Beside the first word he wrote New Horizons. “Their annual statement shows that the company’s turnover last year was just over one billion, eight hundred million dollars. Their profit before taxes was about three hundred and twenty-seven million. They have had a run of several good years, and they currently hold over two hundred million dollars in cash and other liquid assets.” He wrote these figures on the board, then stepped back, giving them all a chance to ponder what they meant.
He then stepped up to the easel and wrote China. “This morning’s Wall Street Journal stated in a front-page article that U.S. financial institutions currently hold frozen Chinese government assets to the tune of eighty-one billion dollars.”
“No!” The sound tore through the silence like a sword. All eyes turned to where the general stood behind the defense table, his fist held like a gun aimed straight at Marcus. It was the first time Marcus had ever heard the man speak. Only he was not speaking now. He roared the words over the sound of Judge Nicols gavel. “You cannot do this! It is against international law! You must be stopped!” He turned to the judge and shouted, “You have power! Stop this insane man!”
“You sit down!” When the man merely dropped his arm, she pointed the gavel at a uniformed officer. “Bailiff, if he won’t be seated, cuff him to the chair.”
“Ah, you are crazy.” He rammed himself down, muttering furious incantations.
Marcus returned to his board, started to speak, shook his head. He turned back to the jury and merely said, “Thank you.”
Judge Nicols allowed the moment to linger, as strong a courtroom accolade as Marcus could ever recall receiving. She then turned to Logan and said, “All right, Mr. Kendall.”
He sprang up as though ejected from his seat, and strode to center stage with Suzie Rikkers in fretful attendance. Together they dismantled the easels and stowed the photographs. Logan did not wait for Suzie to resume her seat before launching into his rebuttal. “Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, the question now is the same question we started out on. That question is: What in the world are we doing here? What in the world have my clients done to justify this circus?”
The silver pen was out and waving like a sparkling baton, but the jury had the look of a band not certain which tune they should be playing. “These guys have drawn up some charges and thrown them against the wall to see what sticks. But you mustn’t forget, ladies and gentlemen of the jury, that they have a serious credibility problem here. They have no reliable witness tying anybody to the alleged incident. Remember that. It is crucial.”
He paced toward the empty witness box, made a fist and planted it softly upon the railing. He said a final time, “No credible witness. No one to tie the abuses you have seen to my clients.”
He then lowered his head a fraction and bulled forward. “I have a story I could tell you, a tragic tale about a factory with conditions so bad it would make you weep to hear about them. Only this factory was not over in China. No. It was here in North Carolina, and the case against this particular factory was tried just twenty-three years ago. Here in our beloved state, ladies and gentlemen of the jury. Less than a quarter of a century ago, we ourselves had factories that were run like prisons.”
He raised his gaze to meet theirs. “Yes, China is behind us in some things. But they are working hard to catch up. And what is more important still, ladies and gentlemen of the jury, what is absolutely critical here, what you must never forget, is that these conditions have nothing whatsoever to do with this case. Nothing. We are here because a woman has gone missing. Remember that. This is what has brought us together. The rest is just smoke. Don’t let the plaintiff’s attorney cloud your vision by blowing smoke at you. Don’t you dare let him.”
He waved his pen again, and this time they followed. “They say that New Horizons Incorporated and General Zhao should somehow be held liable for the disappearance of a political activist whom they can’t find. What they seem to have forgotten is that you do not enter a courtroom without a case that is somehow founded upon truth. Law and fact, and nothing else, make up this truth. Law and fact. I submit to you, ladies and gentlemen of the jury, that they remain wide of the mark on both these vital issues. The law is against them. This remains a political issue that should never have entered this courtroom. And the facts are not with them. Remember what I said. No reliable witness.” He held them a moment longer, then swept the baton down and away. “They have failed to tie my clients to the alleged misdeed. Do not hold them responsible for what they have not done. I have said it before, I will say it again: Let us wrap this up and go home.”
FORTY-EIGHT
The judge’s instructions took an hour and a half. The written interrogatories were passed out, the final orders solemnly intoned, and the case handed to the jury.
As soon as the jury retired and the judge departed, Marcus returned his little group to the pair of rooms lent them by Jim Bell. The press had grown impatient and tried to break through the police barrier, but Darren and the guards were ready. Darren and Deacon brought coffee and sandwiches that no one touched. Marcus stared at the food, knowing he was hungry, knowing also he would not keep anything down. He had known such letdowns before, but nothing this complete. He was anxious to learn the verdict, yet he knew it would do little good.
Charlie opened the door and slipped inside. Somehow the man seemed to have drawn both years and energy from the tirade washing against the windows. “Your audience is waiting.”
“Not now.”
“Come on, son.” Charlie walked over and pulled on his sleeve. “I know how you’re feeling, and I’m gonna share with you the barest truth I can. It don’t matter.”
“Charlie, I don’t have a thing to tell those people.”
“Sure you do.” The second tug was more insistent. “You’re a lawyer. You’re paid to think on your feet and spout hot air.”
Kirsten leaned against the wall, watching them. “He’s right, Marcus.”
“ ’Course I am. Listen to that din out there. They’re waiting for you to come out and give them the word from on high.”
“They’ll eat me alive,” Marcus said, but nonetheless allowed himself to be pulled to his feet.
“Naw. Take a little nibble here and there, that’s all.” Charlie unbuttoned the sleeve covering Marcus’ cast. “Roll that up and leave off your coat.”
“Charlie, this is absurd.”
“I’ll tell you what it is, old son. It’s a whole ton of solid gold, and they want to just plump it down in your lap.” The old man’s eyes sparkled like those of someone half his age. “That’s the sound of free publicity out there, and a sweeter song they couldn’t be singing.”
Kirsten walked over, said, “You want to give it all to Logan Kendall?”
“Exactly!” Charlie patted his back, urging him forward. “Listen to the lady, son.”
“I don’t know what to say,” he confessed.
She joined her hand to his, and said, “Tell them what’s on your heart.”
“You got a smart one here,” Charlie agreed, opening the door, then turning back to wink at her. “Believe I’d hold on to the lady if I could.”
“All rise.” The judge swept in and seated herself. The jury paraded in and took their seats. Marcus felt the tension in the courtroom tighten around his chest like a titanium band.
Judge Nicols observed them solemnly, then asked, “Has the jury reached a verdict?”
“We have, Your Honor.”
Marcus glanced at his watch, then the wall clock, saw Charlie do the same. Ninety minutes from the jury’s departure to their return. A bad sign. Very bad. Civil-trial juries tended to bring back swift verdicts only when they found against the plaintiff. Discussions about punitive damages alone took hours, sometimes days. Not a good sign at all.