“And it was the same even after I wrote the opinion and sent it off to my client: some days valid, other days not.”
Seeley rapidly scanned the jury as he returned to counsel's table. Even the dullest of them understood what had just happened. A defense witness had admitted the possibility that Vaxtek's patent was valid, an admission that, however equivocal, would weigh as heavily as all of the opinions of Vaxtek's hired experts together. The kid slunk down in his chair, and fingered his ponytail; his expression-was it a smirk? a scowl? — was indecipherable.
Barnum's large hand clasped the sore shoulder, and Seeley felt the moisture of the man leaning into him. “Talk about a wild ride,” he said. “I don't know how you pulled that off.”
How could Seeley have forgotten that, from Barnum's perspective, Weed's concession that the AV/AS patent might be valid was a triumph.
“You took ten years off my life, asking him what he thought about the patent. How did you know he changed his mind?”
“Second sight. A trial lawyer's instinct.” Which was precisely what had failed him: the instinct to skirt a trial's black holes. You never ask a witness a question when you're not certain of the answer, and the fact that Weed's deposition gave one answer was no assurance that, at trial, he would not give another.
On the bench, Farnsworth appeared unconcerned about what had just happened and sorted through the stack of papers in front of her. “I'm hearing motions on my criminal docket this afternoon.” She set down the papers. “Counsel can make their closing arguments tomorrow morning and then I'll instruct our jury. You can obtain the jury instructions from my clerk. If you have changes to propose, I'll hear them first thing tomorrow morning.” She straightened the papers and started to rise. “Oh, yes. The clerk will tell you how much time you each have left.”
Seeley already knew. Palmieri, who had been busy at his laptop, searching for contradictions between Weed's testimony and his pretrial deposition, had also been counting time. He pushed a legal pad across the table to Seeley. At the top of the otherwise blank page he had written: “53 minutes.” Two years ago, drunk in a judge's chambers in New York City, Seeley had managed in less than a minute to come within a hair's breadth of being disbarred and destroying what was left of his career. Fifty-three minutes was more than enough time for him to finish hanging himself.
Seeley was in Pearsall's office working on the notes for his closing argument when the night operator buzzed that his brother was in the reception area. While he waited for Leonard, Seeley reflected on what had happened over the time that his brother had been gone. There was the confrontation with Renata after the football game. She had been flirting, yes, but only to see whether Seeley was the loyal, heroic brother that Leonard had endlessly praised to her. It seemed to Seeley that every other incident, from the discovery of his client's collusion to this morning's humiliation by Weed, also bore the imprint of Leonard's craven spirit. The thought for the first time occurred to him that, as consistently as he had been Leonard's protector, Leonard had all that time been his enemy.
Leonard wheeled his suitcase inside the office door. There were no arms poised for an embrace this time, but the salesman's smile was there.
“Great news, Mike. The FDA likes the data we're getting from the phase-three trials.”
“Congratulations. If the jury votes for your patent, you and St. Gall get to divide the world between you.”
The smile disappeared, but not because Leonard had been listening. He came closer to study Seeley's face as a physician would, taking hold of his shoulders and turning him into the light. “What happened to you?”
Seeley had forgotten about the bruises. “Why didn't you tell me you were colluding with St. Gall?”
Leonard stepped back. Behind him, the glass wall reflected the office and open doorway so that they appeared to hang outside in the night. Thirty-two years, Seeley thought, and how far have we come from two boys waiting in a shared room for their drunken father to crash through the door.
Seeley said, “You made a deal with St. Gall.”
“Of course we did. This goes back to before you got into the case. Joel worked it out with the Swiss. It was a business adjustment. I didn't have anything to do with it.”
“But you knew about it.”
“Look, we've sunk almost half a billion dollars into AV/AS. St. Gall had a problem with one of their researchers being caught in our labs, and we had a problem with Steinhardt's notebooks. So Joel made a deal.”
Seeley wondered if Leonard and the others at Vaxtek knew Lily's secret. Their most famous researcher hadn't just fabricated a few dates in his notebooks; he had stolen another scientist's discovery and claimed it as his own.
“And because you knew how the case would come out, you went into hock buying Vaxtek shares. You knew about the collusion when you came to see me in Buffalo. You dragged me into it.”
“The way I see it,” Leonard said, his voice becoming a whisper, “I dragged your ass out of the swamp you were sinking into.” This was an old trick of Leonard's when they argued, lowering his voice to taunt him, forcing him to draw closer. “Would you have taken the case if I told you it was a sure thing?”
“I was your insurance policy,” Seeley said. “You thought you could control me.”
“Me?” Leonard's face went slack-jawed, incredulous. “When did Leonard Seeley ever control his brother? Did I once tell you that if you lost this case it would break me?”
No, Seeley remembered, he hadn't. And if he hadn't asked, Renata would not have told him, either.
“Come on, Mike, whoever's name is on it, AV/AS is going to save lives.”
“But only at a price that the people who need it most won't be able to pay.”
“I already told you,” Leonard's voice had returned to normal, “we're only going to charge fifteen dollars a dose in Africa.”
“But Vaxtek isn't going to sell AV/AS in Africa. St. Gall is. And according to Chaikovsky's numbers, they won't sell it for less than forty-five dollars.”
Twelve-year-old Lenny peered out from the supplicating face in front of him, and a dam burst inside Seeley. One hand grabbed for Leonard's neck, flesh and collar slipping in his fingers, and the other slammed into his brother's chest, propelling him back against the window. There was a boom and the glass shuddered, flashing back reflected shards of desk, chairs, doorway, and, at the center, a face-his own-that Seeley didn't recognize.
Perspiration or tears streaked Leonard's cheeks. “What did I do wrong?”
Seeley's nerves, muscle, bone throbbed with rage.
“Who hired the Asian boys? Was that Vaxtek's idea or St. Gall's?”
“I've been away all week. If I'd known, it never would have happened.”
But he knew now, and that meant Warshaw or Barnum was behind the attack.
Seeley jammed Leonard's head sideways against the glass so that one fear-struck eye observed him while the other stared thirty-eight stories down to where pedestrians waited at a bus stop. The fury inside Seeley was like alcohol. It felt to him that he was devouring one drink after another.
“You weren't away when Pearsall died. Who arranged that?”
Leonard's body went slack. He said, “You're kidding me, right?”
Leonard knew something that he didn't, and Seeley expected that in a moment he was going to feel like a fool.
Seeley said, “Pearsall discovered the collusion, he confronted Warshaw about it, and that got him killed.”
Leonard said, “Who do you think set up the deal between us and St. Gall? Pearsall didn't discover a collusive lawsuit. He orchestrated it. He and Thorpe did.”
“Pearsall would never do that.” Even as he said it, Seeley asked himself what in fact he knew about Pearsall other than that he was a successful trial lawyer who took bird pictures, read philosophy, and played poker with Thorpe. Still inches from his brother's choked-up face, Seeley said, “You're lying.”
“Why would I lie, Mike?”
“Because that's what you do, Len, you lie. That's who you are.”
“This time I'm not.”
A halo of condensation formed on the glass around Leonard's head. Above it was the reflection of three or
