But there was nothing she could do other than wait. Ten minutes passed. Then ten more. And finally Clayton rose.
Thank God He was going to check on something. She would grab the remaining stack and flee with it to her cubicle, looking through it there. Then -
Her gut jumped hard Clayton wasn't leaving the office at all. He needed to use the rest room and was walking directly toward where Taylor Lockwood now hid, a room without a single closet or shower stall where she might hide.
"Bench conference, your honor?" Mitchell Reece asked. He was standing in front of the plaintiff's table.
The judge looked surprised and Reece could understand why. The trial had just started. The opening statements had been completed and it was rare that a bench conference – a brief informal meeting between lawyers, out of earshot of the jury – should occur at this early stage, nothing had happened so far that the two attorneys could argue about.
The judge raised his eyebrows and Hanover & Stiver's slick, gray-haired lawyer rose to his feet and walked slowly to the bench.
The courtroom was half empty but Reece was distressed to see some reporters present. He didn't know why they were here, they never covered cases of this sort.
Someone's political hand? he wondered.
At the defendant's table sat Lloyd Hanover, tanned and trim, his hair combed forward in bangs, his face an expression of blasé confidence.
The two lawyers stood at the bench Reece said softly, "Your honor, I have a best-evidence situation I'd like to move to introduce a copy of the promissory note in question."
Hanover's lawyer turned his head slowly to look at Reece. It was the judge, however, who was more astonished. "You don't have the note itself?"
No one in the jury box or elsewhere in the courtroom could hear this exchange but the surprise on the jurist's face was evident. Several spectators looked at each other and a reporter or two leaned forward slightly, sharks smelling blood.
The Hanover lawyer said tersely, "No way. Not acceptable. I'll fight you on this all the way, Reece."
The judge said, "Was it a negotiable instrument?"
"Yes, your honor. But there is precedent for admitting a copy at this stage, as long as the original is surrendered before execution of the judgment."
"Assuming you get a judgment," the Hanover lawyer countered.
"Bickering pisses me off, gentlemen." When the jury wasn't listening the judge could curse to his heart's delight.
"Sorry, sir," Hanover's lawyer murmured contritely. Then he said, "You prove to me the note's destroyed – I mean, show me ashes – and then you can put a copy into evidence. But if not, I'm moving for dismissal."
"What happened to the original?" the judge asked.
"We have it at the firm," Reece said casually. "We're having some technical failure accessing it."
"Technical failure accessing it?" the judge blurted. "What the fuck does that mean?"
"Our security systems aren't functioning right, as I understand it."
"Well, wouldn't that be convenient, to have the note disappear just now?" the Hanover lawyer said. "Especially since we intend to call into question certain aspects of the execution of the note."
Reece gave a bitter laugh. "Let me get this right – you're saying that you gladly took my client's money but now you're not sure they executed the loan agreement correctly so you don't have to pay it back?"
"Our thinking is that the bank tried to give itself an out because interest rates turned and they want to invest the capital elsewhere."
"Your client missed six months of interest payments, " Reece said, raising his voice just loud enough for the jury to hear. "How exactly – '
"Was I not making myself goddamn clear? No bickering, no fucking comments on the merits of the case in a bench conference. Now, Mr. Reece, this is very unusual. A suit on a note, especially a negotiable note, requires the original document. Under the best-evidence rule if you can't explain the note's destruction, you're precluded from entering a copy into evidence."
Reece said calmly, "I'd like to make a motion to submit other evidence of the existence of the note."
"Your honor," opposing counsel said, "I would point out that it is Mr. Recce's client that sued on the note it alleges is properly executed. It is his responsibility to present that note. A copy won't show that there's been tampering on the part of Mr. Reece's client."
Reece countered, "Your honor, it is very important that the administration of justice not get bogged down in technicalities. The note is merely evidence of the debt owed – and remaining unpaid, I should point out – by Hanover & Stiver. It is true that the best-evidence rule generally requires the original but there are exceptions. We're all familiar with the rules of civil procedure, I'm sure."
"But this isn't a bill of sale, Mr. Reece," the judge said. "It's a negotiable instrument worth hundreds of millions of dollars."
"With all due respect to Mr. Reece," the Hanover lawyer said, "I am reminded of a case once in which a similar claim of a missing note was made and it turned out that the document in question had been sold by the bank to a third party. I would never suggest that New Amsterdam Bank was guilty of such wrongdoing but we can't take that chance."
Reece walked to the counsel table and returned with some documents. He handed one copy to the lawyer and one to the judge. "Motion papers I move to allow the introduction of secondary evidence of the note I've briefed the issue in here. If you would like to recess for twenty-four hours to allow my opponent here to respond -"
"No more delays," the judge snapped. "This case has fucked up my calendar enough."
The other lawyer shook his head. "You lost the note, Reece, I'm ready for trial. Your honor, I move for a directed verdict in my client's favor."
The judge flipped through the lengthy brief that Reece had prepared then lifted an impressed eyebrow. "Good work, Mr. Reece Brilliant analysis." Then he tossed the brief aside. "But it doesn't cut it. No secondary evidence will be allowed."
Reece's heart sank.
"On the other hand, I won't grant a directed verdict for Hanover. What I will do is grant a motion to dismiss without prejudice. That will allow Mr. Reece to bring his case in the future. However, given the nature of defendant's financial condition, I doubt they'll have much money for your client to collect, Mr. Reece. You'd better talk to your malpractice earner. I think your client may look to you for restitution in this matter. And that's to the tune of two hundred and fifty million dollars."
The opposing counsel began the formalities. "Your honor, I move for dismissal of -"
"Mitchell!" a woman's voice called from the back of the courtroom.
The judge looked up, glaring at the intrusion. Everyone in the gallery and the jury box swiveled to watch Taylor Lockwood hurry down the aisle.
"It's customary to ask permission before shouting in my courtroom, young lady," the judge snapped sarcastically.
"Forgive me, sir I need to speak to plaintiff's counsel for a moment."
Hanover's lawyer said, "Your honor, I -"
The judge waved him silent and nodded Taylor forward.
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
"I am sorry, your honor," Taylor Lockwood said.
Judges were public servants, catering to the will of the people, but as her father had reminded from a young age, you could never be too deferential to jurists or, as he put it even to grade-school, Taylor, you could never kiss too much judicial ass.
She walked to Reece and handed him an envelope. Inside was the promissory note, looking as mundane and matter-of-fact as the copy he'd showed her at their first meeting.
Mitchell Reece took out the document and exhaled slowly.
"Your honor, at this time the plaintiff would like to introduce Exhibit A." He handed it to the opposing counsel, who looked at Taylor with a gaze of distilled hate. "No objection." He returned the note to Reece's unsteady hands.