Leonard nodded.
“It’ll go down like this,” Regard went on. “The four knee-jerk liberals on the bench dissent on principle to every death penalty that’s put before them. They’ll join the new majority. All we needed was the one swing vote. It’s simple. The vote will now be five to four for reversal instead of five to four to affirm the conviction. The four weak sisters on the bench are always looking for a way to reverse a death case. They don’t care if he walks. Both the guilty verdict and the death penalty sentence will be reversed on appeal. It’s up to Carter to find a reason.”
There was a long pause and neither spoke.
“You understand, right, Leonard? Carter’s a piece of cake, he’s already on board. What about your end?”
Leonard was slow to speak, twisting his ring, running his fingertips nervously over the three rubies in the family crest before answering. “My contact says the Committee meets to change the wording in the Georgia code tomorrow morning, seven o’clock. No press will show because the time and date were changed for the meeting, and notice won’t be published in the main foyer until eight a.m., as usual…an hour later. Topic’s not identified, it’s listed under ‘supplemental.’ The Committee vote will be over before notice is even posted.”
Leonard downed a gulp of the scotch placed in front of him and waited for the bartender to fade away before going on. “Two of five on the Committee are still back home, but three are still in Atlanta, and that gives us a quorum. They’re with us on this. They’re investors in the high-rise, which helps. The code change comes out of Committee and goes straight to the full Assembly by noon. It’s tacked on to a big insurance bill that everybody wants…you know, voter pressure. The insurance bill is set to pass by eighty-eight percent at two tomorrow afternoon. That’s eighty-eight percent already locked in. Could be even more by the time it’s done.”
He paused and took another sip.
“It’s a blip on the screen. It’ll mean nothing to anybody voting on the insurance bill.” Leonard looked over each of his shoulders before finishing. “Even if they bother to read it, which they won’t, even then, they won’t get what it means. The wording just re-defines ‘tree’ as any growth two feet or over, not twenty. By summer, condos will be less than a football field from the first sea oat on the beach…directly on the sand, get it? Asking price twelve million apiece.”
Buried deep in Georgia law, Leonard found the old Georgia code reading that no structure could be erected within fifty yards of the first tree closest to beach and marsh. The word “tree” was defined as any natural, living plant growth twenty feet or over.
Naturally, the old regulation destroyed any possibility of ocean or marsh-front condos and high-rises. Nothing but grass or sea oats grew anywhere near the crystal-white sand, and certainly none topping twenty feet.
The two men wordlessly clinked their glasses.
This was good, Matt thought. It was damned good. The Cruise reversal was the only way his firm would ever get their state and federal funding back. They needed the money, desperately.
Environmentalists just assumed the beaches were protected. Every time developers tried to plant a resort, golf course, or even a simple mini-mart on St. Simons Island, the granolas went berserk. The Island remained pure while the rest of the Georgia and Florida coasts were littered with motels, snake farms, even paper mills pumping tons of smelly goo into the air and ocean.
Not so on pristine St. Simons.
But for nearly fifteen years now, Floyd Moye Eugene had slowly and surreptitiously bought up huge sweeps of Island beach. He had never used his own name-that would have been too obvious-but rather the names of a dozen fake shell corporations that had no function whatsoever created specifically for this purpose, and a few in his wife’s name. Next to an environmental trust, he now reigned as the single largest private landowner on the Island.
But the land could never be developed…until now.
Matt Leonard downed the rest of his drink.
“Listen,” he told Sims, after sipping from his glass, “Carter’s got to come through on the damned reversal.”
“He will.”
“The firm needs it. Cruise’s was the first Penalty case we’ve ever lost, and the hit was big. We lost all our federal funding on the Death Penalty Project…a couple of million…and we’ve seen a complete drain of death cases since the conviction. Plus, it made us look bad…made me look bad.”
“I know, I know…don’t worry.”
Just thinking about it now, two years later, Leonard’s face burned at the memory. It was the worst beating he’d ever taken in a public courtroom. Hailey Dean had gotten his client so worked up after she’d cross-examined the defense’s chief alibi witness Cruise refused to take the stand.
No, instead, what did he do? Cruise wolfed down his evening sedative right there in the courtroom. The little shit had saved it in a sweat sock.
Leonard shook his head, stuck in the dark memory.
That was the first year in fifteen that a Leonard Brother didn’t rule the state as president of the Georgia Bar Association. Referrals dried up, and his own client denounced him openly at sentencing. He’d shared headlines with Hailey Dean for seven weeks while the case was tried. They always painted her the hero and him the shit. Halfway through her closing argument, two jurors started crying into napkins, and the rest acted disgusted every time he tried to break her rhythm by objecting. The press loved it.
Regard snapped him out of it. “I’d love another drink, Matt, but I’ve got business across town.”
Before he could speak, Regard slid off his barstool, walked out of the bar, and disappeared into the night.
Matt Leonard sat still, alone, second drink melting down.
All he could think was Dean. Hailey Dean.
19
New York City
THE PHONE WAS RINGING JUST AS HAILEY STEPPED INTO HER apartment. She dropped her bags inside the door and made a run for it.
It was probably Dana, trying to change her mind to come back downtown. She was headed for a new club when Hailey left her, whining about having to go alone.
But when Hailey picked up the phone and checked caller ID, she saw it wasn’t Dana at all.
“Mother!” she said into the receiver, glad she hadn’t missed the call.
“Honey, you’re there!” Elizabeth Dean sounded pleased on the other end. “I was expecting to get your answering machine. I’m so glad you’re not out running. It’s so dangerous, you out at all hours in New York City.”
Hailey wanted to remind her mother that it was dangerous down in Atlanta, too. Maybe worse…But she knew that would go nowhere.
“That’s why I joined the gym. So you won’t worry! How’s Daddy?”
“I’m fine. Your daddy’s fine…tired…you know.”
Yes, she knew. Mac Dean had been battling heart disease for years. It worried them all. And her mother had her own problems but still took care of her father non-stop.
“When are you planning on coming down to see us?”
“I don’t know, I hadn’t thought about it. We were just together up here at Christmas…it hasn’t been a month! It was so nice having you here with me. I keep thinking about it…I miss you so much.”
“It feels like a lot longer than that.”
Hailey stopped short. Her mother was right. It did. “Come back and see me again. I’ll buy the tickets.”
The answer was prompt-and predictable. “Oh, we couldn’t let you do that.”
Of course, they could-but they wouldn’t.
It wasn’t just about pride. Hailey knew that her parents still held out hope that she’d “get over this,” as they put it, and come back home to Georgia.