Blood Money

into a coma.”

“That’s what I want the hearing to be about. Who caused Celeste Laramore to go into a coma? Who’s the real villain? Now, that’s great television.”

His last remark made Gaines pause.

“Not that this is about TV ratings,” said Keating.

“No,” said Gaines, “of course not.”

“So that’s the game plan,” said Keating. “You go into court on Tuesday, and you don’t argue about whether or not BNN intercepted data trying to find out if Celeste was alive or dead. You get as sanctimonious as you possibly can, you look the camera in the eye and say, ‘Judge, we want to keep this short and simple. So for purposes of today’s hearing, let’s all assume-contrary to fact-that BNN interfered with the transmission of data from the ambulance to the ER. Your Honor, even if you make that assumption, Mr. Swyteck’s case is still frivolous. Here’s why.’ You with me, Ted?”

“Yes,” said Gaines. “Except I think you meant to say ‘look the judge in the eye.’”

“What?”

“You said ‘look the camera in the eye.’ I think you meant ‘judge.’”

“Right. Of course. Look the judge in the eye.”

“Because there are no cameras in this courtroom. The complaint was filed under seal at BNN’s request. The hearing is closed to the public.”

“I understand,” said Keating. He glanced out the window, thinking. Daylight was in its final moments, and the tinted glass was like a fuzzy green shroud over the headlights of oncoming cars. “We need to fix that,” said Keating.

“Fix what?”

He glanced back at Gaines. “If we are going to take this all the way to a hearing on Tuesday, I’m going all-in. I want Tuesday’s hearing open to the public.”

“Excuse me?”

“You heard me. Tell the judge to open it up.”

“Hold on a second,” said Gaines. “We’re the ones who got the judge to enter an emergency order that required Swyteck to file his lawsuit under seal. We’re the ones demanding that the case be kicked out of court because Swyteck violated that order. After all that chest-thumping about the need for secrecy, now you want the hearing on this motion to be open to the public?”

“Exactly.”

“Come on, Sean.”

“Swyteck had one good point today,” said Keating. “We are the media, the free press, the First Amendment. BNN can’t be arguing for closed hearings.”

“The judge won’t like the flip-flop.”

“That’s why you get paid the big bucks, Ted.”

Gaines shook his head slowly, as if taken by the size of the task. But he didn’t shy away. “All right,” he said. “We’ll get it done. If you’re sure this is what you want.”

“Absolutely sure. Look, the bloggers have already picked up everything that was posted on that Facebook page. The genie’s out of the bottle, and we have nothing to lose by making this hearing public. We’re hammering Jack Swyteck, and as the Sydney Bennett trial proved night after night, that makes for excellent television. This is prime stuff for Faith Corso.”

Gaines drank the last of his water and sank farther into his seat, allowing his gaze to come to rest on the television screen in the console. The sound was off, but it was tuned to BNN. “Not that this is about TV ratings,” he said quietly.

“No,” said Keating. He found the remote, smiling wryly as he turned up the volume. “Not in the least.”

Chapter Thirty-Three

Jack took BNN’s offer straight to Ben Laramore.

The hospital’s main-floor cafeteria was crowded, no privacy, so they met in the friends-and-relatives lounge on the ICU floor. It was a depressing room with one window, forest-green walls, and black pleather chairs. The darkness was by design, so that visitors on night watch for a loved one in the ICU could slip away every now and then and catch some sleep. Around midnight the couches and spare blankets would be in high demand, but for the moment, Jack and his client were alone.

“A hundred thousand dollars does us no good,” said Laramore. He was seated on the edge of the couch, leaning forward, elbows on his knees.

“That’s what I told Ted Gaines,” said Jack.

Laramore was staring at the floor, silent. Jack watched him in the dim glow of a small lamp on the end table. He’d known Ben Laramore for less than a week. Jack had seen him tired. He’d seen him sad. He had not yet seen him this way. He looked beaten.

Jack spoke softly. “I wasn’t suggesting you should take it. But it’s my obligation as an attorney to convey every settlement offer to my client.”

He looked up sharply. “Then do it.”

“I just did.”

Laramore jumped up, energized with misdirected anger. “No. Go tell Celeste.”

“What?”

He grabbed Jack by the arm, pulling him up. “Come on. Go convey the offer to your client.”

“Ben, please.”

“I’m serious. You’re licensed to be part of this half-assed system. Go do your job as a lawyer. Go tell Celeste that after putting her in a coma, BNN has graciously put enough money on the table to keep her breathing all the way until Wednesday. Maybe even Thursday.”

“Ben, calm down and have a seat. Please.”

Laramore breathed out in disgust, muttering a brief apology as he returned to the couch.

“He’s pretty cocky, this Gaines,” said Laramore. “Is that because the judge is going to throw us out of court?”

“Clearly Mr. Gaines thinks so.”

“What do you think?”

“I think if we prepare for this hearing the same way we would prepare for trial, then we’ll be okay.”

Laramore leaned back and sank deeper into the stuffed pleather couch. “Let me ask you something,” he said. “What is Celeste’s case worth if we get past the hearing on Tuesday?”

“There will be plenty of fighting about that,” said Jack. “A lot of expert testimony.”

“Ballpark it.”

“A twenty-year-old woman who could require sixty years of care. Total care, if she stays in a coma. Some level of care seems likely even if she comes out of it.”

“So you’re giving her no chance of complete recovery?”

“I’ve ruled out nothing. That’s why I don’t want to put a number in your head. But if we can establish liability, and if there is no significant change in Celeste’s condition, this is an eight-figure case.”

“And they’re offering us a hundred grand?”

“That’s the first offer.”

“The only offer,” said Laramore. “And that’s the problem. Celeste doesn’t have six months or a year for these guys to come up with an acceptable number on the eve of trial. She’s been in a coma for six days. That’s already too late for some of the cutting-edge procedures that doctors are doing for patients in comas. Every day that we dance around with these jackasses, another opportunity passes.”

“That’s why Tuesday is so important,” said Jack. “Right now, BNN has us back on our heels. But if we make a good showing on Tuesday, we’ll have the upper hand.”

“You believe that?”