Chapter 16 #2
Mary nodded harder than she needed to. Then she turned and went back into the pantry, and Grace faintly heard a sob.
Grace put the manila envelope in her shoulder bag and pulled out her cell phone.
Reno picked up on the first ring. “Hey, Babe.”
“I just got served.”
“Be there in two minutes.”
He was limping more than yesterday when he strode into the kitchen, which meant he’d hustled over here fast enough that his knee was talking back to him about it.
He didn’t stop until he reached her and wrapped her up in a hug.
She buried her face against his soft cotton T-shirt and the hard muscles beneath.
Gratefully, she absorbed the comfort and support he was silently sharing with her.
After a moment, she nodded against his chest, and he turned her loose and took a step back. She fetched the envelope for him and he slit it open with a knife she handed him.
He read all three pages of the complaint, his concentration total.
“Anything I should know?” she said.
“She’s asking for two-point-three million in damages.”
“For what?”
“Lost revenue. Reputational injury. Emotional distress.”
“Hers or mine?” Grace asked dryly.
He pursed his lips in a combination of humor and disgust. Then he took his phone out of his pocket.
“Who are you calling?”
“Lincoln Sutter.”
“The lawyer over in Apple Pie Creek?” she asked.
“The Montana lawyer. I’m licensed to practice law in Texas, not here.
I can build the case, argue it, and take Tara Marchand apart on the witness stand.
The one thing I cannot do is file lawsuits in a Montana court.
For that I need somebody licensed in this state to sign it and file it. Lincoln’s the closest lawyer I trust.”
He put his phone on speaker and set it on the counter between them.
“Lincoln Sutter.”
“Lincoln. Reno Steele. Dillon’s brother—we met at Fern Lawrence’s funeral.”
“The lawyer Steele brother.” A pause that had a smile in it. “Tessa told me you’d stopped practicing.”
“I’ve started again, as of about five minutes ago.”
“What can I do for you, Counselor?”
“A client of mine got served this morning. Civil suit, filed by a Bozeman firm on behalf of a woman named Tara Marchand. Unfair business practices. They’re asking two-point-three million.”
The line was quiet a second. “Tara Marchand.”
“You know her?”
“We’ll get to that. Go on.”
“I anticipated this suit might be coming and already drafted the answer and counterclaims. I need local counsel to sign and file, and I’ll come in pro hac vice.
You’ll be co-counsel of record but never have to do more than put your Montana name where the state wants it.
I’ll do the rest. I’m emailing it to you right now. ”
Reno picked the phone up long enough to attach files to a message and send them. A few seconds later, Grace heard a chime from the other end of the call.
“I’m opening them now.” A long pause. Then a low whistle. “There are six individual lawsuits, here.”
“Correct,” Reno said tersely.
“You could do all of this in a single counterclaim. Six separate filings is six times the paper, six times the service, six certificates, six of everything. That’s a mountain of extra work, Reno. For them, sure. But for us, too.”
“The extra work is the point.”
“. . . Say again?”
“Tara Marchand’s lawyer knows this is a nuisance suit. His whole strategy—on behalf of his very wealthy client—is to bury a small business owner of modest means in paper and fees until she can’t afford to keep her doors open, and she goes out of business.”
Lincoln made a sound of reluctant agreement.
Reno’s voice went a full degree colder than she’d ever heard it before.
“But two can play that game. Hence, six filings instead of one. I want him to know that the attorney on the other side of this intends to beat him at his own game and bury him in paper, filings, and legal hassle. I want him to call Tara and tell her this is going to cost her a great deal more than he quoted her originally and that she’s going to lose.
And I want him to have a giant headache when he goes home tonight. ”
Lincoln said, mild as milk, “And here I thought I was going to have a quiet Friday.”
“I’ll make it a lucrative one for you.”
Lincoln laughed — a real one, easy and unhurried. “All right. I’ll sign ’em and get all six filed before lunch. Send me your pro hac paperwork and I’ll walk it through with the rest.”
“Appreciate it.”
“Now. You asked if I know Tara Marchand.” Grace heard a squeak as if he’d leaned back in a chair.
“I do. So does my wife. Haley and Tara are in a garden club together, which is how I know that the year Tara’s dahlias took second at the county fair, she threatened to sue the fair board over the judging.
” A pause. “You go right ahead and bury Tara Marchand in all the paper you like. My wife will probably bake you a pie.”
Reno’s mouth did the thing at the corner. “Tell Haley to get in line. I already owe my client several pies.”
“. . . I won’t ask.”
“Best not.”
“I’ll call you when it’s filed.”
“Thanks, Lincoln.”
He tapped the phone off and slid it back into his pocket.
“Anything else I should know?” she said.
“She’s not going to win this. I want that to be the loudest thing in your head today.” He held her eyes a beat. “Are you all right?”
She opened her mouth to say, I’m fine, but instead, the truth came out. “I’m angry.”
“Good. Anger’s useful. Anger is fuel. It keeps you strong.” He picked the complaint up off the counter and tucked it under his arm. “Stay angry. Lincoln and I will handle the rest.”
“All right.”
“I’m going to go put my pro hac motion together and stay on top of Lincoln so it all goes in today. I’ll be back here by two-thirty.” At the door he stopped, one hand on the frame. “And Grace.”
“Mm?”
“This is going to be fun.” He broke into possibly the most shark-like grin she’d ever seen from a human.
The bell jingled behind him. She stood at the counter for a beat. It was good to have the biggest shark in the ocean on her side.
Then she went back to making cookies, because they weren’t going to bake themselves.
Tessa called at twelve-fifteen. “I just heard.”
“From who?”
“Dillon. He called Reno about something else, and Reno told him he was on his way to Apple Pie Creek. He said he’s giving the court some document so he can defend you from a woman over there who’s suing you for no reason.”
“That about sums it up.”
“What do you need?”
“Nothing right now.”
“Wrong answer. Try again.”
Grace smiled in spite of herself. “Fine. Could you pick up Lily from preschool this afternoon and keep her for an hour or so? I need to talk to Mary after the shop closes.”
“Done.”
“Thank you.”
“Anything else?”
“No. Yes. Don’t make me any food. Charlotte will cook something no matter what I say, and I don’t want two casseroles on my counter.”
“No casserole. Got it. And Grace? You’re going to be all right.”
“I know.”
“I love you.”
“I know that too.”
She hung up and laughed quietly in the empty kitchen, because, for the first time in a very long time, she did know she was going to be all right.
Reno came back at two-twenty, and she stepped into the back with him.
He said without preamble, “Lincoln filed everything. Six counterclaims. Plus the answer denying every line item of her complaint. Plus a motion to dismiss for failure to state a claim. Plus a motion for sanctions against her attorney for filing knowing the claim was meritless. Oh, and my motion to appear on your behalf went in with all of it.”
“Whew. That’s a lot of paper.”
“I’m just getting warmed-up.” He flashed the shark grin again. “The discovery requests go out tomorrow.”
“What are those?”
“The part where I get to ask her for everything she has in writing, in email, in text, on her computer, on her phone, with her accountant, with her chef in Seattle, and with her son. Then I’ll ask for every sales receipt for every client her bakery has ever had.
Every contract the bakery has ever signed, her entire client list, along with their contact information, and the names of every person who’s ever come into the bakery to discuss a catering contract but didn’t sign a contract with her. ”
Grace’s eyes widened in alarm at the thought of having to come up with all of that from her own business.
Reno finished with, “The judge will let me ask for all of it because she sued first. Her lawyer will spend the next month scrambling to help her produce all of it.”
“And if she lies and doesn’t produce everything?”
“Then I file a motion to compel and the judge sanctions her.”
She just stood there and looked at him in his dress shirt and tie.
He looked like a cover model. He’d taken his suit coat off somewhere between the courthouse and the bakery, and his sleeves were rolled up to the elbow, showing off his tanned, muscular forearms. There was an expensive fountain pen sticking up out of his shirt pocket, and incongruously, she recalled his toothbrush doing the same thing the day he’d first shown up at the cottage.
“What will all this cost me?” she said.
“It’s going to cost Tara Marchand a pretty penny. Enough to give even her pause before I’m done with her.”
“No, what will this cost me? I’m not a wealthy socialite with nothing to do but sue people.”
“This costs you nothing.”
“That isn’t how lawyers work. Lincoln Sutter will expect to be paid for his time.
“It’s how this lawyer works.”
“Reno—”
He set both hands flat on the counter. “If you want a retainer agreement, I’ll draw one up tonight. For one dollar. If you’ll feel better once you’ve argued about it, I’ll let you argue. But my answer at the end of the argument is going to be the same, which is this costs you nothing.”
She looked at him quizzically. “Why?”