“Too long.”
Well. “We grew up.”
“It can’t be avoided, can it?” John grinned crookedly, gesturing her into his office with a long arm.
“Thanks.” Judy glanced around. His office was small but immaculate, with files organized on the credenza, labeled looseleaf binders on the shelves, and diplomas and certificates of admission on the walls. It was the décor of the geeky boy she remembered, but he had grown into a very different sort of man.
“If you could just sign these forms, I’ll put this money in the bank next door, right away.” John set the duffel down and reached for some blank forms on his desk, which had a polished maplewood top that was clear except for a laptop.
“It’s not a PennBank, is it? I’m suing them.”
“No, it’s not, but I’m glad to see you’re still the firebrand I remember.” John slid the forms to Judy, then handed her a black enamel pen from his breast pocket. “Here, use my show-off pen. My father gave it to me when I passed the bar, back when pens still mattered.”
“I will, thanks.” Judy accepted the pen, and scribbled her name on the first form, noticing that John wasn’t wearing a wedding ring and there was no masonry dust under his fingernail. Then she realized with a start that she hadn’t thought of Frank today until this very moment, and not in a good way.
“You’re signing a form that will permit me to set up an IOLTA account.”
“What does that mean anyway?” Judy signed the second form.
“An Interest Only Lawyers’ Trust Account. It’s a clunky acronym for holding account, that’s all. Any fund generates interest, and the question is where the interest goes and who owns it.”
“Why didn’t they just say that?”
“Because they’re politicians.”
“Ha.” Judy finished signing the forms and handed him back the pen, which he returned to his breast pocket.
“Under the statute, the interest flows into a general fund used to improve access to the civil legal system.”
“That’s nice.”
“Isn’t it? We need the money in a safe place while we set up the estate, which will take some time to do. If we could open an estate in a day, then we wouldn’t need the IOLTA account.”
“I understand.” Judy liked that John said we, as if her problem was his problem, too.
“If the money is put in an IOLTA account, there is no need to identify the owner to the bank. That works well in this situation, since we don’t know who the rightful owner is.”
“Right.”
“Just so we’re clear, the decedent was a Pennsylvania resident, correct?”
“Yes, but she was undocumented.”
“That doesn’t matter, for present purposes. As a Pennsylvania resident, her estate administration is governed by the Pennsylvania Estate and Fiduciary Code. You remember the basics from law school? The jurisdiction was different, but the legal fundamentals remain the same.”
“No, I sucked at trusts and estates.”
“I know you did. I remember.” John chuckled, and so did Judy. “Anyway, the PEF Code gives a priority list of persons entitled to administer an estate. There is no will, I presume?”
“Not as far as I know.”
“We can talk later about the larger questions regarding the administration of the estate, when you have more time. I wanted to make sure we were on the same page.” John extended his hand, palm up. “May I have your driver’s license, please? I need ID to set up the account, then I can let you go on your way.”
“Thanks.” Judy went into her purse, extracted her driver’s license from her wallet, and handed it to him.
“Great.” John slid out his iPhone, took a picture of her driver’s license, and handed it back to her.
“So now the money’s in your hands.”
“It’s more complicated than that, but I can explain it to you later. These funds are considered qualified funds under the Code of Professional Responsibility.”
“Okay,” Judy said, and she could tell from the authoritative tone in his voice that he knew what he was talking about, and she didn’t have time to find out. “I should be getting to the hospital. My aunt’s pretty sick.”
“I’m sorry to hear that.” John frowned slightly, with genuine sympathy in his eyes. “It would be gentlemanly of me to walk you to the elevator, but there are fifty thousand reasons I should stay right here.”
“I agree.” Judy smiled, and John smiled back, meeting her eye more directly than was professional.
“Why don’t you call me tonight or tomorrow, and we can set up a time to talk about the next steps? It’s a fairly involved process, getting you or your aunt appointed as the administrator of the estate.”
“Really, why?” Judy asked, going to the threshold of his office.
“The world isn’t set up for $50,000 that nobody wants to keep.”
“It’s not easy to do the right thing.”
“No, it’s not easy to do the legal thing.” John titled his chin up, smiling. “I admire your aunt.”
“So do I,” Judy said, feeling her emotions well up. “Well, I’d better go. Thanks so much.”
“Bye now. Call me.”
“I will, thanks.” Judy left the office and hustled down the hall through the reception room, down the elevator and out the lobby to the street, where the cabdriver was still waiting. She climbed in the cab and slammed the door behind her. “Thanks for hanging in.”
“No problem. Where to?”
“The hospital, please.”
“You got it.” They took off, switching lanes in traffic, and Judy’s head was swimming. She slid out her phone and checked to see if her mother had called or texted, but she hadn’t. She checked her email reflexively, and noticed that new email had popped onto the screen. It was an official filing from the United States District Court, which permitted electronic filing in motions and cases, so it had to be something important.
She opened the email, concerned. MOTION FOR SANCTIONS AGAINST PLAINTIFF’S COUNSEL JUDY CARRIER, ESQ., PURSUANT TO FEDERAL RULE OF CIVIL PROCEDURE 37, read the title of the motion, and the caption of the action was Linda Adler v. PennBank. The motion had been filed on behalf of PennBank by Rick Kelin.
“What?” Judy gasped, aghast. Her heart sank as she skimmed the first few lines: Movant PennBank asks this Court to sanction Plaintiff’s Counsel Judy Carrier, Esq., for failure to cooperate in discovery, i.e., for inappropriate and abusive misconduct during the deposition of witness Mr. Devi Govinda …
Judy couldn’t believe what she was reading. Rule 37 was an extreme remedy, a last resort for when the discovery process was being obstructed, blocked, or the like. She had never seen it used the way Kelin was using it, against her. She read on: Plaintiff’s Counsel badgered and harassed the witness … Plaintiff’s Counsel threatened that she would ‘get’ the witness at trial … Plaintiff’s Counsel left Defense Counsel no alternative but to flee the deposition, in order to protect the shaken witness from further distress …
The cab veered around the corner, and Judy scrolled through the motion, which was short, only two pages long. That must’ve been how Kelin had gotten it written and filed so quickly; either that or he had it ready, on a form. She turned to the last page, which was a certification signed by counsel that he had attempted to confer, in an effort to settle the dispute. At the bottom of the page was Richard Kelin’s signature, after: Defense Counsel called Plaintiff’s Counsel and attempted to discuss this matter with her today, to no avail. Plaintiff’s Counsel rudely cut off the conversation, then hung up on Defense Counsel … Defense Counsel cannot subject Witness Phillip Morrell to Plaintiff’s Counsel, until this Court has ruled …
Judy shook her head, disgusted. She understood what Kelin was up to and she kicked herself for leaving herself vulnerable. He wouldn’t win the motion, but he’d bring her conduct to the attention of the Court, prejudicing the judge against her. She’d have to file a reply explaining herself, but the ju
dge’s first impression of her would be as a hothead. She had to hope it wouldn’t prejudice him against Linda’s case, or she’d never forgive herself.
Judy gritted her teeth, jostling in the moving cab. She had misjudged Kelin as a spoiled baby, but he was a sharp and aggressive litigator. His motion was typical of the behind-the-scenes gamesmanship that she hated, but she had no one but herself to blame. Her thoughts raced ahead, and the implications fell like dominoes, in a cause-and-effect chain of collapse. She’d have to write, research, and file a response to the motion right away, to mitigate the damage with the judge. She’d have to get the Morrell deposition rescheduled. She’d have to explain it to Linda, and worse, to Bennie.
The cab raced toward the hospital, and Judy looked to the window, realizing that as bad as it was, it paled in comparison to what Aunt Barb was going through.
This very minute.
Chapter Twenty-seven
“So what did the nurse say?” Judy asked, dumping her messenger bag and purse on the chair next to her mother, in the quiet waiting room. A young receptionist sat at the front desk, tapping on the computer keyboard, and the only other people were an older couple sitting together at the far end of the row, watching the news on a TV mounted in the corner, with closed captioning.
“She hasn’t said anything new, since what I told you on the phone.”
“What about why it was taking longer?” Judy slid out of her coat and put it on top of her stuff. “Did you ask why?”
“Yes, and she said she didn’t know, but she’d keep us posted.” Her mother pursed her lips, lipsticked a tasteful pink, which told Judy that she had just been in the bathroom, freshening her makeup.
“So that conversation was at about ten thirty, correct?”
“Yes, I suppose so, if I’m to be cross-examined.” Her mother gestured at the empty chair beside her. “Please, have a seat.”
Judy checked her watch, which showed 12:01. “So that was an hour and a half ago.”
“I can subtract, dear. Sit down.”
“Hold on.” Judy hovered over her chair and glanced back at the receptionist. “I’m saying because it’s been an hour and a half, so it seems reasonable to ask how things are going.”
“Don’t ask any more questions. If there’s something we need to know, they’ll tell us.”
Judy almost laughed out loud. “Mom, I’m a lawyer. If I ran my life that way, I’d be out of a job.”
“Do you have to be a lawyer, every minute?”
“Honestly, yes.”
“You’re not in a courtroom. You’re in a hospital.”
“So what? I don’t think it’s a bad thing, to be a lawyer in a hospital.”
“I do.”
“I don’t,” Judy shot back, defensive. “It’s good to be an advocate when you’re in a hospital. Aunt Barb can’t do it herself, so she needs us to be her advocate.”
“Oh for goodness’ sake, sit down.”
Judy glanced back at the receptionist, who was now on the phone. “What’s the big deal? I can’t go ask a question?”
“She’s just a receptionist. She’s not a nurse. She doesn’t know anything.” Her mother inhaled slowly, which Judy recognized as her long-suffering martyr sound.
“She can find it out, Mom.”
“That’s not how it works. The doctor comes out and talks to you, or the nurse. The receptionist doesn’t tell you anything.” Her mother brushed a hair back into its silky blonde topknot, a reflexive gesture, since every strand was in place.
“That doesn’t mean you can’t ask.”
“But what’s the point?” her mother asked sharply.
“The point is that I’m worried something happened!” Judy raised her voice, not bothering to check herself. She couldn’t shake the stress of the morning, the botched deposition, or the Rule 37 motion. “Don’t you want to know what’s going on in there? She’s your sister!”
“No, I don’t want to know.” Her mother rolled her eyes. “She’s my own sister but I don’t care. You’re the only one who cares. Thank God you’ve arrived.”
“Mom, really?”
“That must be it. You love her more than I do. To prove it, you’ll go running around willy-nilly, asking questions that nobody will answer.”
Judy felt her temper give way. “Mom, what’s your problem? That’s not what I’m going to do at all, and you can’t know if somebody won’t answer a question until you ask.”
“Then go ask!” her mother hissed, her blue eyes flashing with anger. Her fair skin flushed under her foundation. “Why are you bothering me? You’re a big girl. You’re a lawyer, twenty-four/seven. If there isn’t a fight, you’ll pick one. You’ll find one. You’re not happy unless you’re unhappy!” Her mother threw a hand toward the reception desk, then turned away. “Go ask whatever questions you want! You don’t need my permission. God knows you never listened to me anyway.”
Stung, Judy pivoted on her heel and charged toward the front desk, where the receptionist was hanging up the phone. “Excuse me, I was wondering—”
“Yes, I just got word that your aunt is out of surgery. She is being taken to the recovery room now and you’ll be able to see her when she wakes up.”
“Great.” Judy felt tears of relief, or maybe frustration, come to her eyes, but she blinked them away. “When will that be?”
“It’s usually an hour or more.”
“Do you know why it took longer?”
“No, I don’t.”
“Is that typical or atypical?” Judy asked, without knowing exactly why. Maybe she wanted to know what to expect when she saw her aunt. Maybe she didn’t trust the hospital to be forthcoming about anything that had gone wrong. Or maybe her mother was right, that if there wasn’t a fight, she’d pick one.
“I don’t know. I’m just a receptionist, not a nurse.” The receptionist’s dark eyes shifted toward Judy’s mother and back again, and Judy felt embarrassed that the receptionist had overheard her mother’s comment.
“Sorry about that.”
“No apologies are necessary.” The receptionist looked away. “Unfortunately, the doctor was called in on another operation and so he won’t be able to speak with you yet. The schedule is running behind, and he’ll meet you in the recovery room just as soon as he can. He’ll be able to answer your questions at that time. I can have a nurse come out and give you an update momentarily.”
“I would like that, thank you very much. Thank you.” Judy walked stiffly back to the row of chairs against the wall and sat down next to her mother, who turned away, fake-reading an old copy of People. “She’s fine and the nurse will see us—”
“I heard,” her mother said, without looking up from the magazine, and Judy turned in the opposite direction and reached for her laptop to get started on a response to the Rule 37 motion. Mother and daughter sat stiffly side-by-side for the next fifteen minutes, until a cheery nurse in a blue scrub cap and patterned scrubs emerged from the door behind the reception desk and made a beeline for them.
“Ms. Carrier?” asked the nurse, and as she approached, a blue lanyard bearing her hospital ID bounced on her ample bosom.
“Yes?” her mother answered, looking up.
“That’s us.” Judy took her laptop off her lap and stood up to meet the nurse, who touched her arm with a friendly, reassuring smile.
“I have good news, ladies.”
“Thank God.” Judy eased back down in her chair, awash in a warm wave of gratitude as the nurse explained that Aunt Barb’s surgery had been successful, but they were still waiting on further pathology tests of her tissue. The nurse said that she didn’t know why it took longer, but that wasn’t atypical, and she promised that the doctor would fill them in in the recovery room once Aunt Barb woke up. Judy’s mother asked about the pain medication, which was Vicodin, and the drains, which seemed to preoccupy her, but Judy felt increasingly too emotional to bother with the medical details. She barely listened to her mother and the nurse, talkin
g about the emptying and stripping of drains. She was just happy Aunt Barb had come through her surgery.
“Well, that’s a relief,” her mother said after the nurse had left, then returned to her magazine.
“I know.” Judy felt the urge to hug her mother, who was evidently memorizing the magazine. “I’m sorry if I was short with you, Mom. I was just upset—”
“We both were,” her mother answered without looking up, then lapsed into silence.
Judy didn’t know whether her mother officially wasn’t speaking to her and let it go. She picked up her laptop, turned her attention to the Rule 37 motion, and tried to draft coherent sentences, writing that she hadn’t been abusive during Govinda’s deposition, hadn’t forced the witness or his lawyer to leave, and hadn’t intentionally hung up on Kelin, but that the conversation had been accidentally terminated by an incoming call, which she explained only as a family emergency. She’d be damned if she’d trade Aunt Barb’s privacy to win the motion, or for any other reason.
One hour stretched into two as Judy worked, keeping an eye on her laptop clock and wondering why Aunt Barb was taking so long to wake up. She finalized the motion, filed it electronically with the Court, then checked her email, which was piling up, and her phone messages, which would have to wait. Frank had texted How’s Aunt Barb? And she texted back, still waiting to hear the details, but it went okay, thx xoxo. She thought briefly of John and felt reassured that the money was safe, even if its ownership caused problems they’d have to resolve down the line.
Finally, the nurse reappeared and escorted Judy and her mother to the recovery room, where Aunt Barb lay sleeping in a hospital bed, her head to the side, still in her plastic cap. Layers of cotton blankets covered her to her shoulders, and oddly, an IV port was stuck in the side of her neck as well as the top of her hand. Her skin had a gravely ashy hue, and her eyelids barely fluttered open when Judy and her mother took their places on opposite sides of her bed.
“Is she okay?” Judy asked the nurse, alarmed, as she set her stuff down on a chair. “She looks so pale.”