The courtroom was silent. Bancroft had everyone’s attention, including Rusty’s, who was listening while pretending not to.
“Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, this is a tragic case with horrendous injuries and damages, but, and please forgive me for saying this, but it is the cold hard legal truth, in this case, the damages do not matter. Because…there is no liability.”
He tossed the jury instructions onto the defense table, took one last look at the jurors, and said, “Thank you.”
Carl studied the faces of the jurors, then closed his eyes and slowly shook his head.
（13）
The reservation was for four people at noon. Tony’s, a swanky Italian place downtown, was Rusty’s favorite any day of the week, but especially at the end of a tough trial when good food and wine were needed. During a trial, the meals often deteriorated to stale pastries in the morning, cold sandwiches while working at lunch, and by dinner the nerves were shot to hell and nothing tasted good. When the jury disappeared to ponder its verdict, Rusty was always ready for a fine meal.
His little team followed the black-jacketed host to a choice table and took their seats. As soon as they were alone, Rusty, with a huge smile, said, “Okay, let’s have it. How great was my closing argument?”
It was not the time to be shy, because the boss was craving accolades. Pauline went first and said, “All six are incredibly sympathetic and you did a masterful job taking the sting out of such a huge amount of damages.”
“Were they shocked at the thirty-five million?”
Ben said, “I think so, at least initially, but they got over it. Number four rolled his eyes.”
“He’s been rolling his eyes from the beginning. He’s the last one we’ll get. Remember, I wanted to cut him. But I think we have a shot at the other five.”
Carl glanced at Ben with a look of exasperation.
The waiter appeared and said, “Good afternoon, Mr. Malloy. Always a pleasure to have you here.”
Rusty smiled at him, and the diversion gave the other three a chance to exchange frowns.
“Hello, Rocco,” Rusty said. “How’s the wife and kids?”
“Doing great, sir. Thanks. Something from the bar to start with?”
“Well, as a matter of fact, we’ve just finished a big trial and the jury is out. We’re parched, and hungry too. How about some champagne?” He smiled at Ben and Pauline, as if they could say no.
Carl said, “Might be a bit premature.”
Rusty ignored this and said, “Veuve Clicquot, two bottles.”
“Excellent choice, sir. I’ll have them right out.”
Rusty frowned at Carl and said, “I’m getting a bad vibe from you, Carl. What’s on your mind?”
“The same thing that’s on your mind. That damned jury. I’m not nearly as confident as you.”
“Just wait. You’ll see.”
（14）
With the courtrooms empty and everyone—lawyers, judges, jurors, litigants, bailiffs—away for lunch, the grand hall on the main floor was almost empty. It was a long solemn corridor with a row of stately courtrooms on one side and tall stained-glass windows on the other. The walls were covered with portraits of the city’s greatest judges, all white, all male, all old and stuffy. Not a warm face to be found. Ancient and worn wooden benches lined the walls and between them were bronze and granite busts of governors, senators, and lesser politicians. Another white world.
On a bench at the far end of the corridor, almost hidden and certainly not wanting to be seen, the Brewster family prepared for lunch. Trey sat sleeping with his tubes still exposed. His mother gently selected one and began loading it with formula from a syringe. When he was fed, she sat back on the bench and put away her syringe. Mr. Brewster sat next to her, staring as always at a spot on the floor a few feet away, his sad eyes forever locked into a stare of thorough defeat.
From a shopping bag, Mrs. Brewster removed two small sandwiches wrapped in foil and two bottles of water. Lunch for the poor folks.
Nearby an elevator pinged and its doors opened. Luther Bancroft and an associate stepped out, both hauling bulky briefcases. They saw the Brewsters at the same time, and for a long second took in the family having lunch. Then they quickly continued walking down the long corridor. The Brewsters did not seem to notice them.
At the doors, the associate stopped and said, “You know, Luther, it’s not too late to settle. We should call GateLane and try to get those folks a few bucks.”
Bancroft scoffed and said, “We tried that yesterday and Malloy gave us the finger.”