THE next day, July 5, for the first time in her career, Mona was late for court. She was only five minutes late, but Judge Ross reacted as though she had just burned the flag.
“Have you no respect?”
“Your Honor, I apologize. My husband was involved in an accident in Los Angeles. He’s in the hospital. I was speaking with him, trying to decide whether I should return or not.”
“Well? What did you decide? Do you want your associate to take your place? Where is he?”
“No, Your Honor. Thank you, Your Honor. My associate is fetching some documents relevant to today’s proceedings. He should be here soon.”
“Very well. Then let’s proceed.”
“Yes, Your Honor. Your Honor, if it please the court, the plaintiff calls Michael Marvin to the stand.”
By the look on Ross’s face, it did not seem to please the court. However, he gave a gruff nod.
Mona waited while Michael Marvin, who was wearing a navy suit with a flag pin on the lapel, white shirt, and red tie, was sworn in. She stood leaning on her crutches, a laser pointer in her right hand, looking down at the notes she had hastily scribbled the previous night. Once the sheriff had finished swearing in Marvin, she looked up, still leaning on the table.
“Mr. Marvin, what is your role at the Border Security Corporation of America?”
“I am the chief executive officer.”
“You’re the boss.”
“That’s right.”
“And how long have you been the boss?”
“Since 2016.”
“And before that, you were employed by the BSCA in another capacity, is that right?”
“Yes. I was head of new business.”
“In that role, you were responsible for the rapid expansion of the BSCA’s operations, correct?”
“We did develop significant new business, that’s true.”
“And that was a significant factor in the board’s decision to appoint you to the top job?”
“So I understand.”
“Mr. Marvin, would it be fair to say that as CEO, you are ultimately responsible for the actions and undertakings of the Border Security Corporation of America?”
Marvin looked at the jury and said, “I am the captain of the ship, yes. But the BSCA is a huge ship. We employ more than a thousand people at thirteen institutions across the country, including forty-four people right here in Paradise. I can’t know what each and every one of them is doing at any given time.”
“Sir, perhaps I should rephrase my question. What I meant was, are you not legally ultimately responsible for everything that the Border Security Corporation of America does as it pursues its business?”
“Within the scope set down by the law, I am responsible, yes. Although I can’t claim responsibility for rattlesnakes.”
Laughter from the gallery.
“Thank you, Mr. Marvin. I’m glad you brought up the scope of the law. It’s certainly pertinent to this case.”
Mona paused and glanced at her notes. She didn’t need to read them, but she wanted to mark a pause before she opened her next point. She also needed to draw it out. She was waiting for Joaquin to bring her the missing key. Mona fetched a chart from her papers and put it on the projector. She took her time doing it.
“Mr. Marvin, can you please explain this graph to the court?”
“Sure. It shows the growth in the company’s share price over the past twelve quarters.”
“Twelve quarters means three years, right?”
“Correct.”
“Which is roughly how long you’ve been in charge, correct?”
“Yes.”
“Mr. Marvin, can you tell us what the numbers on the axes mean?”
“Sure. The vertical is the value of the company’s shares. The horizontal is time.”
“Thank you, sir. So looking at this chart, which you no doubt recognize from your annual report, the BSCA has tripled in value since you became its chief executive.”
“Yes, it has,” said Marvin. He wore a puzzled look. Mona figured he had been expecting her to hurl grenades at him. Instead, she was demonstrating how much value he had added to the company since taking charge. She turned around and pretended to look something up in her notes and surreptitiously searched the public gallery. She saw Marius Littlemore entering. He gave her a little nod. Mona smiled and signaled for the next slide to go up.
“Mr. Marvin, could you please explain this slide to us?”
“This one shows profitability. The horizontal axis is time. The vertical axis shows how much net profit we made during that time.” Marvin sounded bored.
“And this point here”—Mona used her laser pointer to indicate a bar that towered over its predecessor in the middle of the chart—“is June 2016, is that correct?”
“That’s what it says.”
“Mr. Marvin, what happened in June 2016 that sent your profits skyrocketing like that?”
“We opened two new detention centers.”
“Which ones?”
“One in Texas. And one here in Paradise.”
“And straightaway, your profits doubled.”
“Yes.”
Mona let her gaze linger.
“Business conditions are favorable, Mr. Marvin,” she said.
“I beg your pardon?”
“That’s what you wrote in your message to investors in your annual report. To quote you directly, ‘Favorable business conditions and recent policy decisions being made in Washington continue to validate our investments in new facilities along the southern border. Our new migrant-detention centers at Paradise, California, and Dawes, Texas, have already exceeded our revenue projections.’”
Marvin was quiet.
Judge Ross said, “Is there a question, Counsel?”
“Yes, Your Honor. Mr. Marvin, to what do you attribute the jump in profit?”
“You just said it—favorable business conditions and current policy decisions.”
“I beg your pardon, sir. What I should have said was, can you be more specific about what you mean by favorable business conditions?”
“A growing market. Increased efficiencies.”
“By a growing market, you mean more migrants to detain?”
“Yes.”
“Mr. Marvin, why do you think there are more migrants to detain?”
Marvin gave an irritated shrug. “Washington sets the policy, not us.”
“That’s true. But isn’t it also true that your business model depends on an ever-increasing number of migrants to detain? For instance, the capital cost of building Paradise Detention Center meant that you needed a return immediately.”
Mona paused, then carried on, “Mr. Marvin, the Border Security Corporation of America is now an entity known as a real estate investment trust. Is that correct?”
“Yes, that’s correct.”
“Is it true that the first thing you did, when you became chief executive, was to turn the company from a regular corporation into a REIT?”
“It happened on my watch, yes.”
“Can you tell us why you made that change?”
Marvin gave Mona a condescending look. “It’s complicated.”
Mona glanced at the jury.
“You mean you don’t think we’ll understand?”
“I mean it will take some time.”
Judge Ross intervened. “Where is this going, Ms. Jimenez?”
“Your Honor, I am trying to establish for the court the context surrounding the negligence that led to the death of my client. We are arguing for punitive damages, and therefore it’s vital to show that the negligence at Paradise Detention Center is part of a wider corporate malfeasance. I wish to illustrate for the court the context of profit-seeking and cost-cutting that led to the negligence that caused my client’s death.”
Judge Ross looked unhappy. “Get on with it, Ms. Jimenez.”
“Yes, Your Honor. Mr. Marvin, what are the benefits of a real estate investment trust over other types of corporate structures?”
“A REIT creates stability and security for investors.”
“Isn’t it also true that to qualify as a REIT, you need to pay 90 percent of your income back to investors?”
“Yes.”
“Which means you pay tax on only 10 percent of your income?”
“Yes.”
“So it means you pay the minimum amount of tax.”
“I wouldn’t be doing my job if we weren’t. All companies in the world carry out tax-minimization strategies.”
“I suspect that’s true, Mr. Marvin. Let’s continue. Can you please explain this slide to the court?” Mona put up another table.
“That’s our balance sheet. From our annual report.”
“Thank you, Mr. Marvin. I note that on the top line it says that in 2017, the BSCA had revenues of $1.6 billion.”
“That’s correct.”
“Farther down are your operating expenses. I note that for 2017, the BSCA had operating expenses of around $1.1 billion.”
“Correct.”
“That’s compared to operating expenses of around $1.2 billion in 2016, and $1.3 in 2015.”
“Yes.”
“Can you tell the court what the company’s operating costs were in the last year?”
“Around $900 million.”
“So operating costs have come down by almost $300 million since you became chief executive.”
“It’s my job to run the company efficiently. We’ve been running efficiency programs.”
“I’m glad you brought those up, sir. I’ll come back to them in a moment. But for now, can you tell the court how much money you earned from the federal government last year?”
“I can’t remember the exact figure, but I think it was around a billion dollars.”
“Allow me to help you, sir. According to your annual report, the federal government paid the BSCA $1.19 billion last year.”
Marvin nodded. “That sounds about right. It’s in the report, so it’s public knowledge.”
“Sir, can you see this line here?” Mona used her light pointer to point to a line on a table that read Facility Operations.
“Yes.”
“Can you read this phrase, please?”
“Sure. ‘Compensated man-day.’”
“Sir, can you tell the court what a ‘compensated man-day’ is?”
Marvin glanced at Judge Ross. This time, Mona noticed a very slight but noticeable shake of the head from the judge. She was getting close. She turned to the jury. “A compensated man-day is the fee the private-prison industry charges the government per inmate per day. Does that sound about right, Mr. Marvin?”
“That’s one way of looking at it.”
“Is there another way?”
“It’s a unit of measurement.”
At that point, the door at the back of the court swung open, and Joaquin came in. He crossed the bar, apologized vaguely to the judge, and handed Mona some papers.
“Mr. Marvin, are you familiar with the teachings of Saint Ignatius of Loyola?”
A puzzled look came over Marvin’s face.
“I’m sorry, I’m being opaque. More specifically, do you know the quote, often attributed to him, ‘Go forth and set the world on fire’?”
“I’m familiar with that quote, yes.”
“Can you remember where you first encountered it?”
“At school.”
“Where did you go to school, Mr. Marvin?”
Marvin sneered. “You know very well where I went to school.”
“Yes, but the jury doesn’t.”
“I went to Saint Ignatius Loyola Academy.”
“That’s a private Catholic prep school in Yorba Linda, correct?”
“Correct.”
“Now, Mr. Marvin, can you tell the court whether there is anyone in this room who attended Saint Ignatius Loyola with you?”
Mr. Marvin sneered again. But all he could manage was a weak answer. “What kind of question is that?”
He looked pleadingly at the judge. The judge stared at Mona. Mona held his gaze. Then she turned to Marvin and said, “I must remind you that you are under oath, sir, and are obliged to answer the question honestly and truthfully. Not to do so is a felony.”
The courtroom was dead silent, waiting for an answer.
“No.”
“You mean to tell me that you do not recognize anyone in this courtroom from the four years you spent at Saint Ignatius College in Yorba Linda?”
“That’s what I said,” said Marvin. He was visibly sweating.
Mona said, “If it please the court, I wish to introduce new evidence.”
Scott jumped up.
“What new evidence?” said Judge Ross.
“A photo,” said Mona. She asked Joaquin to give copies of the photo to the judge and Morrison Scott.
Then she put a copy on the projector for the jury to see. It was a photo of nine young men in singlets sitting in a rowing eight. The one Katrina Wakefield had shown her on the wall of the Great Hall at Saint Ignatius.
“Mr. Marvin, can you name the people in this photo?”
Marvin said nothing.
“I’ll start,” said Mona. “Second person from the right—that is, the first person holding an oar—that’s you, isn’t it, Mr. Marvin?”
No answer.
“You’re in what they call stroke position, aren’t you? The most important position, the one who sets the rhythm for the other seven rowers?”
Still no answer.
“And here, in position number five, is the late Mr. Edward Maws, the CEO of AmeriCo, the catering company that supplies Paradise Detention Center. Number five: that’s commonly known as the meat wagon in rowing parlance, isn’t it, Mr. Marvin? Number five does the heavy lifting?”
Marvin said nothing.
“And finally, here at the front—right in front of you, actually, we have the smallest and lightest member of the crew and the only member without an oar. We can’t see his face, because he’s facing forward. But you can. In fact, sitting where you are in stroke position, you’re looking directly at him, aren’t you? He’s the coxswain, isn’t he? The one who steers the boat?”
No answer.
“Mr. Marvin, do you recall the name of the person who sat a foot in front of you and steered your boat for four years at Saint Ignatius, between the years of 1988 and 1991?”
No answer.
Mona did not smile. “Let’s zoom in. Do you see this birthmark on his neck, sir? This diamond-shaped birthmark?”
She waited.
“Mr. Marvin, I remind you that you are under oath. Can you please tell the court when was the last time you saw the man in the picture?”
“I don’t recall.”
Mona did not say anything.
She waited.
Marvin kept sweating. The judge kept shrinking into his seat. Mona waited some more. Then she turned around, looked at Marius Littlemore, and said, “The man in front of you in this picture, sir—the man who steered your boat for four years at prep school—is Phillip Ross. He’s sitting right there.”
She pointed at Judge Ross.
A long, stunned silence filled the courtroom. Then a shocked murmur.
Michael Marvin looked like a deer in headlights. The judge had his gavel in hand but seemed unsure what to do. Mona allowed herself a moment to turn around and look at the audience. She could see the reporters frantically scribbling. And she could see Littlemore tapping into his phone, even though no one was supposed to bring a cell phone into court. She doubted if, at this point, Judge Ross was going to eject the DA from the room. She turned to face him.
After a long moment, he said, “Well done, Ms. Jimenez.”
“Thank you, Your Honor.”
“You’re right, Mr. Marvin and I were at school together. I did not recuse myself, and I should have.”
“No, you didn’t. Your Honor.”
“I will declare this case a mistrial, and you can begin again with another judge. I hope that satisfies you, Ms. Jimenez.”
“No, Your Honor. It doesn’t.”
The murmur that had been steadily building behind her now fell off a cliff.
Mona put the BSCA’s annual report back on the projector.
“Let us return to the operating costs, Mr. Marvin. Can you please read this line here?”
She used her laser pointer to highlight the line where the BSCA had paid AmeriCo $5,837,700.
“It’s a payment to one of our suppliers.”
“What’s it for?”
“Catering.”
“What’s it for, Mr. Marvin?”
“They’re a catering company. A food supplier.”
“Mr. Marvin, don’t tell me it’s for catering. What did you get for your $5.8 million?”
He fell silent.
“Allow me to jog your memory,” said Mona.
She hobbled back to her table on her crutches and got two transparencies from Joaquin. Joaquin distributed paper copies to Morrison Scott and Judge Ross.
“Your Honor,” said Mona, with some irony, “if it please the court, I wish to introduce further new evidence.”
Scott didn’t bother getting up to object. Mona put the first transparency on the projector.
“When the late Mr. Maws got divorced last year, he was obliged to disclose his financial situation. This chart represents the moneys that, according to documents filed in the Orange County court, AmeriCo paid out to an entity in the Cayman Islands called Loyola Holdings.”
She pulled the transparency off and put on another. “This chart shows the number of migrants sentenced to at least three months’ detention in Paradise Detention Center by Judge Ross over the last twenty-four months. Now, if you superimpose these two charts”—the charts on the screen merged—“you will see that there is a perfect month-by-month correspondence between the amount of money that AmeriCo paid to Loyola Holdings in the Cayman Islands and the number of migrants sentenced by Judge Ross to at least three months in the Paradise Detention Center.”
Mona glanced at the jury. Every jaw had dropped. She knew it didn’t matter in legal terms, since this trial would be declared a mistrial, and a new trial, with a new jury, would eventually decide the punitive damages against the BSCA. But still. It was gratifying.
“Over the past year, this court has sent 853 migrants to Paradise, where they have served a total of 233,508 days, for an average of just over nine months each. Which brings me back to the figure of $5,837,700.”
She paused. “That’s the amount, ladies and gentlemen, that the BSCA paid AmeriCo to feed its inmates last year. When you divide that number by 233,508, you get the oddly round number of $25 per person, per day.”
She paused again. “Half of that—$12.50 per person, per day—was funneled through AmeriCo to an entity in the Cayman Islands called Loyola Holdings. In other words, for every day a migrant sentenced by Judge Ross spent in Paradise Detention Center, the beneficiary of Loyola Holdings received $12.50.”
Mona looked at Judge Ross.
“I was on the phone to Edward Maws when he was killed. I heard his last words. I thought he said, ‘Lawyer is lost.’ I couldn’t make sense of it. But last night, I listened to it again, and I realized I had heard it wrong. Maws didn’t say ‘Lawyer is lost.’ He said, ‘Loyola is Ross.’ He was telling me that it was you.”
Judge Ross stood. “I’ve had enough of this nonsense, counsel. I declare this trial a mistrial. Ladies and the gentlemen of the jury, you are free to go home. I know that’s where I’m going,” he said.
There was a great deal of commotion behind her. Mona turned and saw Littlemore rushing for the door, yelling into his phone—arranging warrants, she expected.
Michael Marvin was still on the stand, looking like a lost schoolboy. “Can I go, too?” he said.
“Of course you can, Michael. It’s over,” said Judge Ross.