Blood Money

Gaines, routinely rated as one of the top trial lawyers in the country by American Lawyer magazine, famous for closing arguments that resonated with the rhythm of a Baptist revival. Mills thanked Jack and Hannah for coming and showed his guests a seat on the opposite side of the long, rectangular table. But it quickly became clear that Gaines was running the show.

“Got your love letter,” said Gaines as he tossed a copy of the ten-page complaint on the table. It didn’t land flat, and it lay there exactly the way Gaines had intended: like a dirty napkin.

Jack looked at it, then at Gaines. “It’s not a love letter,” he said dryly.

“Right, right. Even love letters are more grounded in reality than this piece of work.” Gaines glanced at the junior lawyer at the end of the table. “Shannon, lights, please.”

The room darkened. A projection screen lowered from a slot in the ceiling, and a beam of light from a projector shot from the opposite wall. Gaines pulled a remote control from his pocket and brought up the first slide of his presentation: Laramore v. Breaking News Network.

Gaines paused. “Pardon me if this comes across as condescending, Mr. Swyteck. But I think it’s important that we put this in terms you can understand.”

The lawyers in his peanut gallery smirked. Gaines continued.

“Let’s start with the allegations of your complaint that we can agree on,” he said as slide number two flashed on the screen. It summarized several paragraphs from the complaint.

“‘On July eleven at approximately two A.M., a nine-one-one operator dispatched an ambulance to Miami- Dade County Women’s Detention Center in response to a report that a young woman had been injured in the parking lot. At approximately two thirteen A.M., paramedics from Jackson Memorial Hospital arrived on the scene and immediately began treatment of the young woman, later identified as Celeste Laramore. At approximately two twenty A.M., the patient was placed in an ambulance and taken to Jackson Memorial Hospital.’” Gaines paused and said, “So far, so good. Unfortunately, that’s about all we agree on.”

Gaines moved to the next slide. “In the interest of brevity I’m going to move quickly through my main points of contention, so try to follow along.

“Paragraph twelve: ‘At approximately two twenty-two A.M.-just two minutes after Celeste Laramore was placed in the ambulance-BNN reported that the patient was unconscious and in V-fib.’ Slight disagreement there,” said Gaines. “It was actually two twenty-one A.M. One minute after loading her in the ambulance. Nobody denies that BNN gets it fast.”

The peanut gallery smirked again. Gaines moved to the next slide. “Our remaining points of disagreement are not so benign. Paragraph thirteen: ‘Upon information and belief, plaintiff alleges that BNN co-opted information about Ms. Laramore’s medical condition through surreptitious and illegal means. Specifically, BNN (or someone acting on BNN’s behalf) intercepted critical and confidential patient data as it was transmitted by paramedics from the moving ambulance to doctors at Jackson Memorial Hospital.’ Hogwash. Next.

“Paragraph fourteen: ‘BNN’s illegal interception of Ms. Laramore’s patient data interfered with the paramedics’ transmission of real-time information to emergency room physicians. As a result, the ER physicians never received the intercepted transmission, and they were unable to prescribe real-time measures to the paramedics that would have addressed the patient’s life-threatening condition.’ More hogwash. Next.

“Paragraph fifteen: ‘Plaintiff further alleges. .’” Gaines stopped. “You know what? I’m already tired of this. Lights, please.”

The junior attorney jumped from her chair and switched on the lights. Gaines returned to his seat and cast his most intimidating glare across the table, directly at Jack.

“In plain English, this is a bullshit lawsuit, Mr. Swyteck. I don’t know where you came up with your ‘information and belief,’ but pulling allegations out of your ass won’t cut it in a court of law. The only kernel of truth here is that ninety seconds after the ambulance pulled away from the scene, BNN was the first news organization to report that Celeste Laramore was unconscious and in cardiac arrest. BNN gathered those details the way it always gets its information: nose-to-the-grindstone, feet-on- the-ground, tireless reporting.

“Now, I fully understand that Faith Corso said some harsh things about you during the trial of Sydney Bennett, and I’m sure you’d love to nail Faith and her network. But-”

“This isn’t personal,” said Jack.

“Noooo,” Gaines said, his voice dripping with sarcasm, “of course it isn’t.”

Jack leaned into the table, returning the stare. “This meeting wasn’t my idea. My clients asked me to arrange it. They’re reasonable people. Their hope was that you would be reasonable, too. It’s clear they were wrong.”

“What did you expect us to do? Roll over?”

“I would have expected you to tell me not to come if this was the way you intended to treat us. Let’s go, Hannah.” They rose and started for the door.

“Swyteck,” said Gaines.

Jack stopped and turned.

“I’ve done all the talking for the team today,” said Gaines. “But with me at this table are some of the best lawyers in the country. Trust me. On so many levels, this is a fight you don’t want to pick.”

“Too late,” said Jack. “Hannah really wants to kick your ass.”

Hannah did a quick double take, then for some reason felt the need to speak. “Yeah, I’m gonna kick your-”

Jack silenced her with a sideways glance. He opened the door, and they started down the hall to the elevator.

Hannah spoke through her teeth. “Did I just sound like a sixteen-year-old girl in there?”

“Fifteen,” said Jack.

“Oy vey.”

Jack pushed the call button for the elevator. “We’re cool,” he said.

Chapter Seventeen

Jackson Memorial Hospital is virtually around the corner from Miami International Airport, right on the way home for Jack. His flight from LaGuardia was a few minutes late, but the Laramores were at their daughter’s side around the clock. Jack made a quick stop to give Ben Laramore a flavor of how the meeting with BNN’s lawyers had gone.

“We’ve got a battle on our hands,” said Jack.

They were at a table in the ground-floor cafeteria, which had stopped serving for the night and was a few minutes from closing. Most of the chairs were upturned and resting on the dining tables, out of the way for a floor mopping. Only one other table was occupied, an intern on her cell phone.

“Is there any hope of a quick settlement?” asked Laramore.

“It’s going to take more than filing a complaint to bring them to the bargaining table. We need to push the case forward, take some depositions. Even then, this could be one of those cases that doesn’t settle until the eve of trial, if it settles at all.”

“Then we need to push the case to trial. Fast.”

“We’ll push, but civil suits don’t typically move quickly. Realistically, the soonest we can expect that judge to set the case for trial would be six to eight months from now, and we can pretty much bank on at least one continuance. Probably a year or more, when all is said and done.”

“A year?” Ben said, running his hand through his hair. The worry lines in his face seemed carved in wax, each day taking a toll. Laramore dug an envelope from his pocket and handed it to Jack. “I can’t wait a year.”

Jack checked inside. It was a hospital expense report. “Ninety-two hundred dollars,” said Jack, reading the bottom line aloud.

“That’s just for today. No insurance. Virginia doesn’t work. I’m a laid-off plumber. Whoever strangled my daughter is still out there, and I can’t even afford to post a security guard outside the door. I asked for daily printouts, just so I can keep a handle on expenses, but what’s the point? How are we supposed to