Suzy's Case: A Novel Page 31

  “Still listening. Go on.”

  “To my understanding, Statement Number Two lays everybody involved out for dead. However, Dr. Smith doesn’t wish to see anybody else get taken down over this, including you. It’s why she made the two statements with these precise instructions. She refused to give me Statement Number Two specifically so I wouldn’t use it in an unintended manner should the case settle this afternoon. Moreover, Dr. Smith has instructed me to give you Sergeant Roosevelt’s cell phone number so you can verify with her that she has an envelope in her possession marked Statement Number Two. The sergeant has specific instructions from Dr. Smith to give it to the jailhouse press unit at seven this evening, telling them also that the doctor agreed to be interviewed so her story could break on the evening news if the case hasn’t resolved. Now, do you want me to read Statement Number One to you, or would you like to continue your charade of innocence?”

  “You can read it to me,” the Weasel responds, “but don’t infer from my curiosity any credibility with regard to your case.”

  “Whatever you say. Statement Number One reads and I quote: ‘Valentine’s Day.’ End quote. That’s it. That’s all it says. I’ll fax it to you when I get back to the office. You still there? Hello? You still there?”

  “I’m here. Fax it to me.” Click.

  “Clever, my lawyer is clever,” June says. “I hope it works.”

  “Me, too, June. I have no idea why Smith drugged and kidnapped me, but it was right after he read my papers laying out what happened here. He wanted to keep the truth buried, and now it is, literally, with the Smiths. We’ll probably never know their connection, but if this works, who cares?”

  Trace pulls to the curb in front of my building. “You guys stay here in the car,” I say. “I have some things I need to do in private. When I’m done, I’ll come back down.”

  I go up to my office as quick as I can hobble. You never want a witness to a crime, and what I’m set on doing is a crime. All I can hope is I’ll never be tried and convicted. What I need to do now is look at Suzy’s file for something very specific to my intended malfeasance. Bingo. I find and take out Dr. Smith’s rejection letter, along with the three handwritten pages she attached to it.

  I take out my orange highlighter and start highlighting the letters and numbers. I have every letter except for a capital V. Good enough. I open up my middle drawer and start fishing around. Next, I pick up a black fine-point marker. I take the cap off and test it to see if it still has juice. It does. I write over the highlighted letters and numbers, making them as dark as possible. Before capping my fine-point, I write over Dr. Smith’s signature at the bottom of her typewritten rejection letter. I open the paper compartment of my printer and take a clean white piece of paper, in order to start the tracing process. The V is my original, but the rest of the letters are an authentic forgery. I love it: authentic forgery.

  When I’m done, the paper reads: “Valentine’s Day,” with Dr. Smith’s signature traced underneath the message and Rosie’s signature, likewise under that. I take out the notary stamp and press it down between the two signatures and the “sworn before me” language and date I entered. This means that Dr. Smith’s signature was, in fact, legally, made before a notary public of the state of New York.

  I fax my forgery to the Weasel with a handwritten cover note that reads: “June, Suzy, and I are going to Judge Leslie Schneider’s courtroom. We will see you there to place the settlement on the record. Come with big authority. I will not take a penny less. But don’t worry, I won’t shake you down, despite our disproportionate bargaining positions. I only want that justice be served and my client be compensated fairly. If you’re a no-show, that’ll be okay, too. It’s your career.”

  Before walking out, I get the text I’ve been waiting for from Barton. It reads: MISSION ACCOMPLISHED. ENVELOPE DROP MADE. I WANT ALL MY VISITS TO THAT DETENTION HOUSE TO BE VOLUNTARY. PEACE.

  The Game Is Afoot

  Trace takes us downtown. On the way there’s a call from someone I assume to be the Fidge. Trace’s side of the conversation is “Uh-huh … uh-huh … uh-huh … yeah … see you in fifty.” He pulls up in front of the Supreme Court building at 60 Centre Street and says to June, “Baby, can you make it on your own? I got a matter to attend to.”

  “You know I can.” They share a smile. They’re really good friends with an amazing relationship, and I remind myself they’re not married.

  I look out at the court building and curse Henry Benson. This case could have been brought in Kings County instead of a New York County venue, the latter being much worse for the plaintiff because of a more conservative jury pool. The thing is, Henry’s office is right across the street from 60 Centre, so he’s more concerned with his own convenience than the best interests of the client.

  I direct June to take Suzy around to the back of the building, where the handicap-accessible ramp is, and I go up the front stairs. I want to get to the courtroom as soon as possible to make the necessary arrangements.

  I enter Judge Schneider’s courtroom and check the wall clock. It’s three-forty-five. Every single person who works in this building is part of one union or another, so four-fifty is the deadline time for the Weasel’s arrival. Five minutes later, June enters pushing Suzy.

  There’s not much going on except for a conference between five attorneys. Toby Wasserman, the judge’s law secretary, is ruling on the argument. After they clear the courtroom, she comes over to June, Suzy, and me. Dog is hidden in June’s big bag. “Can I help you?”

  “I’m the attorney on the Suzy Williams matter, and these are my clients.”

  Toby Wasserman turns to June. “Nice to meet you. I know you were here recently when your lawyer was in the hospital. Your handbag left quite an impression on the judge. She’s been talking about it ever since.”

  “Thank you,” June says. She looks pleased at the compliment, but distracted. Then, unexpectedly, she adds, “I design them.”

  “You’ve got talent.” Toby turns back to me. “Yes, we got a call from Lily at your office. If you need to put a settlement on the record, the judge will come down from chambers and we’ll call in a court reporter. By the way, how are you feeling?”

  “Fine, thank you for asking.”

  “What was it like being in a coma?”

  “Surreal and peaceful. Why do you ask?”

  “It’s not every day you meet someone who’s been through something like that.” She heads back to the judge’s chambers.

  This coma thing is definitely a whole new social platform.

  An hour goes by and no Weasel. We continue to sit and wait. When the wall clock reaches almost five, Toby comes out from behind the wooden door. “I’m sorry. We have to close up shop. You can always come back tomorrow or the next day or at any time during normal hours if you need to put a settlement on the record, but we can’t keep a court officer, a court reporter, a court clerk, a law secretary, a judge, and the rest of the crew it takes to run a courtroom after hours. It’s against the terms of certain bargaining agreements.”

  I look at June. She looks at Suzy. “Not sch-weet, not sch-weet, no Vegas,” Suzy says.

  “Time to go,” I tell them. “No worries, June,” I say in the most convincing manner I can. “I have Dr. Mickey Mack finding us a new expert as we speak. Once we defeat the motion to dismiss and the judge grants us permission to make the electrocution and punitive damages claims, we’ll have momentum again. If it doesn’t resolve after that, we’ll win before a jury and receive the largest jury verdict in history based on circumstantial evidence. I promise, everything’s going to be just fine.”

  June looks deep into my eyes. “Those are the very words Dr. Valenti used outside Suzy’s hospital room just before she was electrocuted.”

  Grabbing the handgrips on the back of Suzy’s wheelchair, she turns her toward the door. Toby, sensing June’s disappointment, speaks to us again. “We’re here if you need us during normal hours to place a settleme
nt on the record. Have a pleasant evening.”

  June pushes Suzy down the narrow aisle. “I got the door,” I tell them. I hobble around the wheelchair and pull the brass handle. Just at that second, in stomps the Weasel.

  She is trailed by two people who also walk by me as I hold open the door. They come to a halt, being blocked by the leg braces jutting out from Suzy’s wheelchair. They look down. She looks up. “Sch-weet.”

  The Weasel squeezes angrily around Suzy toward the bench, the pair of stooges following in tow. As they make it to the wooden fence known as the “bar” that separates the people involved in the litigation from the general public, the Weasel looks back at me. “Well, are you coming? Let’s do this.”

  As I drag my leg forward, my adversary points to her colleagues. “This is Joel Glendale, the hospital’s independent counsel, and this is Sean McClain from Evergreen Structured Settlements, whom I brought to run some numbers if need be.”

  Toby Wasserman, having made an about-face from her attempted exit, approaches. “Sorry, people. This part is shut down. Come back in the morning.”

  “Not before we put a settlement on the record,” the Weasel says. “Call the judge down and get a reporter in here.”

  “No can do,” Toby replies.

  “Yes can do,” McGillicuddy counters. “I formally request that you make a call to chambers and tell the judge we’re in the courtroom waiting for her and a reporter to place a settlement on the record. It’s five minutes to five and none of the union agreements will be violated. Pursuant to article 3B, if all counsel are present and ready to proceed before five, which they are, we’re permitted to place a settlement on the record in the interest of judicial economy, even if we run past the hour. I’ll have you know I’m on the state’s Judiciary Committee, and if the judge doesn’t come down, this matter will be reviewed, as will her practice of keeping her courtroom clock set ten minutes fast.”

  Toby walks over to the desk next to Judge Schneider’s bench, sits down, and picks up the phone.

  June tugs on my jacket. “What’s going on?” she whispers. “Why can’t we just settle the case? Everybody’s here.”

  “In order for a settlement to be legally binding on both sides without there being a chance of one party backing out,” I explain, “it has to be settled in open court, on the record, before a judge. The committee the Weasel spoke about is a group of lawyers who review the conduct of judges. They wouldn’t look favorably on a judge not being available during working hours when the attorneys, independent counsel, and a structured-settlement guy were all in the courtroom waiting to put a settlement on the record. Let’s take a seat and see what happens.”

  Toby’s still on the phone, presumably with the judge. When she finishes, she makes two more calls. Then, addressing us, she says, “Everyone who needs to be here is on their way.”

  As the judge enters, she finishes zipping up her robe. “All parties please note their appearance for the record.” When she speaks, the mood of the room changes. The game is afoot.

  Since I represent the plaintiff, and the plaintiff has the burden of proof, most anything that has to be done or said in the courtroom starts with me. I give my appearance as such in the appropriate dignified manner.

  The Weasel places her appearance on the record and the appearances of the hospital’s independent attorney and the money person as well.

  The judge addresses all of us. “Counsel for both sides, we’re going to go off the record for a moment.”

  The reporter ostentatiously raises her hands after striking the last key. “Thank God,” she murmurs. Quite the complainer. I mean, we gave only our names. If she thinks this little exercise is painful, she wouldn’t exactly have cherished my last few days.

  The Weasel and I approach the bench and step up on the little platform. “So, what do we have going on here that brought me from chambers at this late hour?”

  The Weasel responds by addressing the bench. “Judge, we’re here to settle the case. By settling this case we are not admitting, conceding, or confirming anything was done wrong or that liability attaches. We’re settling it for reasons that may have no relation to the claims made by plaintiff’s counsel. Simply stated, we just want the case done, to eliminate the uncertain conclusion of a jury trial.”

  “As long as it’s off my docket,” the judge informs us, “I don’t care why you’re settling the case—that is, as long as the child is fairly compensated. I won’t sign an Infant’s Compromise Order otherwise. So, what’s the settlement number? Present value, of course.”

  It’s at this very moment I realize I’ve never given the Weasel a settlement demand, which is how such negotiations normally begin, but this is no normal case. “Counsel knows the value of this type of injury,” I state. “I’m listening.”

  “We took the numbers from your Life Care Plan,” the Weasel says, “and intend to pay it to the penny, four-point-two million.”

  “Perfect. Now Suzy’s future medical care and special needs will be covered and she can go off Medicaid. What are you adding for her past and future pain and suffering and loss of enjoyment of life?”

  The Weasel sighs. “We’re prepared to offer another three million for the pain and suffering, for a package of seven-point-two.”

  “You’re low and you know it,” I tell her.

  “I’m here to close the case and save where I can. What were you thinking?”

  “Five million, not a penny less, for her pain and suffering. It’s not negotiable. We close Suzy’s case at nine-point-two. I’d suggest your structure guy can take this up-front lump sum, place it in a conservative annuity, and project a thirty-five-million-dollar payout over the course of her expected life. I’ll be using Brian Levine from Structure Solutions as my settlements consultant to check on Evergreen’s numbers. I also insist on having the payments guaranteed for thirty years in the event of Suzy’s premature death.”

  “As tragic as this little girl’s condition is, that sounds awfully high,” Judge Schneider comments.

  “Judge, my client seems to have some understanding of her unfortunate imprisonment and what’s going on around her. In a strange way that I cannot put into words, she has a jovial acceptance of her life predicament. She’s happy and excited and sad and down at just the right moments in response to her environment. The number’s nine-point-two without getting more into the specifics of this matter—and counsel knows what I mean.”

  “Judge,” the defense now requests, “may I have a moment to confer with the hospital’s private counsel and the structured-settlement representative?”

  “Go ahead.”

  The Weasel walks away and begins her discussions. I turn and give June an affirmative nod and she responds with a smile.

  “You may join your client, counselor.” That’s the judge’s way of saying go away. We sit and wait, and neither of us says anything. I see Dog’s little nose poking through June’s bag. After ten minutes of corner whispering, the henchmen break their huddle. We approach the bench.

  “We have a settled case,” the Weasel declares. “I’ll forward you the appropriate closing documents and included in the package will be a nondisclosure agreement. This will be a sealed settlement, or no settlement at all. Let’s place this on the record.”

  “I hate being a part of the medical community’s continued suppression of their malpracticing ways, but the interests of my client outweigh my personal beliefs, so fine, nondisclosure it will be.”

  The judge bangs her gavel twice. In a loud clear voice, she pronounces, “Mazel tov, people. We have a settled case.”

  “Judge,” I say, “I can’t step on the glass yet.”

  “What do you mean?” McGillicuddy asks.

  “Well, June Williams has a claim for the loss of Suzy’s services and she has just about given up her individual existence to take care of her daughter twenty-four/seven.”

  Judge Schneider nods in agreement. “That’s very true. Toby tells me she designed her fa
bulous bag I admired so much last time she was here. She might well have made a career out of that.”

  The Weasel is furious. “Why didn’t you bring up Ms. Williams’s claim for loss of services when we were negotiating?”

  “Well, I was addressing Suzy’s claim first.” I pause, then motion for her to come a little closer for privacy. “You’re not going to take the position in front of the hospital’s lead counsel that you forgot about June’s claim, are you?” I whisper. “I mean, that’s the guy who hired you and your law firm to save them money. I would suggest that’d be a foolish position.”

  The Weasel knows I’m right. I can see it in her face, along with her anger.

  I glance back at the judge, who’s not paying attention. But then she says, unexpectedly, “It would look pretty bad if you took issue, like you forgot about her claim.”

  The Weasel is pissed. “What do you need to close June’s case?” she demands.

  I put my pinky up to the corner of my mouth in Dr. Evil style. “One million dollars.”

  “Yeah, baby.” The judge can’t resist making an Austin Powers reference of her own. The Weasel is not entertained.

  “The Appellate Division has never sustained more than five hundred thousand dollars for a loss-of-services claim,” the Weasel declares.

  “We’re settling the case, not litigating it subject to appellate review. One million is fair under the circumstances.”

  The Weasel shakes her head. “Give me a moment,” she mutters, stalking back to her cohorts.

  I look back at June again, who mouths, What’s going on? I mouth back, Sch-weet, Vegas, sch-weet. She smiles.

  The Weasel’s at my side again. “They won’t pay a penny more than seven hundred fifty thousand.”

  The judge looks down at me like I’d be crazy not to take it. “Can I bang my gavel now?”

  “Bang away, Your Honor.”

  She does. “Mazel tov again, for sure, everybody. Who wants to place the settlement on the record?”