CHAPTER FIFTY-EIGHT

Judge Wilhelmina Carson looked down on Jennifer and Rabid Roger from her perch on the bench the way an eagle regards a couple of small ducks left alone by their mother, Jennifer thought. She felt, indeed, like easy prey.

Jennifer knew she should have been pleased that her case was reassigned to Judge Carson, through some miracle of God. The original judge had inexplicably recused himself late yesterday. Judge Carson was, thankfully, impartial. She would give Jennifer a level playing field.

Reporters filled the gallery, their writing pads in hand. Jennifer was unnerved by their presence. Why were they here? Stuart was already dead. They would have nothing to see. No reporter would be interested in her.

Clients were not present. She and Stuart had discussed this bit of strategy. This type of motion was usually a routine legal matter that did not require client participation. They’d felt Russell Denton would be better served by his absence, especially since they knew Rabid Roger would have no client to bring. Jennifer could challenge Riley to produce his client, but unless she could prove that Annabelle hadn’t hired him, Jennifer would look like a fool. Riley was too wily for that. He’d have a successful countermove planned.

Consistent with their desire not to appear to be overpowering Annabelle James, the “little gal in this farce,” as Stuart had described her, they’d decided that only the lawyers should appear.

That was then. Right now, Jennifer was living out her worst nightmare. She was in court, alone, against Rabid Roger Riley, with an audience of reporters who would record her every mistake. She wasn’t with Stuart. Even Russell Denton was absent. How could her life get any worse?

Judge Carson’s reputation as strong but fair was small comfort to Jennifer. This judge brooked no nonsense of any kind, regardless of its source. Rabid Roger would not be allowed to engage in any of his shenanigans. But neither would Jennifer get much of a break. Justice was evenly applied in Judge Carson’s courtroom.

Jennifer gathered her notes and approached the podium when the case was called. It was her motion and she was first. The podium was too tall, and Jennifer was dwarfed by it. She could only see the judge if she stood to one side and looked up because the judge was elevated on her bench. Rather than feeling at a disadvantage this way, Jennifer felt a little better being able to hide behind the tall, wooden box.

The microphones used to record the proceedings amplified Jennifer’s reticent, quiet words. She read her entire argument from the prepared text in a quaver that sometimes lapsed into complete, utter silence. Judge Carson paid close attention to every word.

When Jennifer had finished, Rabid Roger took the stage. In stark contrast to Jennifer, his delivery was masterful, his arguments cogent, his reasoning sound.

When Riley returned to his seat, Jennifer was granted time to rebut. She could think of nothing to say in response to his eloquence, even if she could have forced herself to get up there again. She declined.

Judge Carson turned toward her microphone. “Normally, on a matter so recently assigned to me, I might take a motion such as this under advisement.”

Jennifer gave silent thanks for these opening remarks. That was one of the outcomes they had hoped for. Sometimes, it took months or years to get a ruling from a federal judge. As long as the motion wasn’t denied, it was still alive and could be used in litigation and settlement strategies. If Judge Carson took the motion under advisement it wasn’t the out-and-out win Russell Denton wanted, but the result was usable. Jennifer crossed her fingers under the table and offered up a desperate prayer.

Judge Carson looked at Jennifer with something like pity. Jennifer cringed. Was it so obvious to everyone that Jennifer was no match for Roger Riley? She was ill, suffering from Stuart’s loss, and had totally disappointed everyone with her horrible performance. Jennifer tried to think positive thoughts, to influence the judge. Fortunately, most federal judges didn’t believe in oral arguments anyway. Usually, they relied on the papers and Jennifer had filed a pretty good brief. She told herself she hadn’t failed yet.

“I’m sorry for your recent loss, Ms. Lane,” Judge Carson said. “Stuart Barnett was a fine man and an excellent lawyer. We all mourn his passing.”

Jennifer looked over at Riley and was gratified to see that he looked as if a bayonet had just been ripped into his gut. Jennifer had thought Stuart’s loss meant little to Riley. Or Riley felt relieved that his only true opponent was permanently removed from the game. Now, he looked like a fish left to die on the beach when the tide receded. Jennifer felt something like satisfaction.

“Do you have anything more to add?” Judge Carson asked Jennifer. Although she was grateful for the judge’s consideration, Jennifer didn’t believe she would ever do any better on this motion than she’d done today. If she had two or three weeks to think about it, she might die of anxiety. She was better off just relying on the papers she’d filed and hoping for the best.

Jennifer stood and leaned into the microphone at the counsel table. She was amazed that her voice emerged at all from her constricted throat. “No, Your Honor. We filed an extensive brief that I know the court will consider. We’ll rest on our papers.”

Judge Carson looked at Jennifer again. “Are you sure? I’m prepared to rule, but I will wait if you have anything more to offer.”

Jennifer’s heart fell to her feet. She knew what was coming. She’d known it before she ever entered the courtroom. “I’m sure, Judge. But thank you.”

“All right, then. After carefully considering the papers filed by the parties and listening to oral arguments in open court, Denton Bio-Medical’s motion for a temporary restraining order is denied. We’ll prepare and send an order. We’re adjourned.” With that, Judge Carson left the bench, and the courtroom broke into absolute bedlam.

Before he turned to perform for the print reporters seated in the gallery, Roger Riley approached Jennifer. She prepared herself to accept the equivalent of the tennis “good game” handshake offered to the loser by the champ.

Instead, he reached over, patted her cheek, and said to her, “Don’t feel bad, sweetie. Your case was always a loser. Even Stuart Barnett wouldn’t have pulled it out. He was good, but not that good.”

Maybe Riley was trying to make her feel better, but Jennifer took the comment as a slam against Stuart, not a sop to her ego. Her head pounding, her heart broken, her tail between her legs, Jennifer had nothing more to lose.

“Roger,” she said as she passed him, loud enough for the reporters to hear. “You are a horse’s ass.”