I lean against my mother’s shoulder, quietly accepting her support when she slips an arm around me. “Yeah.”
“This won’t change anything, not for us. But...” Mom’s voice is sad. “Is it horrible to hope my husband’s firm loses so that maybe it does change something for someone else who still needs it?”
“Absolutely not,” I answer without even having to pause to think.
But I think she’s wrong about one thing. I think Declan has a plan, and it could change everything. I just don’t know if I trust it to be for the better or for the worse.
Declan
I’m about to roll the dice on my career in the highest stakes game of my life, and I don’t even know if she’s watching. I fucking hope she is, but I won’t know until after the dust settles.
My heart is pumping, and the adrenaline is kicking in. Walking into court always reminds me of entering the boxing ring back in my college days. Nailing someone with words isn’t always as satisfying as rocking them with my fists, but it has that same rush, just without all the blood and spit.
That’s a good thing, most days.
If she can’t even bring herself to watch me on screen, well, I’d still go through with it. At some point in the last week, it’s become painfully clear to me that we can’t—and shouldn’t—always save the assholes of the world from themselves. Not Cooper. Not Michael.
Not me.
But I’d really prefer she was watching, because I’d hate to think that I’m doing all this just to find that she doesn’t give a fuck. I can deal with jobless, but I’m not interested in jobless and alone. When I close my eyes, she’s the only one I see, and there’s no one else that’s going to take her place.
The fifth floor courtroom is buzzing like a hive of agitated bees. On the right, cameras and microphones stick out of the benches like the spears of a Roman phalanx, ready to catch the bodies of the defeated. Me and my team, that’s who they want to see bleed. Makes for a shitty day for us, but great TV.
Aside from the press, pretty much everyone in the room is there in support of the other side. Sure there’re a few court regulars who go to anything and everything, but mostly it’s disgruntled employees and pissed off family members. They radiate angry energy with no outlet to channel it.
I glance at Cooper sitting next to me, and grin at the sheen of sweat starting to pop out on his forehead. I’m really looking forward to seeing his face when he realizes his whole case is a house of cards. He’s nervous, but too stupid to understand how badly this is going to go for him.
His bet is even worse than mine, risking everything on one player because he can’t bring himself to believe that after so many years of doing whatever the hell he wanted, he’s finally going to get smacked down like the rabid dog he is.
“All rise, the Honorable Judge Bailey presiding.” The whole courtroom moves as one at the bailiff’s announcement. The angry buzz tunes down to a quiet hum as the crowd waits to see the show.
A white-haired man with square glasses and a bit of a paunch enters the room wearing judge’s robes. His wrinkles and spots make him look old enough to retire years ago, but his blue eyes are clear, examining the room with a sharp gaze before he takes his seat on the podium. Judge Bailey. His record is solid. Old-school, but by the book and unimpressed by theatrics. “Please be seated.”
The plaintiff’s opening statement tears at the heartstrings. I’m bored out of my skull, just wanting to get on with it, and I’m sure that plays right into his picture of us as uncaring monsters. Their lawyer is Dave Slater, a tall, black man, square faced and serious. He knows his shit, and he’s a fighter. Both in court and on the softball field. He’d better buy me a beer later for handing him an easy win, and then I’ll even the score next season.
Knowing we were the other side, I’m sure he’s worked his ass off, so I’ll let him have his moment. He’ll be expecting a curve ball, but he’s going to slam it out of the park.
“Mr. Riordan, it’s your turn to present your opening statement.” The voice makes me look up. Oh, Dave’s done already. Suppose I should pay attention. Well, it’s show time.
My statement is well crafted but uninspired. I feed them the line Cooper wants. Business is business, they do the best they can, he’s out there providing Americans with jobs, blah blah blah. Cooper smiles and nods, completely missing the skeptical looks some of the jury members are sending his way. It’s hard to make people believe you care about jobs, when you’re on the stand for wrongful termination on a massive scale.