Chapter 7
“This is Valerie Becker, reporting to you live from the Court of Appeals as we gear up for the fifth day of testimony in one of the biggest whistle-blower trials the state of Georgia has ever seen. The defense’s star witness is expected to take the stand today to…”
The woman’s excited voice droned on as Lexi hurried past the buzzing crowd of reporters and cameramen gathered on the courthouse steps. She was running late thanks to traffic, which had been even worse than usual that morning.
As she’d stewed in her car, inching along at a maddening crawl, her insides had churned at the thought of seeing Quentin for the first time since they’d shared that explosive kiss at her house nearly a week ago.
She’d been so shaken by the kiss that she’d seriously considered not showing up for any part of the trial.
But Quentin was her best friend, and this was one of the biggest cases of his career.
No matter what had recently transpired between them, she knew how much he’d appreciate having her there to root him on. That’s what friends were for.
Once inside the courthouse, Lexi passed through a metal detector and another security checkpoint before making her way quickly to the courtroom. As expected, it was packed, filled with spectators who’d been lured by the prospect of watching a corrupt health-insurance company get its comeuppance.
Standing in the back of the noisy courtroom, Lexi scanned the crowd, hoping against hope that she’d find an empty seat near the front. But after several moments she heaved a sigh of disappointment, knowing she’d have to settle for sitting all the way in the back.
As she moved to claim a spot before even more people arrived, she spied a man rising from his seat near the front, just three rows behind the plaintiff’s table. She watched as he strode briskly down the aisle, his expression alarmed as he spoke into the cell phone pressed to his ear.
Seizing the opportunity, Lexi made a beeline to the recently vacated seat before someone else beat her to it.
Once settled, she trained her gaze on the plaintiff’s table.
Her pulse quickened at the sight of Quentin, who was conferring with one of his associates from the law firm, their heads bent close together.
Lexi stared, her eyes tracing the line of Quentin’s strong profile to follow the path of his broad shoulders beneath an expensively tailored dark suit.
Her belly clenched at the memory of clinging to those shoulders as she and Quentin devoured each other’s mouths.
She’d wanted him so damn bad. If she hadn’t come to her senses and pulled away when she did, there was no telling—
“All rise!” the bailiff called out, interrupting Lexi’s reverie—and not a moment too soon. “The Honorable Judge Clayton Greer, presiding.”
Everyone in the courtroom stood as the tall, gray-haired judge emerged from his chambers and took his seat on the bench.
His eyes went immediately to Quentin, who was buttoning his suit jacket and smoothing a hand over his silk tie.
Meeting the judge’s austere gaze, he smiled—a slow, lazy smile that hinted at his irreverent nature.
The judge frowned and shook his head slightly, no doubt wondering for the millionth time what he’d done to land Quentin—a relentless troublemaker—in his courtroom.
Lexi grinned wryly to herself. I feel your pain, Judge Greer. Believe me, I do.
Quentin was facing a formidable adversary.
It wasn’t the presiding judge, a grizzled relic whose jaundiced glare made it clear he was no fan of Quentin’s. And it wasn’t the team of smug, high-powered lawyers smirking at him from the table across the aisle.
No, the adversary Quentin faced was fear.
Lexi refused to be with him because she was afraid. She was afraid to jeopardize their friendship. Afraid to trust him. Afraid to get hurt.
So somehow he had to find a way to help her overcome those fears so they could be together. It would definitely be a challenge.
But when had Quentin ever backed down from a challenge?
“Your cross, Mr. Reddick.”
Quentin glanced up from the “notes” he’d been furiously scribbling during the defense attorney’s direct examination of their star witness.
He’d actually been doodling on his yellow legal pad.
Depending on the opposition, he often pretended to take copious notes during witness testimonies.
It gave him the appearance of being scattershot, not well prepared.
Distracted, even. In reality, he’d heard every word spoken, deciphered every subtle nuance of the witness’s voice.
And he knew where he’d launch his attack.
Quentin slowly rose from the table. He never rushed his cue. So he hitched up his pant leg, propped one foot on his chair and proceeded to tie his left shoe.
A wave of chuckles and guffaws spread across the packed courtroom. At the defense table, someone groaned in disbelief.
Quentin hid a wicked grin.
Glancing up from his task, he felt a jolt of surprise when he saw Lexi seated three rows back. After the way they’d parted company last week, he hadn’t expected her to show up for any part of the trial. He was deliriously, ridiculously happy to see her.
When their eyes met, she grinned and mouthed, Go get ’em.
He winked at her.
“Your Honor,” complained the defense team’s lead hired gun. “Mr. Reddick is famous for his courtroom shenanigans. Please try to rein him in today.”
“With all due respect, Counselor, I’ll thank you not to tell me how to run my courtroom. That said—” Judge Greer leveled a stern glare at Quentin “—let’s keep the theatrics to a minimum, shall we, Mr. Reddick?”
Quentin blinked, giving him a look of sham innocence. “Me? Theatrical?”
A ripple of laughter swept over the courtroom.
The judge jabbed a finger at Quentin. “You’ve been warned, Counselor.”
“Duly noted, Your Honor.” He glanced down at the row of expensive, gleaming Italian loafers marching down the opposition’s table.
“Nice shoes,” he complimented.
The lead defense attorney gave him a small, patronizing smile. “Whose?”
“All of them.”
The audience laughed. A few jurors looked mildly disgusted as they regarded the team of defense attorneys.
Bingo, Quentin thought. Since the trial began, he’d constantly looked for ways to reinforce the perception of the big, bad corporation armed with an arsenal of high-priced goons. The common man versus the greedy insurance giant. David versus Goliath.
Everyone loved an underdog. He was counting on this jury to be no exception.
He sauntered toward the witness stand, where Mary Tanner sat calmly waiting to be cross-examined. Spine erect, shoulders squared, hands folded primly in her lap, she was the picture of perfect composure. She’d been coached, and coached well.
So it was Quentin’s job to find the crack in her armor and exploit it to his advantage.
Not unlike what he intended to do with Lexi.
He’d spent years studying the law, just as he’d spent years getting to know Lexi. He knew the inner workings of the legal system, just as he understood the intricacies of Lexi’s mind.
So how do you conquer an adversary like fear?
By facing it head-on and never backing down.
By presenting incontrovertible evidence that the fear is unwarranted.
Not unlike the way you’d deal with a child who’s afraid of the dark by showing her that there are no monsters hiding under her bed or lurking in the closet.
By assuring her that she’s safe with you around, that she can rest easy because you’d never let any harm come to her.
And speaking of providing evidence…
“How often have you been promoted in the past year, Ms. Tanner?”
The woman raised a defiant chin. “Twice.”
“Twice? Congratulations.” Quentin sauntered over to the jury box and casually leaned on the banister.
The twelve jurors met his lazy gaze with varying expressions of amusement and admiration.
“Just out of curiosity, Ms. Tanner, how often had your predecessor been promoted in the seven years she worked for the company?”
“My predecessor?” she echoed blankly.
“Yes. The woman who occupied your position before you were hired. Would you happen to know how often she was promoted during her tenure with the company?” Silence.
“You don’t know?” Quentin prompted.
“Twice,” came the low response.
“Twice,” he confirmed, deliberately looking each juror in the eye as he meandered down the length of the jury box.
“So in the three years you’ve been with the company, Ms. Tanner, you’ve already been promoted more times than your predecessor was in seven years.
Doesn’t that strike you as a bit too…convenient? ”
“Objection, Your Honor. Counsel is leading the witness. And when did her job become the issue here?”
Quentin heaved a bored sigh. “Goes to credibility, Your Honor. The main reason my client lost his job was that Ms. Tanner was trying to preserve her own. In other words, she did her employer's bidding at Mr. Henry's expense.”
Judge Greer nodded. “I’ll allow it.”
“Ms. Tanner?” Quentin prodded, strolling back over to the witness stand.
“I’m good at what I do,” she said evenly.
“Yes, you are,” Quentin smoothly agreed. “Your department has a very high rate of claim denials. You’ve saved the company quite a lot of money, haven’t you?”
“Objection! The company’s claim-denial practices are not on trial here! We’re here to determine whether or not Mr. Henry was wrongfully terminated based on his performance. If Mr. Reddick can’t remember that—”
“Sustained, Counselor. Let’s not lose focus, Mr. Reddick.”
Quentin bowed slightly. “My apologies.”
There were a few snickers from the jury box.
“So what about Mr. Henry?” Quentin asked, pointing across the room at his client. “Was he good at his job, Ms. Tanner?”
She smirked. “Not good enough, obviously.”
“Obviously?” Quentin raised his brows at her, then strolled to the plaintiff’s table and scooped up a thick folder. Returning to the witness stand, he passed the folder to Mary Tanner, who opened it as reluctantly as if she were opening a cage of vipers. “Do you recognize those documents?”
She nodded.
“Please explain to the court what you’re looking at.”
She swallowed visibly. “Letters of commendation. Performance-appraisal reports.”
“With glowing reviews of Mr. Henry’s past job performance. Correct?”
She hesitated. “Yes, that’s correct.”
“And some of those documents bear your signature. Is that also correct?”
“Yes.”
“So, you see,” Quentin said silkily, “it’s not so obvious that Mr. Henry wasn’t good at his job, is it, Ms. Tanner? In fact, isn’t it true that your complaints about his work only began when you learned that he’d been speaking out against the company’s coverage policies?”
“Objection, Your Honor! Counsel is badgering the witness.”
“Overruled. You may proceed, Mr. Reddick.”
Quentin smiled narrowly. “Oh, that’s all right. I’m good for now, Your Honor.”
His point had been made.
He stepped back and began his trademark prowling in front of the witness stand, knowing that every eye was on him, waiting for his next move. He was in control of the courtroom, and he liked that. It kept the opposition off balance.
“Ms. Tanner.” He stopped before her. “What is your personal opinion of whistle-blowers?”
She blanched.
“Objection! Counsel is trying to bait the witness into impeaching herself!”
“Well, hell,” Quentin drawled in his best Southern good ol’ boy impersonation, “I wouldn’t be very good at my job if I didn’t at least try.”
Laughter swept across the courtroom. Even the jurors smothered grins.
“Let’s move on, Mr. Reddick,” the judge dryly instructed.
Quentin grinned. “Moving on.”
It was time to go for the kill, and he knew the best way. It was a huge gamble. One that could very well backfire, blow up in his face.
But he’d go for it anyway.
He turned and sauntered back toward his table. His client and Byron Devers, the young associate who’d accompanied Quentin to court, were both staring at him with poker faces. Quentin had groomed them to expect the unexpected.
Lexi was also watching him, riveted. He flashed a quick, lazy smile at her, and she smiled back.
Standing at the table, Quentin made a show of thumbing through a folder, as if he were searching for something specific.
“What if I told you, Ms. Tanner, that I’d recently come into possession of an email sent by you to a colleague in another department?
In that email, you raved about Mr. Henry’s successful handling of a certain project, and you stated that you’d give him a promotion in a heartbeat if it were entirely up to you?
What if I told you, Ms. Tanner, that this email was sent three days before my client was terminated? ”
He was bluffing, of course. The “colleague” he’d referenced had been too afraid of retaliation to testify against her employer. So he didn’t have any actual email exchanges to furnish as evidence.
But it didn’t matter.
In the second before the lead defense attorney jumped to his feet to object to the introduction of new evidence, Mary Tanner burst out defensively, “You don’t understand how much pressure we’re under to—” She caught herself.
But it was too late.
A hushed silence fell over the courtroom.
Quentin brought his head up slowly, his brows arched inquiringly. “How much pressure you’re under to do what, Ms. Tanner?” he prompted softly.
She clamped her lips together and darted an apologetic glance toward the defense table.
Noise erupted in the courtroom as the gathered spectators and reporters reacted to her damning near-admission. Judge Greer banged his gavel, calling for order.
“Your Honor,” the lead defense attorney implored, “in light of this development, we’d like to request a short recess to, ah, regroup.”
“I figured you would, Counselor” was the judge’s droll response.
Quentin’s client was grinning from ear to ear. And Lexi was giving him a thumbs-up sign, her face glowing with pride.
Quentin smiled at her.
Watch out, Lexi. I’m coming for you next.