CHAPTER SIX

“She’s concerned, confused. Maybe scared,” Tim Tyler’s voice said into Russell Denton’s earpiece.

Russell nodded slightly. Good, but curious. Nothing scary disclosed yet.

“What I’m about to tell you must not leave this room,” Russell said, looking directly at Jennifer. She stiffened.

“You’ve pissed her off.” Tyler’s voice came through the earpiece again. Information didn’t make sense, but Russell signaled that he’d heard clearly. Trusted his technology to read Jennifer’s bio-reactions accurately. The software was infallible.

She sat poised, waiting, anger concealed.

Good. Just the reaction he’d counted on. Confirmed Tyler’s investigation data. Her desire for Barnett’s approval and advancement triumphed over visceral reactions.

“Goes without saying,” Barnett replied.

Russell turned to Jennifer, expecting agreement.

“You think we might violate our ethics and your trust?” she asked, sharply.

Tone raised his antennae; simultaneous understanding dawned. He’d offended her honor. Perhaps she had more backbone than he’d believed. Even better.

“My terms are not negotiable,” he said. “This is a bet-my-company case. A fight I can’t lose. I will be in complete control. Every move will be handled my way.” Russell held out his hand, two fingers extended, and waved between the two of them, but he looked directly at Jennifer to dangle the carrot.

“If you accept my terms, you are the right team for the case.”

Barnett interjected. “We’re pleased you’ve selected us for a matter that’s so important to you. We’ll put the full power of Worthington, Smith & Marquette behind the case.”

Russell said, “That’s exactly what I don’t want. Not obviously, anyway.”

He and Tyler had crafted and rehearsed the lines; tested for persuasiveness; revised and honed. The point was critical. No margin for error.

Russell spoke to Barnett but Jennifer was the crucial one. “Our opponent is an individual. A young woman. We’re a large corporation. American juries notoriously grant undeserved sympathy to underdogs and ignore the truth as well as the law in our favor. We are the aggrieved party here, but to win, she must appear at least evenly matched.” He nodded in Jennifer’s direction. “I want Jennifer first chair. To demonstrate equality. Insure a level playing field. We’re entitled to fairness, aren’t we?”

Russell’s testing had proved the excuse plausible. It was partly true.

Tyler’s voice said, “She bought it.”

Barnett answered Russell’s question. “We’ll need to know what’s involved first. Right, Ms. Lane?” Barnett turned to her as a matter of feigned courtesy, Russell suspected.

Her agreement didn’t come immediately. A beat passed. Two. Russell pressed her. “I can live with those terms if you can, Ms. Lane.”

His lips curved a reassuring smile.

Jennifer lifted her iced tea glass and brought it to her lips. Russell noticed the slight tremor she couldn’t suppress. Sipped to wet her parched throat, leaving a small lip print curve on the rim.

Excellent. For a while, he’d thought her too nervous to drink anything. Now, he’d have fingerprints, and saliva for DNA testing. He’d demand a blood sample later when she was more comfortable.

Awaited her response. Based on her merits alone, the opportunity was too good to be true. By every objective measure, she was too young, too green. She lacked experience, which Barnett’s guidance would supply. Her expertise was irrelevant to Russell. He didn’t plan to rely on her legal skills.

“Okay,” she finally said, her voice cracking.

“You’ve got her. She’s in,” Tyler’s voice in the earpiece whispered.

Russell signaled Tyler, continued, “A former employee has stolen something that belongs to me. I want you to get it back.”

“Sounds like a matter for the police,” Barnett responded, smoothing his tie and folding blunt hands over the starched shirt that covered his flat, athlete’s stomach. Gold wedding band twinkled in the lamplight.

Jennifer asked. “What did she take?”

Russell’s face flushed to the bright red of his shirt. He stared into Jennifer’s eyes. Cold anger no longer suppressed. “She took everything I’ve worked for: my reputation and the future of my company.”

Jennifer flinched. The storm raged outside. Lightning flashed. Thunder followed. Rain drenched.

When decibels fell Barnett smoothed again. Even tone and relaxed pose proved his reputation for unflappable calm well deserved. “Surely she signed an employment contract?”

“If this were as simple as suing a former employee for breach of contract, I wouldn’t need pricey lawyers, would I? There is no contract. And right now, there’s no employee to sue, either.”

“Easy,” Tyler’s voice cautioned in Russell’s ear, coaxing down his impatience. “You’re scaring her.”

Abruptly, Russell switched gears. Barnett wanted Russell’s name and his money. Easy to proffer. Simple business deal. Lane wanted to please Barnett. But Russell needed more from her. A personal promise, too.

From the dossier, he knew how to hook Jennifer Lane deeper. She still had stars in her eyes about doing good in the world. Appeals to altruism motivated her, but groundwork was required.

“What do you know about hepatitis Z?” He asked.

Barnett raised his right hand, his thumb and forefinger touched together: zero.

Jennifer said, “It’s a virus that attacks the liver, right?”

“Hep Z wasn’t actually identified until 1989, although it’s been around longer.” Russell breathed deeply. Tired. “They call it the silent killer because it can lie dormant in the body for years. Similar to HIV, the AIDS virus. You can have it right now and not know you’re sick.”

Jennifer lifted the glass to her mouth again, taking a longer gulp this time.

Russell watched. “Hep Z symptoms can make you wish you were already dead. About four million Americans have it now and the infected population is growing every day.” Jennifer looked a little green. Gentled his tone. “Do you know how many people that is? It’s three times more than those afflicted with HIV. Five times more than Parkinson’s. Ten times more than MS.”

He made it personal. Saw her earrings peeking from beneath brown curls. “If you’ve donated or received any blood product, or been tattooed, or pierced? You’re at risk.”

She blanched. Dropped her gaze to the floor.

Barnett listened without comment, detached.

Russell directed his fire to Barnett. “You or your wife and children could have been infected when they received routine vaccinations. Anyone can have Hep Z. The virus is everywhere. Doesn’t respect your occupation. Or your wealth.”

He allowed his message to soak in a few moments. Drank iced tea. Left his bait on the line.

“What are the symptoms?” Jennifer asked, her voice a little hoarse.

Russell answered matter-of-factly, “None for a long time. If you’re lucky. But it usually starts with fatigue, maybe a little right-side pain and loss of appetite. Gets worse. Then liver function declines. Cirrhosis, followed by jaundice, other skin changes. Next comes vomiting blood, mental confusion.” He stopped a moment. “It goes downhill from there.”

“You’ve scared her sufficiently now,” Tyler’s voice cautioned in Russell’s ear.

Barnett cleared his throat. “Is Hep Z always fatal?”

The grandfather clock ticked in the corner of the room.

“Russian roulette.” Russell paused. “When you have Hep Z, every day is another click of the gun’s trigger, pointed directly at your gut. Today could be the day.”

Pelting rain invaded the room’s silence.

Barnett and Lane exchanged wary glances. Russell knew their work usually didn’t concern matters of life and death. As civil lawyers, all they normally did on a daily basis was push paper around and collect hourly fees. This case would raise the stakes. Were they capable enough?

Russell drove his point home. “Hep Z is a virus. There is no cure. You get it, you own it and it owns you. The man who cures a virus, any virus, will be a hero to the entire world.”

Jennifer seemed to understand at last. She cleared her throat. “Have you done that? Figured out how to cure a virus?”

A smile barely lifted his lips. He’d convinced her of Hep Z’s importance and the need for a cure. Hooked her into the case. First piece accomplished.

Russell stated his appeal. “We haven’t figured out how to cure a virus yet. But that’s why I need your help. We’ve developed a new product we call HepZMax. Close as anyone has ever come.” Russell wouldn’t exaggerate, but if HepZMax was as good as they thought, he might win the Nobel Prize.

“What does HepZMax do?” Barnett asked.

“About ninety percent effective. Puts patients into Hep Z remission. Minimal side effects. Compared to existing treatments, it’s as good as a cure.” Russell stood, walked to the window, stared at the sheeting rain flooding Tampa’s streets and rooftops. Hands clasped behind his back.

“Hep Z diagnosis is devastating,” Russell said, quietly. “Liver transplant is the only partially effective treatment. Between eight and ten thousand Americans die each year from liver failure caused by Hep Z. Rate expected to triple by 2015.”

He turned around to face them, allowing all of the anguish he felt to color his words. “Unless you find Annabelle James and retrieve my HepZMax formula, each of us, or someone we love, may suffer needlessly and die. Certainly, our fellow Americans will die. And the worldwide death rates are staggering.”

Silence lasted a full three minutes this time. Russell waited while she searched her heart and her conscience. He wouldn’t force her, and he wouldn’t hire her if she failed to care.

Barnett was first to recover. “It’s far too much work for one attorney. Jennifer’s going to need a lot of help.”

True. But irrelevant. An army of Worthington, Smith & Marquette lawyers working for Denton Bio-Medical would inflate the firm’s revenues by several million dollars and probably lift Barnett all the way to CEO.

Russell remained still. Biding time.

“She’s beginning to thaw,” Tyler’s voice predicted in Russell’s earpiece. “She’ll do it. She wants to be Barnett’s hero.”

Russell signaled again that he’d understood. “As much as I appreciate your reputation, Stuart, we must be clear on this point. Jennifer is the one I want. Up front. Head of the team. In first chair. No one else. Behind the scenes, do what you want. But whenever there’s a person attached to this case from your firm, it’s her. Alone.”

Barnett turned to Jennifer. Whispered.

Russell couldn’t hear Barnett’s pleading over the storm’s rage, but he didn’t need to. All he needed was her answer. Only one answer would he accept. But she had to get there on her own. His plan would fail otherwise.

“I’m flattered, Mr. Denton—” she said.

“Russell.”

She began again. “I’m flattered…Russell…to be chosen. I’ll do my best for you.”

Solid commitment. Russell’s belly uncoiled. She would put 100 percent into his project. He could count on her now. Excellent.

“I know you will,” he said. “I’m betting everything on you.”

Russell picked up the green folder and tapped it against his palm. “There’s only one reason to steal a formula like HepZMax. Annabelle will sell it to a competitor. When she does, the buyer will announce it. The formula will only make its owner wealthy once it hits the market.”

Jennifer said, “I understand.”

“I’ll need you to do two things,” Russell continued, listing investigative work first. “Keeping everything confidential, figure out how to flush Annabelle James out of hiding. And get my formula back from her before she sells it.”

“I’ll do my best,” she promised.

He paused a moment before he offered a legal solution. “If that doesn’t work, stop the buyer before he submits my formula to the FDA.”

“We’ll get a temporary restraining order preventing anyone from marketing HepZMax. And then an injunction until the court awards you full title to the formula,” Barnett suggested.

Jennifer shifted uncomfortably in her seat.

“What’s wrong?” Russell asked.

Tentatively, she said, “A TRO—temporary restraining order—of any kind is very hard to get. An injunction is even more difficult. Courts usually reject applications for both. The judicial system is poorly suited to prevent people from breaking the law before final rights are determined in a trial. You’ll need to prove that HepZMax belongs to you. And you’ll have to show that you have a substantial likelihood of success in the case against your former employee. Can you do that?”

Russell’s dossier showed Jennifer’s results on TRO requests were dismal. She’d won a couple of times, albeit in smaller matters. He knew the odds were against him. Didn’t expect her to win.

Russell handed her the green file folder. “You’ll need this to get started. After you’ve looked at the records, you tell me what I have to do to get HepZMax back.”

Jennifer reached for the folder, hesitantly, a perplexed look on her face.

“Something wrong?” Barnett asked.

Jennifer shook her head, as if to break some kind of spell. “No.”

“And one more thing,” Russell’s tone as intense as one whose very life might be at stake. “You report only to me. You are not to discuss my business with anyone else, inside or outside the company.”

“Of course,” Barnett replied automatically.

“Not anyone,” Russell reiterated. “Including my nephew, Blake.”

He waited until Jennifer agreed. Hoped she’d be strong enough. His nephew could be a very persuasive man.