Directed Verdict (47 page)

EPILOGUE

BRAD’S TEAM MEMBERS
accomplished little in the days immediately following the directed verdict. They were too busy granting interviews, basking in the limelight, and dreaming about ways to spend their money. Not until Friday of that week did the office return to any semblance of normalcy. Even Bella, always the workhorse, found it hard to get motivated.

She arrived at the office at 9:15 and was not surprised to be the first one there. She turned on the lights, made some coffee, and resisted the urge to grab a smoke. It was her third day of trying to quit. The prior two had ended in glorious flameouts right after lunch.

She settled in at the front desk and let the phone ring while she finished an intriguing novel about a dreamy hunk named Brandon. She didn’t feel the least bit guilty. Brad had told everyone to take the week off.

At 10:30, Nikki waltzed through the door and acted surprised to see Bella.

“Couldn’t stay away.” She shrugged.

“Me either,” Bella said. She held up a check. “The Johnson money came in today.”

“Better check to make sure it doesn’t have an extra million bucks,” Nikki said on her way through the reception area. “I’d get fired for sure then.”

Bella felt the heat rising in her cheeks. Typical Nikki. You try to be nice; you get rewarded with sarcasm. She would tell Nikki a thing or two. She stood, scowled . . . then sat back down and started counting. She made it to ten, then twenty . . . fifty . . . a hundred. She could feel herself calming down.

She needed a Camel. She stood again, her body screaming for a quick trip to the kitchen.

It would calm my nerves. I could finish the book. Nikki isn’t going anywhere.

Instead, she turned down the hallway and headed for Nikki’s office. She stood in the doorway and waited for her to look up.

“Um . . .” Bella rubbed her hands together. She had practiced this speech so many times.
How does it start again?

“What’s up?” Nikki asked. It was more of a “why don’t you hurry up and say what’s on your mind” tone than it was a question.

“Well,” Bella said, looking at her hands, “I’ve tried t-to . . . um, come down and say this about a hundred times in the last few weeks, b-but I . . . I dunno . . .”

Nikki put down her pen and gave Bella her undivided attention. “Tried to say what?”

Okay. There’s no easy way to do this. Just blurt it out.
“I’m sorry, Nikki.” She looked up and saw the blank look on Nikki’s face. “That’s it. . . . I’ve just been meaning to apologize for the way . . . for the way I’ve treated you . . .” She paused and shrugged.
This is really starting to seem like a dumb idea, even if it was Sarah’s.
“From day one.”

That was it. Her whole speech. She glanced again at Nikki, expecting . . . well, truthfully, she didn’t know what to expect.

“Don’t worry about it.” Nikki shrugged.

That’s all! No “Gee, I’m sorry too.” No “Man, that’s really big of you, Bella.” No “Great, let’s be friends now.” Just a simple “Don’t worry about it” and a blank stare. After all I put myself through, that’s the best she can offer?

A crestfallen Bella turned to walk out the door. There was no sense pushing this any further. She had tried, given it her best. Some things just weren’t meant to be. She would tell Sarah that confession and reconciliation were highly overrated.

“Wait,” Nikki called. Bella turned back around and saw Nikki coming out from behind her desk. “Can you give me a hand for a minute?”

“Huh?”

Nikki pointed to the pictures hanging on her wall. “You know . . . getting rid of these things. It’s starting to feel like an aquarium in here.”

* * *

It was Brad’s idea to celebrate at the Lynnhaven Mariner. He would never forget the first time he and Leslie came to this place. It seemed like an eternity ago. She had charmed him with her beauty and poise. He had regaled her with his stories of the law. And this was the spot where the
Reed
case was born, where Brad and Leslie decided to make new law.

But that was months earlier, and their naive idealism about the case had been shattered by the emotional scars of battle. The beautiful spring day on which they had launched their plan had yielded to this cold and drizzly November day that forced them to enjoy lunch inside rather than on the deck.

It was Sunday afternoon, six days after the directed verdict. The fickle media attention, so white-hot intense in the days immediately following the latest trial of the century, had moved on to more important matters.

Ahmed and Barnes were in custody. Leslie was preparing to go back to school in January and finish her degree. Brad and Sarah were now household names.

Brad had grabbed the brass ring, won his case of national import, and realized that there was no lasting satisfaction in such an accomplishment. One week later, the interviews were over, and the ecstasy was gone. Only the relationships remained. From Leslie, he was learning each day to treasure a woman who understood him and accepted him for who he was. From Sarah, he had witnessed the strength of a personal relationship with God, through His Son, Jesus Christ. Brad wasn’t ready to jump yet; all of this religious stuff was still very new to him. But he could not deny the comfort and contentment that both Sarah and Bella had found in their faith. He had heard Bella speak of her conversion experience. He had seen her change. And now he wondered if it could happen to him.

It was, to Brad’s way of thinking, an intensely private matter, and one he was not yet ready to discuss even with Leslie. Right now, as they finished their seafood feast, he had things of a more immediate concern on his agenda.

“So what are your plans now?” He was playing with the cheesecake Leslie had forced him to order. She seemed determined to make him regain ten pounds in one week. But as usual, she had skipped dessert herself and was nursing a cappuccino.

“I guess going back to school will seem pretty tame after this,” she said, playing with her drink. “But it’d be nice to actually have a law license if I intend to practice law.”

“What’s our future, Leslie?” he asked bluntly, embarrassed at himself even as the question crossed his lips. “What about us?”

Leslie paused before responding, and Brad looked down at his plate, pushing his cheesecake around with a fork. He loved her so much he was afraid to hear the answer.

“I could use a good tutor, if that’s what you mean,” Leslie quipped. “Especially in my legal ethics class. As you know, that’s not exactly my strong suit.”

Brad put down his fork and looked into her beautiful blue eyes. He reached out his hand without speaking, and she placed hers in it.

“I’m serious, Leslie,” he was almost pleading. “We’ve been great together, but was it all the result of the pressure and the case, or is there something special between us? something we can build on?”

He hesitated. Was it too much too fast? Would he scare her away and ruin the only part of his life that really mattered? His instincts told him to go for it. Now was the time. He would never forgive himself if he didn’t.

“I love you, Leslie Connors,” he said softly. “And I’ll move heaven and earth to make it work for us.” He squeezed her hand, held his breath, and waited.

She stared at their hands. “I promised myself after Bill died that I would never again love another man like I loved him. I thought it would be disloyal—” she stopped, blinked a few times, then continued—“and it hurt so much when I lost him.” She looked up at Brad with glistening eyes. The world around them came to a stop.

“Then you came along and had the audacity to sweep me off my feet.” A small smile. “I fought it as hard as I could, for as long as I could. But something about you and about this case—”

“Sir,” said their smiling young waitress with the bleached-blonde hair, oblivious to the moment she was destroying, “I have some good news for you.”

Brad didn’t take his eyes from Leslie. He totally ignored the waitress, pretending she didn’t exist. But Leslie cut her gaze away from Brad and up at the perky intruder.

“That’s great,” Leslie said, flashing her easy, sparkling smile. She brushed a tear from her eye with her free hand. “We’re always in the market for some good news.”

“That man in the corner has taken care of your bill,” the proud waitress said and, to Brad’s surprise, pointed to a smiling Mack Strobel, who sat with some men Brad did not recognize. He gave them a quick wave.

“That man?” Leslie said incredulously. “Are you sure?”

“Yes, ma’am,” the blonde said. “He said to tell you it was the least he could do.”

“Wow,” Leslie said. She and Brad unclasped their hands, and both nodded back at their nemesis.

“Did he take care of your tip too?” Brad asked the waitress, who was still conspicuously hanging around.

“Oh yes, sir,” she replied enthusiastically. “He sure did.”

Brad felt the need to thank Strobel. Leslie followed at his shoulder.

Mack stood and offered his hand. His eyes were glazed, and he had a smile pasted on his lips.

“Bradley!” he said warmly and loudly.

Brad winced but was determined to be gracious. “Thanks for lunch, Mack. You didn’t have to do that.”

Strobel released Brad’s hand and extended the same courtesy to Leslie. “As I told your waitress, it’s the least I can do,” Mack said, smiling. “You’ve already helped me have one of my best billable years ever, and I haven’t even started on my appeal yet.”

Strobel was talking loud enough that several of the patrons stopped eating and began staring.

“You can chase those old rabbits by my door anytime you want,” Mack continued. “In fact, you keep bringing me juicy cases like that one, I might have my firm take out keyman insurance on you. It’s plaintiff’s lawyers like you who keep old hacks like me in business.”

Brad grinned and tilted his head. He didn’t quite know what to make of the old man.

“You tried a great case,” Brad said.

“As did you, young man,” Strobel said loudly. “I just try to give my clients their money’s worth.”

“They got every penny’s worth from you,” Brad replied earnestly.

Strobel turned to Leslie. “And as for you, when you get out of William and Mary and want to start a real international law practice, I’ve got an office right next to mine with your name on it.”

Leslie narrowed her eyes, and Brad sensed that she was ready to tell him what she thought of that offer. But Strobel didn’t pause long enough to give her the chance.

“I know the fringe benefits might not be as good as Carson & Associates,” he continued with a wink, “but at least you wouldn’t have to worry about any antinepotism policy.”

He slapped Brad on the back. Brad wondered how many drinks Strobel had knocked down at lunch.

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Leslie said without conviction.

“Do that.” Strobel grinned. He was rocking back and forth, barely maintaining his balance.

“Well,” Brad said as he started to move away, realizing how little he had in common with Mack, “gotta run. Take care of yourself. And much as it helps your billable hours, I hope I don’t see you in court again any time soon. There are much easier defense lawyers out there.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment.” Strobel grinned. “And you probably won’t be seeing me in court for a while anyway. I’ll be spending the next few months jousting with the district attorney. Can you believe, after everything that happened, Aberijan retained me to handle his criminal case?”

“And you took it?” Leslie cried, wide-eyed in utter disbelief.

“It was all part of the master plan,” Strobel said, grabbing the back of the chair and steadying himself. “All in a day’s work. He pays the retainer. I take the case. And I think we’ve got a pretty good argument on entrapment.”

Brad noticed the blood rising in Leslie’s face. He grabbed her gently by the arm and steered her away.

“And we wonder why lawyers have a bad name,” Leslie murmured under her breath as they headed toward the coatrack.

Brad enjoyed helping her into her overcoat and kept his arm around her shoulder as they walked toward the door. Like a refined gentleman, he held the door open for her and for another couple on their way in. The cold November wind blasted his face as he stepped outside. He used it as an excuse to pull Leslie close.

They walked around the corner of the building to where Brad had parked his Jeep. Leslie seemed agitated by Strobel’s comments.

“Entrapment?” she asked.

“Fat chance,” Brad replied confidently. “Entrapment only works if the government entices you into doing something you wouldn’t otherwise do. And since Aberijan had already bribed a juror before you ever dealt with him, how could he make that argument? Plus, nobody enticed Aberijan to order a hit on you and O’Malley. He did that entirely on his own.”

“What about the appeal of the civil case?” Leslie asked. “Does he stand a chance?”

“I don’t think so,” Brad replied without hesitation. “You were a pretty convincing witness with some pretty damaging evidence. He may delay it for a while, but he’ll pay. And we can afford to wait now that we have the settlement check from Johnson. In the meantime, the phones are ringing off the hook with new clients. It’s nice being famous.”

Leslie put her arm around his waist. Brad’s confidence seemed to reassure her and put her mind at ease.

But his mind was not, and it had nothing to do with the case. It had taken all his nerve, but he had said it. He had shared his feelings, told her that he loved her, and waited to hear her say it in return. Then the moment was lost to Mack Strobel, almost as if Strobel had planned the whole frustrating thing.

“Brad!” she yelled and pointed toward his Jeep. He jerked his head up just in time to see it on the business end of a tow truck heading out of the parking lot and onto the highway.

Brad sprinted across the parking lot to catch the driver before he made the turn.

“Hey!” he yelled and ran faster. The tow truck was waiting for a break in traffic, and Brad had about fifty yards to go. “Hey! That’s my car! It’s a mistake! I’m a lawyer! I’ll sue!”

Brad caught the eyes of the tow truck driver as he looked in his mirror, then back to the highway. Brad was sprinting hard, closing on the truck. Ten yards to go . . . a small break in traffic . . . a spinning of truck tires on loose gravel . . . rocks and sand kicking up toward Brad . . . and the tow truck was on his way.