will read to the jury to help guide them through their deliberations.
After that was finished, Judge Henry dismissed us and Leary jetted out of the courtroom. I went immediately to my law firm, where as I expected, Kratzenburg and Collier were in Kratzenburg’s office drinking scotch and gloating over those last two witnesses. Both of them were riding high, like hunters off a fresh kill.
I, on the other hand, was worried sick about Leary as well as Jenna. I’d come to admire her through the course of this case, and I hadn’t realized how much it would affect me when I hurt her.
Just before I entered Gill’s office, I heard Tom say, “I’m glad we sent the investigator back out to push at those witnesses.”
“Yeah, well . . . let’s keep that between us,” Kratzenburg said with a chuckle.
I gave a light knock on the door to announce my presence, and both men spun toward me.
“Reeve, you are a fucking rock star,” Kratzenburg cackled when I stepped into his office. “Come have a drink with us to celebrate.”
Collier just smirked at me. My fingers curled tightly into my palms, balling into fists that wanted to punch the ever-loving fuck out of his smug face.
Reaching into my pocket, I pulled out my key chain. Calmly removing one from the coil, I stepped forward and laid it on Kratzenburg’s desk. “Consider this my notice. I quit.”
Gill’s eyes rounded and his mouth popped open in surprise. “You quit?”
“I quit,” I repeated. “I’m going to clear out my office now.”
I turned to leave, but Gill snapped out of his fogged surprise. “You can’t quit. You’re lead counsel in this case. You have a duty to show up and finish this.”
Turning back around, I say, “I don’t owe you shit. You’ve sat through this trial with me. You can handle the closing arguments.”
Realizing that I was dead serious, Gill tried another tack. “I don’t understand, Reeve. You did brilliantly. I’m sure you’ll get a raise after this. Why would you want to quit the firm and this case?”
All of the anxiety, guilt, and sadness permeating my being morphed in a white-hot flash. It curled inward and when it exploded out, it was molten rage. I stalked around his desk, got right in his face, and snarled, “You want to know why I quit? I quit because you and your greedy, scum-sucking clients took pleasure today in hurting a woman whose worst crime was loving her son so much she’d do anything to protect him. You make me sick, and working for you makes me sick. It’s a stain on my soul I can’t bear anymore, so that’s why I quit.”
I didn’t give him a chance to respond. I didn’t look at Tom Collier, preferring to let time and distance hopefully start to fade him from my memory. I turned away and slammed out of his office, going to my own to pack up my belongings. I was out of there in fifteen minutes flat.
Pulling up in front of Leary’s house, I see her garage door down but a black Mercedes sedan in the driveway. If I have to take an educated guess, Ford is in the house with her right now, marveling over my evil ways.
I walk up to Leary’s front door. Before I can clear the top porch step, it opens and Ford is indeed standing there with his arms across his chest. I expect him to be thundering at me with rage, but his eyes are knowing and sad.
“She doesn’t want to see you,” he says softly.
“She needs to let me explain,” I counter as I take a step closer. Past his shoulder, I can see the inside of Leary’s house . . . her living room, part of her sunroom on the back . . . but no Leary.
“She doesn’t want to hear it,” Ford says evenly.
“Come on, man,” I plead with him. “I just need a few minutes. I have to tell her—”