I said, “Marisa Dupree consents.”
“Very well then,” the judge said. “Motion granted. This case is dismissed.” With a short stroke, she hammered her gavel on a wooden block with a sharp crack.
“All rise,” the deputy commanded the room.
Everyone in the room stood while Judge Arnetti returned to her chambers.
When the door closed, Marisa was on the verge of tears and hugged me. “How’d you do it, Bryce? How’d you get me out of this?”
“I’ll explain it all later, but congratulations. You’ve won. But we’ve got a lot of work to do outside of court. I’ll be there when Benton Dynamics and the FBI question you, okay?”
“Yeah, you better,” she said. “Thank you, Bryce. I can’t thank you enough. I haven’t been home for almost a week, so that’s where you can reach me, okay?”
“Okay,” I said. “See you.”
After Marisa left the courtroom, E.J. Nielsen came over to my trial table and extended his hand, which I shook. “Good work, Bryce. Obviously, we’ll be in touch regarding Ms. Dupree. You know, follow up on what she knows and what Richard Kostas did. Some FBI agent, Wolanski, I think, called me a few minutes ago. Sheriff Tompkins got on the line to prove it was legit. They think it was only Kostas.”
“So do I. Ms. Dupree will cooperate with your client. A good resolution for all litigants, E.J.”
Nielsen held up his index finger. “And I have my client’s KEL drive back. I told you I’d get it.”
“You were right. Looking forward to crossing swords with you in the future.”
Nielsen grinned devilishly. “No, you’re not. Good luck, Bryce.” His associate followed him down the aisle, lugging a box of files out of the courtroom.
While I sorted papers on the trial table and loaded them into my old scuffed-up leather briefcase, Glenn Bernthal leaned over the rail. “Way to go, Bryce. You had no chance of winning this case, but you did. A round of cold ones at Gertrude’s Crab House would be in order.”
I was exhausted, depressed, and elated all at the same time, depending on which emotion shoved its way to the front of my consciousness. “Thanks, Glenn, but I’m fried. Some other time, along with a few games of racquetball, of course.”
“You got it. Just call me. I probably should head back to the office and write up a report on that interesting Chinese professor who watched the hearing. Got a good lead there.”
“Yeah, you do. I’ll call or text you later.”
“Cool,” Glenn replied as he headed toward the exit.
Hailey and I walked back to my law office, where she asked me to check the drop-box. She no longer wanted that job on her list of official responsibilities. I told her we would leave it for tomorrow. We had experienced enough surprises in the drop-box for one day. Back at my desk, I jotted down my hours for an invoice and wrote an escrow check from Marisa’s funds. That would keep me afloat a while longer and bring my mortgage current, at least until the next case strolled through my door.
As Hailey turned on the tea kettle, the phone rang. She took the call at her front desk while I stretched out in my office chair and exhaled deeply. My paralegal was on the phone a while, but I needed the break. The call might have been from Tompkins, Wolanski, or Nielsen. Hailey could take a message. I would call them back later.
After a few minutes, Hailey entered my office with notes in hand. “A new case, and you’re going to love this one.”
“Really? Word of our success traveled fast.”
She lifted her memo pad. “Here’s this guy’s info. Tried to schedule an appointment. He wants to hire an attorney to sue the Smithsonian Institution. Claims that he is the rightful heir of James Smithson, the man who gave an endowment to fund the Smithsonian, but only if Smithson’s nephew died without heirs. He claims the bequest that established the museum was taken unlawfully from his family.”
“What’s all this?” I asked.
“I told you that you’d like this one. He says he’s owed millions, if not billions.”
“How’s he figure?”
Hailey leaned against the door jamb. “He’s done a lot of research, or so he says. Years of genealogical digging. One of those home DNA tests. He believes he’s the rightful heir, and the Smithsonian took his family’s inheritance. He gave me the whole theory when he tried to set up a consult. Here’s his phone number.”
I stifled a chuckle. “All this went down almost two hundred years ago. He’s going to have a slight problem with the statute of limitations.”
“Oh, he’s got that covered. Did some online research and says he just discovered the legal wrong. The statute of limitations didn’t begin to run until he discovered his loss.”
Leaning back in my chair, I rubbed my tired eyes. “You know, Hailey, the internet will be the death of the practice of law.”
“And he wants you to take it on a contingency basis.”
I sat up instantly. “A case like that on spec? Think about it. Could be a big payday.”
Hailey glanced toward my trash bin. “Shall I just toss his phone number or put it in your inbox? You’ll have a migraine if you listen to him more than five minutes.”
“Oh, come on, Hailey. Inbox. A contingency fee. One-third of the Smithsonian Institution. Do you think I could fit a Tyrannosaurus Rex skeleton in the waiting room?”
She smiled broadly. “Not a chance, but your clients’ kids would love it.”
“The Hope Diamond as your Christmas bonus?”
Hailey rolled her eyes. “The message is in your inbox. Have fun.”
“Well, I’ll give him the professional courtesy of a return call tomorrow. Which attorney has annoyed me lately, so I can make a referral?”
She snorted a laugh.
I said, “You know, I’ve been in court all day. I’ll be on the back porch.”
The rough winds had mostly passed. A cool zephyr drifted across the dark waters of the Chesapeake Bay. The marsh grasses
