55

Three days later, President Hamilton stood next to Taj Deegan and made history by nominating the first African American woman to serve on the nation’s highest court. They cut a striking pose, both tall women who had overcome so much, and the president couldn’t resist regaling some of the high points of Deegan’s unlikely story. Her kids stood off to the side, dressed in their Sunday best, and even the Republicans must have known there was no way they could keep Deegan off the bench.

The president urged the Senate, controlled by Democrats, to confirm the appointment during its July session, before it adjourned for the month of August. The Court would start hearing cases again in the fall, and Deegan needed time to get familiar with her new job.

Now approaching eighty, Chief Justice Leonard had been appointed to the Court during Bill Clinton’s first term and ended up being a Clinton clone on the issues. He was pro-abortion, pro–affirmative action, okay with big money in politics, and wishy-washy on LGBT issues. As far as Paige could tell, he had no discernible judicial philosophy other than his deep love for the institution of the Court itself.

Leonard was a Southern gentleman from the Palmetto State who wore seersucker suits and white shoes from Memorial Day until Labor Day every year. He was unfailingly polite, gregariously witty, and the only unifying influence on the Court. He looked the part of a Supreme Court justice—neatly combed gray hair, a thin face lined with wrinkles, and thick glasses that gave him an aura of intelligence despite a reported IQ that wasn’t going to threaten anyone else on the bench.

His opinions were never quoted as the kind of soaring prose that characterized Justice Augusta Augustini’s opinions. But then again, Augustini was a former Harvard law professor and acclaimed fiction author whose opinions sometimes read more like a Steinbeck novel than legal prose. Nor did Leonard’s opinions contain the type of biting commentary that came from David Sikes, former White House counsel for George W. Bush, who loved taking shots at the liberals like Augustini. Instead, Leonard’s opinions were polite and workmanlike, designed to soften blows and avoid alienation. He was the glue that held the Court together, and it was generally agreed that he was the reason that justices Augustini and Sikes had not yet come to physical blows as opposed to just verbal ones.

The chief justice weighed in on Anderson the afternoon before the deposition of Philip Kilpatrick. Paige read the order with a mixture of relief and disappointment. She knew that Kilpatrick’s deposition would have been every bit as combative as Marcano’s. But she was fully prepared and, in some ways, actually looking forward to it.

Now her questions might never see the light of day.

The three-paragraph order from Leonard was narrowly drafted. It recognized the importance of the case and the need for a speedy resolution. This case raises constitutional issues of the highest order, Leonard wrote, including the role that the courts should play in reviewing foreign-policy decisions made by the executive branch. The president’s top-level advisers claim that even the limited discovery authorized by the trial court imposes an undue burden and represents an unconstitutional infringement into state secrets and executive authority.

Accordingly, Leonard halted the deposition of Philip Kilpatrick and any other government witnesses, as well as requests for any documents that might contain state secrets, while the Court conducted a truncated review of the case. Other discovery could proceed, as long as state secrets were not implicated.

Leonard established an expedited briefing schedule and a hearing that would take place on the first Monday in October. Though the order didn’t say so, it was clear that the Court wanted to resolve the issues well in advance of the November elections.

It took Paige a few minutes to absorb the implications. She wasn’t even admitted to the Supreme Court bar yet and didn’t think Wellington was either. But within forty-five days, her team would be filing a brief, and a month or so later Wyatt would be arguing in front of the highest court in the land.

She quickly researched the requirements for admission and determined that she had been practicing law long enough to be admitted by motion. If Wyatt wasn’t already a part of the Supreme Court bar, he could gain admission the same way, assuming that he didn’t have any currently pending bar disciplinary issues.

That thought nearly paralyzed her. If Wyatt had disciplinary issues that would keep him from being admitted to the Court, they would need to associate an experienced practitioner to argue the case. No way was Paige ready to be lead lawyer on a complicated case like this.

She got on the phone with Wellington, and they talked about the order and everything that had to be done in the next two-and-a-half months. She could hear the excitement in Wellington’s giddy voice. Every lawyer dreamed about appearing before the Supreme Court, and now the two of them would be sitting at counsel table next to Wyatt for one of the most anticipated cases of the term.

But it didn’t take long for the euphoria to give way to concern and a building anxiety. It wasn’t a good sign that the Court had granted the stay and decided to review the case. Only a minuscule fraction of petitions for review were actually granted by the Court. And it was even more rare for the Court to expedite a briefing schedule and fully resolve a motion for stay on such a short turnaround. What did that say about their chances?

Wellington was prone to worry, but Paige tried to look at the optimistic side. Maybe the Court was ready to rethink its decision in United States v. Reynolds, a decision that was over sixty years old. Sooner or later, the Anderson case was bound to end up at the Supreme Court anyway. Might as well find out now what the justices were thinking.

Later that day, Paige talked to Wyatt, who didn’t seem at all concerned about the legal aspects of the case. “This is gonna be a blast,” he said.