'So I'm not in control of my own campaign, is that what you're telling me, Tony?'
'It's not that simple.'
'I'm not leaving the house, Tony. Pull all the ads right now. Stop everything, and I'm calling the editors of these newspapers. I'm admitting my mistakes.'
'Ron, come on.'
'I'm the boss, Tony, it's my campaign.'
'Yes, and you've got the race won. Don't screw it up with only nine days to go.'
'Did you know that Darrel Sackett was dead?'
'Well, I really can't-'
'Answer the question, Tony. Did you know he was dead?'
'I'm not sure.'
'You knew he was dead and you deliberately ran a false ad, didn't you?'
'No, I-'
'You're fired, Tony. You're fired and I quit.'
'Don't overreact, Ron. Settle down.'
'You're fired.'
'I'll be down in an hour.'
'You do that, Tony. You get down here as quick as possible, and until then you're fired.'
'I'm leaving now. Don't do anything until I get there.'
'I'm calling the editors right now.'
'Don't do that, Ron. Please. Wait until I get there.'
The lawyers had little time for newspapers on Sunday morning. By eight o'clock they were gathering at the hotel for what would surely be the most important day yet.
There had been no indication from Jared Kurtin as to how long he might negotiate before heading back to Atlanta, but it was assumed that round one would be over on Sunday afternoon. Other than the $30 million suggestion made by Sterling Bintz the evening before, there had been no talk of money. That had to change on Sunday. Wes and Mary Grace were determined to leave that day with a general idea of how much the Class One and Class Two cases were worth.
By 8:30 all the plaintiffs' lawyers were in place, most of them huddled in serious conversations, all of them ignoring Sterling Bintz, who in turn ignored them. His entourage was still intact. He was not speaking to the other class action lawyer from Melbourne Beach. Judge Rosenthal arrived at 8:45 and commented on the absence of everyone on the defense side. The trial lawyers finally noticed this. There was not a soul sitting opposite them. Wes punched in the number of Jared Kurtin's cell phone, but listened to his recording.
'We did agree on 9:00 a.m., didn't we?' asked Rosenthal, five minutes before the hour. It was unanimously agreed that nine was the magic hour. They waited, and time suddenly moved much slower.
At 9:02, Frank Sully, local counsel for Krane, walked into the room and said, somewhat sheepishly, almost in embarrassment, 'My client has decided to recess these negotiations until further notice. I'm very sorry for the inconvenience.'
'Where's Jared Kurtin?' Judge Rosenthal demanded.
'He's flying back to Atlanta right now.'
'When did your client make this decision?'
'I don't know. I was informed about an hour ago. I'm very sorry, Judge. I apologize to everyone here.'
The room seemed to tilt as one side sank under the weight of this sudden turn of events. Lawyers giddy in anticipation of finally slicing up the pie dropped their pens and pencils and gaped at one another in shock. Great gasps of air were discharged. Curses were mumbled just loud enough to be heard. Shoulders sagged. They wanted to throw something at Sully, but he was just the local and they had learned a long time ago that he had no clout.
F. Clyde Hardin wiped sweat from his wet face and tried valiantly not to throw up.
There was a sudden rush to leave, to clear out. It was maddening to sit there and stare at the empty chairs, chairs once occupied by men who just might have made them rich. The trial lawyers quickly gathered stacks of papers, restuffed their briefcases, and offered brusque goodbyes.
Wes and Mary Grace said nothing as they drove to their apartment.
Chapter 31
Monday morning, the Wall Street Journal broke the news of the collapse of the settlement negotiations down in Hattiesburg.
The story, on page 2, was written by a reporter with some very good sources inside Krane Chemical, one of whom blamed the plaintiffs' lawyers. 'Their demands were just too unrealistic. We went in in good faith, and got nowhere.' Another anonymous source said, 'It's hopeless. Because of the verdict, every trial lawyer thinks his case is worth forty million bucks.' Mr. Watts, Krane's CEO, said, 'We are very disappointed.
We wanted to get this litigation behind us and move on. Now our future is quite uncertain.'
Carl Trudeau read the story online at 4:30 in the morning in his penthouse. He laughed and rubbed his hands together in anticipation of a very profitable week.
Wes called Jared Kurtin throughout the morning, but the great man was traveling and could not be reached. His cell phone was stuck on voice mail. His secretary eventually became rude, but then so was Wes. He and Mary Grace seriously doubted if the wild demands by Sterling Bintz had frightened Krane away. In relative terms, his suggestion of $30 million would be a fraction of any workable settlement.
When the news finally arrived in Bowmore, it was received like another plague.
At McCarthy headquarters, Nat Lester had worked through the night and was still wired when Sheila arrived at 8:30, her usual time. He had e-mailed the Times story to every newspaper in the district and was calling reporters and editors when she walked in with a well-rested smile and asked for a pineapple juice.
'We've got these clowns on the run!' he announced jubilantly. 'Their dirty tricks have caught up with them.'
'Congratulations. It's beautiful.'
'We're sending the editorials and the Times story to every registered voter.'
'How much does that cost?'
'Who cares? With a week to go, we can't pinch pennies. Are you ready?'
'I leave in an hour.'
The next seven days would take her to thirty-four stops in twenty counties, all made possible by the use of a King Air on loan from one trial lawyer and a small jet from another. The blitz had been coordinated by Nat and would take place with the help of schoolteachers, labor bosses, black leaders, and, of course, trial lawyers. She would not return to Jackson until after the election. While she was on the stump, her last round of television ads would flood the district.
By the time the votes were counted, her campaign would not have one dime. She was praying that it would not be in debt.
Ron Fisk finally left the house on Monday morning, but he did not make his usual trip to the office. Instead, he and Doreen drove to Jackson, to the offices of Judicial Vision for another long and stressful meeting with Tony Zachary They had slugged their way through a four-hour ordeal on Sunday afternoon in the den of the Fisk home, and they had resolved little. Ron was suspending all campaign activities until he could repair his good name. He had fired Tony at least four times, but they were still talking.
Throughout the day and into Sunday night, Tedford in Atlanta had been polling furiously, and by late Monday morning there were some results. In spite of the barrage of condemnation, Ron Fisk was still three points ahead of Sheila McCarthy. The gay marriage issue had captivated the voters, most of whom still favored the more conservative candidate.
Ron wasn't sure if he could believe anyone who worked for his campaign, but the new poll did lighten his mood somewhat. 'You've got this thing won, Ron,' Tony said again and again. 'Don't blow it.'
