I close my eyes slowly, telling myself this is a bad dream. I close my eyes because I can't stand to see the accusation in hers, and because I know she's right. I did this knowing she was going to get personally hurt, and I could have prevented it. I could have stopped all of this by being truthful with her from the beginning. I could have told her about those witnesses. Yes, it would have crossed an ethical line, but why didn't I see it then the way I see it now? That Leary would have been worth risking my career. She was more important than my ethics or my law license.
I need to let her know that, but when I open my eyes to tell her what a fool I've been, she's gone. Ford is still standing there, though, looking surprisingly sympathetic.
I can't stand the look. It merely confirms what Leary just told me--it's over between us.
I spin on my heel and lumber down her porch steps. When I reach my car door, I turn and see Ford following me. He clearly has something to say, so I just stare at him.
"Listen," he says carefully. "I'm sorry . . . for both of you. I know you had something special."
"Apparently not that special," I murmur as I look back toward her house, knowing that I'm the one who failed to make the choice that would have preserved it. "Do you think I chose wrong?"
"Doesn't matter what I think," he says, doing nothing to inflame or assuage my guilt. "But do me a favor--Monday in court, don't try to harass her into talking to you. You know the chances of her winning are very low now, and it's going to be hard on her as it is. Just keep your distance, okay?"
I open my car door and step into the driver's side. Shooting him a quick look, I say, "I won't be there. I quit Battle Carnes this afternoon after court was over. Kratzenburg will finish up the trial."
Sitting down in the driver's seat, I close the door and take a quick glance at Ford. He's staring at me thoughtfully, both of his hands tucked into his pockets. Giving me a nod of his head, he turns away and heads back toward Leary's porch.
As soon as I back out of the driveway and put the car in drive, I pull my phone out. I might have lost Leary for good, but maybe I can still do something to help salvage her case.
I dial Rhonda Valasquez's number again. As per usual, it goes right to voice mail, and I don't hesitate in my message.
"Miss Valasquez, this is Reeve Holloway again. I wanted you to know that I quit working at Battle Carnes today. I no longer represent Dr. Summerland. I really need to talk to you about this case. It's taken a bad turn, and if there's anything you can do to help Jenna LaPietra, I need you to do it. I am begging you to call me. Please."
Hanging up my phone, I drive back home. There's nothing to do but wait and hope that she calls me back, and then hope that she has something worthwhile to tell me.
CHAPTER 23
LEARY
"Are we ready to begin?" Judge Henry asks affably from up on his perch.
I give him a confident smile. "The plaintiff is ready, Your Honor."
Turning my gaze, I look over at the defense table. I knew Reeve wouldn't be sitting there this Monday morning--Ford told me that he quit Battle Carnes. This surprised me, but past that, I didn't have time to give any credence to the feelings that welled up within me at the news. Instead, I tried to numb myself to Reeve and everything that we had.
Gill Kratzenburg showed up this morning, and we met in the judge's chambers. He advised Judge Henry that Mr. Holloway would not be making further appearances and that he would handle the remainder of the case. Judge Henry was surprised, and I managed to look the same myself. Regardless, there was no sense in holding up the show.
Kratzenburg stands up. "The defendant is ready."
"Then let's move on to closing arguments," Judge Henry says and then turns to the bailiff. "You can bring the jury in."
"Your Honor," I butt in politely, "I would respectfully request that you reopen evidence and allow the plaintiff to call one rebuttal witness."
Kratzenburg explodes. "I object, Your Honor."
"Of course you do," Judge Henry says drily as he looks at Gill in boredom. "Just as Miss Michaels objected to your rebuttal witnesses." Turning his eyes to me, he pushes, "Tell me what you have, Miss Michaels."
"Yes, sir. I'll be calling Miss Rhonda Valasquez to the stand. She was one of two surgical nurses who assisted Dr. Summerland during Jenna's surgery. She'll be offering rebuttal evidence to Dr. Summerland's testimony here during the trial, as well as to some statements he made to me in his deposition, which I admitted into evidence as Plaintiff's exhibit number twenty-four."
Judge Henry nods and says, "I'll allow it. Let's call the jury in, and then you can call your witness."
As I sit in my chair, I watch as Gill Kratzenburg leans over toward Dr. Summerland, who looks positively green right now. He knows exactly why I'm calling Rhonda Valasquez to the stand, and I'd bet he'd sell his right kidney to be anywhere but here in this courtroom.
I'd like to say she's a gift from God, but she's actually a gift from Reeve. I was sitting in my living room on Sunday afternoon, wearing a pair of faded jeans and a Stanford sweatshirt, when my doorbell rang. When I opened the door, I saw a middle-aged, heavyset woman with sandy-blonde hair and light-brown eyes. She looked me straight in the eyes and said, "Miss Michaels, my name is Rhonda Valasquez. I was one of the nurses involved with your client's surgery. I have something important to tell you."
My jaw dropped and I sort of stuttered when I asked, "I don't understand. How did you find my house?"
"Reeve Holloway contacted me yesterday. He thinks I can help your case. I know I can."
And just like that, Jenna's case was saved.
Rhonda and I talked for three hours on Sunday afternoon, and she agreed to testify this morning. She wasn't hesitant at all, only claiming hesitancy in talking to Reeve, who'd been trying to contact her for weeks. She confessed she finally broke down when he left her a message on Friday saying he was no longer working for Dr. Summerland.
The door to the jury room opens and I wait for them all to file in. None of them look toward Jenna and me. All rapport that I established over the last few weeks was obliterated by Reeve's rebuttal witnesses last Friday.
It was time to change that.
Judge Henry explains to the jury that I have a rebuttal witness, and then he turns to me. "The jury is with the plaintiff, Miss Michaels."
Standing from my chair, I say, "I'd like to call Rhonda Valasquez to the stand."
She looks professional in her navy-blue-and-gold-checked dress. Her hair is pulled up into a smart bun, and she's wearing eyeglasses that she didn't have on yesterday at my house.
After she's sworn in, I ask, "Would you please introduce yourself to the jury?"
I instructed her to always make eye contact with the jury, and she remembers well. Turning to them, she says, "My name is Rhonda Valasquez. I'm a registered nurse."
"And were you present during the breast-reduction surgery Dr. Summerland performed on Jenna LaPietra?" I ask.
"I was," she responds.
"As part of your duties, do you make entries into the medical records?"
"Yes. There are usually two surgical nurses. One of us usually provides immediate assistance to the surgeon, and the other may document things in the chart as they occur."
I stand up from my chair. "May I approach, Your Honor?"
Judge Henry waves me forward and I walk up to Rhonda. "I'm handing you what's been marked as Plaintiff's exhibit number thirty-eight. Can you identify that for the jury?"
Rhonda takes the paper and looks at it briefly. "That's a page from the nurses' notes that were created during the surgery."
"And is that your handwriting?"
"No. That's the other nurse's handwriting. I was doing the main assistance, and she was responsible for charting."
Leaning over the edge of the witness box, I point to the middle of the note. "Right there it says, '12:18 p.m., Dr. S and R.V. step out.' What does that mean?"
Rhonda looks over to the jury. "At 12:18 p.m., b
oth Dr. Summerland and I stepped out of the operating room together."
I can hear the jury muttering, completely taken with this information.
"And right below that?" I ask as I point back to the note.
"It says, '12:32 p.m., Dr. S back. Surg in progress,'" she supplies to the jury.
"So, the notes reflect that you and Dr. Summerland left the operating room together, is that correct?"
"That's correct," she says calmly.
"Isn't that unusual?" I ask curiously.
"It is," she says.
I glance quickly over at the jury. They're all leaning forward, completely entranced with Rhonda's testimony. I can practically see the thoughts racing through their gazes.
Where did they go?
What were they doing?
Was something illicit going on?
It's time to let them in on the secret.
"Miss Valasquez, why did you two leave the operating room together?"
Rhonda takes a deep breath and turns to the jury. "I noticed Dr. Summerland's hands were shaking quite badly as he started the procedure. I asked him once if he was okay, and he told me he was fine. It seemed to stop for a few moments, but then his hands started shaking again."
"What did you do?" I prompt.
"I asked him again if he was okay, and this time he yelled at me to mind my own business."
A ripple of awkward movement comes from the jury as they shift and adjust in their seats.
"Did he continue to operate?" I ask her.
"He did," Rhonda says, "but I was extremely worried. His incision was irregular and I knew he wasn't physically able to perform surgery. So I told him that exactly."
"What was his reaction?" I ask softly.
"He was extremely angry. He barked orders at the anesthesiologist to monitor Jenna and that he'd be back. Then he ordered me out of the room with him."
"And did you go?"
"I did. I followed him out and into the scrub room."
"What happened?"
"He pulled off his gloves first, then his surgical mask, and started to dress me down for calling his capabilities into question in front of the other operating-room occupants. And that's when I finally realized why he was shaking."
This is a carefully orchestrated statement by Rhonda. We worked on her testimony for a long time yesterday, and I wanted the jury hanging on her every word.
"Please tell the jury what you observed," I gently command her.
"I smelled alcohol," she says matter-of-factly, and I hear a collective inhale from the jury. "It was strong. I'm not sure if he'd been drinking before the surgery, or if it was left over from the night before, but it was enough so I could smell it on his breath from a few feet away."
"What happened next?" I prod her further.
"He ordered me out of the surgical suite. Told me he was reporting me for insubordination."
"And did you leave?"
"I did," she says firmly. "And I went straight to my supervising nurse to report what happened."
"What did she do?"
"She said she would handle it. Told me to go home for the day and she'd call me later."
"And did she handle the situation?" I ask, taking a quick peek over at the jury. Their stares are all riveted on Rhonda.
"I'm thinking not," Rhonda says with derision. "The hospital administrator called me that night and told me my job was terminated."
"Terminated?" I ask in shock, turning my face to the jury. They all swing their gazes to me, and I can see they are pissed.
"Yes," Rhonda says quietly, and all twelve sets of eyes swing back to her. "Apparently no one confronted Dr. Summerland that day. They let him continue to operate, and the administrator called him at home that night. He denied my allegations and said I was being belligerent during the surgery, which is why he dismissed me."
"But surely the other people in the surgical room corroborated your story," I suggest to her. Although I know the sad answer to this already.
Rhonda shakes her head and looks at the jury with morose eyes. "They didn't. I think they were afraid of losing their jobs. Dr. Summerland holds a lot of power at the hospital. Plus, I'm not sure they smelled the alcohol the way I did. I only smelled it when he took his mask off."
I let those last words hang in front of the jury a moment before I return to my chair behind counsel table. After I take a seat, I close my notepad and cap my pen, subtly letting the jury know that I'm just about finished.
"Miss Valasquez," I say softly, but loud enough that the jury is with me, "is there any doubt in your mind that Dr. Summerland was impaired during that procedure?"
She shakes her head and spans her gaze across the jury box. "No. I smelled the alcohol and saw his shaking hands. His incision was irregular. I'm confident he was too impaired to be performing any type of surgery that day."
With a grateful smile and a nod of my head, I say, "Thank you, Miss Valasquez. I don't have any further questions."
Their next settlement offer came about five minutes after Rhonda Valasquez left the witness stand. Gill tried to attack her credibility, tried to pawn her off as a disgruntled employee who had a bone to pick with Dr. Summerland. She handled it perfectly, stating that she actually got another job pretty quickly, one that paid better and had a better work environment. She was extremely happy to be where she was and not at all upset over being terminated.
In fact, she told Gill on cross-examination, the only thing that did upset her was that no one bothered to stop the surgery so that Jenna wouldn't be harmed. That effectively shut Gill up--he knew he wouldn't be able to tarnish her.
Jenna and I spent a lot of time discussing the offer. They laid a million dollars on the table, and it wasn't something to sneeze at. I was hesitant in turning our noses up at it, because although I could tell the jury was now livid with Dr. Summerland, I couldn't be sure if they held anything against Jenna.
Ultimately, it was Jenna who decided not to take the money and let the jury decide her fate. I have no clue if it's right or wrong, but the decision is made and I need to put on my best performance right now.
After conveying to Gill that we're declining to settle, I run to the ladies' room to collect myself. Within five minutes I'll be back up before the jury giving the most important closing argument of my life. I won't see a dime of any money, don't give a shit about getting any accolades. My only thought as I stare in the mirror is trying to persuade twelve strangers to make this right for Jenna.
I wash my hands, dab on some lip gloss, and walk out.
Ford is waiting for me in the hallway, casually standing a few paces away from the bathrooms, checking his phone for messages. He hears me and his head pops up.
"You ready?" he asks with an encouraging smile.
Smoothing down my skirt, I walk toward him. "Yeah. Ready as I'll ever be."
Ford reaches a hand out and squeezes my shoulder. "Midge sent me over to watch and be your moral support. She wanted to be here, but you know . . . defeats her whole recluse thing."
I give a snort of laughter, grateful for Ford's humor. "I wouldn't expect otherwise."
Turning, Ford and I walk toward the courtroom doors. "Rhonda's testimony was fantastic," he says. "It's got the case back on track. You were right in turning down the million."
"You think her testimony was enough?" I ask curiously as he holds open one of the swinging doors for me. I can only hope it was enough to overcome the damage done by Reeve's rebuttal witnesses--thinking of them still burns me up.
"More than enough," he says emphatically. "It sealed the deal."
I give him a small smile and turn to walk up the aisle toward the front of the courtroom. Reaching out, he grabs my hand and I turn back. "You owe Reeve for that."
I blink at him in surprise and pull my hand away. "Don't," I warn him. "It's not the time or place."
"I know," he says quietly. "But when you're up there in front of the jury, channeling all of your emotion and rage against Dr. Summe
rland, let your feelings about Reeve flow into that. Remember what he did, the reasons he did it, and how it all makes you feel. Then when you're pleading with that jury to give Jenna justice, you remember that the reason they're going to give you justice is because Reeve handed you Rhonda Valasquez. Let it fuel you."
His words pack a punch. I get what he's saying--he's not asking me to forgive Reeve, and he's not asking me to go back to the way things were. He knows damn good and well that ninety percent of any jury argument is passion and only maybe ten percent is law and reason. He's telling me to tap into every bit of emotion I have, knowing that much of it has to do with Reeve and his involvement in this case, from betraying me to saving me, and most important, everything that I had with him that is now no more. I've suffered a loss, and he wants me to use it to prime my emotions.
I'm not sure if Reeve handing me Rhonda Valasquez makes up for what he did to our case in the first place. It's hard getting past hurt and betrayal. And yes, I was incredibly hurt that Reeve obviously didn't care enough about me to give me a heads-up over his rebuttal witnesses. Ethically he shouldn't do it, and yet I didn't think that was good enough reason to withhold from me.
I felt that way because I was pretty darn sure I was falling in love with him, and I thought he felt the same for me. I thought I meant enough to him that he would risk it. I was let down that he did not.
But when it ultimately boiled down to it, Reeve did in fact risk his license for me. Even though he quit Battle Carnes and the case, he still had as much ethical duty to Dr. Summerland as he ever did. By providing me with Rhonda Valasquez, he committed a serious breach of ethics, and that tells me that maybe I am more important to Reeve than I thought. Or maybe even more than he thought.
I nod at Ford and turn away, swallowing hard against the rawness of sentiment starting to build up inside me. Conflicting emotions surging and raging.
If it was his intention to get me riled up with fervor and passion, Ford just did his job very well.
CHAPTER 24
REEVE
I slip into the back of the courtroom quietly, hoping not to draw attention to myself.