Balance of Power

TWO

"Before your sister left John Bowden," Nolan asked Mary Costello, "did you do anything to help her?"

Near the head of the conference table, Harrison Fancher fixed Mary with the vulpine gaze of a bird of prey, while an innocuous male reporter awaited her answer. But ten minutes into the deposition, Sarah's world had narrowed to the tense, three-sided relationship between Nolan, her somewhat fragile client, and herself. Sitting beside Mary in Nolan's conference room, Sarah saw hostility and self-doubt flicker in her eyes, resolving themselves in a stiff, stubborn posture—rigid back, compressed lips, gaze fixed on the table. "Until Lara saw Joan's bruises," Mary answered in a defensive tone, "we didn't know anything was wrong."

Nolan raised his eyebrows. "You'd never seen any injuries?"

"No." Mary looked away. "She'd stopped doing much with us. But we just thought she must be busy with her family."

"You 'thought,' " Nolan echoed with muted incredulity. "Did you ever ask her?"

"No."

Tense, Sarah prepared to intervene. Nolan's first line of attack was becoming clear: Joan's family of origin had failed to protect her and now, by suing Lexington and the SSA, Mary was seeking to deflect her guilt while profiting from her own indifference. "So," Nolan pressed, "John Bowden was keeping your sister and Marie virtual prisoners, and it never occurred to you to inquire as to whether they were okay?"

"Objection," Sarah cut in. "That's not a question—it's harassment."

Fortified by Sarah's defense, Mary raised her eyes, fixing Nolan with a gaze of rebuke. As though noting this, Nolan chose a milder tone. "In your heart, Ms. Costello, didn't you know that something terrible was happening in your sister's home?"

This seemed to strike a chord of self-doubt, causing Mary to hesitate before insisting in a thinner voice, "You don't know how charming John could be. We just didn't know."

" 'We'? Did you ever discuss with your mother whether Joan's husband might be mistreating her—or, at the least, isolating your niece and sister from their own blood relatives?"

Once more, Mary looked away, confirming, by her silence, what Sarah believed to be the truth: that neither Mary nor Inez could bring themselves to verbalize their fears. At length, Mary said, "We both thought it was sad that we barely saw them. But we didn't know the reason until Lara told us. After that, we knew that Lara and Kerry were talking to her, and that Kerry could give Joan good advice."

"But you were in San Francisco." Nolan's tone was mild yet argumentative. "Did you or your mother offer Joan and Marie a home—some shelter from the abuse you belatedly discovered?"

In vain, Sarah searched for an objection. But Nolan's legal point, however offensive, was clear enough: that Mary's neglect had helped enable Bowden to slaughter three members of her family. Briefly, Mary closed her eyes. "Not in those words. But Joanie knew she could always come to us. She was depending on Lara and Kerry."

The last phrase, Sarah thought, held the faintest tinge of an emotion somewhere between resentment and regret. From his newly keen expression, John Nolan had heard it, too. "You've referred to the President and First Lady several times now. Prior to the interview where they exposed John Bowden as an abuser, did you know they were going to do that?"

"Yes."

"Did you approve?"

Mary paused, as though to parse the question. "Lara told us what would be happening, and that the Chronicle already had the story. It seemed like everyone was stuck."

"Didn't you ask yourself whether shaming Bowden on national TV might inflame him?"

"I worried about it." Now Mary sounded tired, as though envisioning the tragedy which followed. "But Kerry and Lara knew that world. I didn't. So I decided to trust them."

Nolan propped his chin in the palm of his hand. Softly, he asked, "How do you feel about that now?"

This, Sarah knew, was the second prong of Nolan's strategy: to divide Mary and Lara by exploiting the younger sister's shame and envy. But he risked being too obvious, turning Mary's resentment back against him. Sarah decided to help this process along. "Bad taste, Mr. Nolan, truly knows no bounds. The witness lost most of her family. She watched Marie slowly dying from the hideous internal damage your client designed the Eagle's Claw to inflict. Why not just ask her if the President and First Lady caused her six-year-old niece's vena cava to shred."

Nolan's eyes glinted with the resentment of an advocate thwarted in his mission—exacerbated, Sarah was certain, by the fact that his opponent was young, a woman, and a former underling now wholly lacking in deference. She herself, Sarah concluded, was Nolan's Achilles' heel. "Your comments," he shot back, "are improper and grossly unprofessional. If you persist, I'll be forced to bring them to the attention of Judge Bond."

Over drinks at one of your boys' clubs? Sarah was tempted to ask. In her most indifferent tone, she answered, "Your outrage is duly noted. Please move on."

Momentum broken, Nolan paused before turning to Mary. "Did your sister Lara mention that the Kilcannons' exposure of John Bowden was intended to spare the President political embarrassment?"

" 'Mention,' " Sarah repeated. "I certainly object to that. It implies that slander contained in your question is a matter of established fact."

"A slander on whom?" Nolan shot back. "The Kilcannons? I thought you were here to represent Mary Costello."

Sarah flushed: Nolan's thrust was calculated to exploit Mary's fear of being controlled by Lara, which complicated Sarah's own relationship to Lara's surviving sister. "I'm here," Sarah answered with tenuous calm, "to point out when your questions lack foundation in fact."

Nolan smiled faintly. "As to what? The President's motives for the interview? Or your own allegiances?" Turning to Mary, he asked, "Did your sister discuss with you whether exposing your sister's abusive marriage served some interest of the President?"

Pensive, Mary gazed at the table. "What I remember is that the Chronicle would be printing that already, because he was the President, and because Kerry was involved with Joan's case. This was more about the best way to deal with that."

"But how did exposing Bowden serve Joan's interests?"

Mary hesitated. "Just by getting it over with, I guess."

Nolan paused, as though seeking a way to probe the answer. Then, abruptly, he switched topics. "You attended the University of San Francisco, a private school. Who paid your tuition and expenses?"

Though she could not acknowledge the lethal psychology of such a question, Sarah knew at once that she must object. With an air of faux mystification, she asked, "What is the possible relevance of that?"

This time, Nolan appeared unruffled. "Humor me, Ms. Dash. Or are you directing your client not to answer?"

To do so, Sarah knew, would risk reopening Mary's deposition at a later time, giving Nolan a second chance to do what he dared not do before a jury—interrogate Mary without regard to the niceties due the survivor of a tragedy. Cornered, Sarah answered, "I'll indulge you, counsel—to a point. But a deposition is not a license to rummage through Ms. Costello's life at random."

With a fleeting smile of satisfaction, Nolan faced Mary. "I paid part of it," she answered in a prideful voice.

"Who paid the rest?"

Mary frowned, glancing at Sarah. "My sister," she said at length. "Lara."

"And did she help you after college?"

Slowly, Mary nodded. "To buy furniture for my apartment. And pay my deposit and first month's rent."

"Did she send you money on other occasions?"

Once more, Mary folded her arms. "She paid for all our plane tickets to the wedding."

Nolan was silent, allowing the irony implicit in the answer to linger. "And you're grateful to the First Lady for her help?"

"Yes," Mary answered tersely. "Of course."

"Would you say that Lara Kilcannon is wealthy?"

"What," Sarah snapped, "does the First Lady's net worth have to do with anything?"

This time Nolan ignored her, daring Sarah to keep her client from responding. "You may answer," he told Mary.

"Yes." Mary replied flatly. "Lara's done well."

"And are you included in her will?"

Mary looked surprised. "I believe so, yes."

"And you're grateful for that, I assume."

At this, Mary sat upright. "I was included in my mother's will, Mr. Nolan. It's never occurred to me to be grateful that she's dead."

The retort so disconcerted Nolan that, for a moment, he was silent. "All I meant," he said at length, "is that your sister continues to look out for you financially. Is that why Mrs. Kilcannon is not a plaintiff in this lawsuit?"

Tense, Sarah leaned forward. "I instruct the witness not to answer."

Nolan spun on her. "On what grounds, counsel?"

"As you point out, Mrs. Kilcannon is a potential plaintiff in this

action—or her own action against your client. That creates a joint litigation privilege between the surviving sisters as to all communications regarding this suit. With or without a lawyer."

This, Sarah knew, was the weakest of her privilege claims—which Nolan surely knew, as well. With an air of disbelief, he asked Mary, "Are you following your counsel's instruction?"

Briefly, Mary glanced at Sarah. "Yes."

"But you do acknowledge that, as of now, you alone will benefit from any recovery or settlement."

"Yes."

"Except for your lawyers," Nolan amended in an acid tone. "Speaking of which, how did you come to select Mr. Lenihan?"

Once more, Sarah considered objecting. But she had made too big a point of probing Martin Bresler's 'selection' of Evan Pritchard as his lawyer to stage-manage his retraction—as, she realized now, Nolan must have appreciated at the time. Quietly, Mary answered, "Mr. Lenihan offered his services."

"What a surprise. And how did you locate Ms. Dash?"

Mary folded her arms. Tersely, she responded, "My sister."

"Did your sister also offer not to share in the recovery if you accepted Ms. Dash as cocounsel?"

To her chagrin, Sarah saw that she was trapped—to permit an answer, however exculpatory, might permit Nolan to claim that she had waived Mary's claim of privilege. "Same instruction," she snapped. "You can ask my client if she and the First Lady conspired to join a terrorist cell, and my instruction would be the same."

"Really. Let me test that." Turning to Mary, Nolan asked, "Did Mrs. Kilcannon tell you that Ms. Dash would help carry out her and the President's directives as to how to conduct this lawsuit?"

Mary shifted in her chair—caught, Sarah thought, between her resentment of Lara; the question which inflamed it; and Sarah's directions to maintain silence. "Same instruction," Sarah said firmly.

"Or," Nolan persisted, "does Lara 'instruct' you directly?"

"Same instruction . . ."

"Lara," Mary burst out, "doesn't tell me what to do."

"Then you won't mind," Nolan responded smoothly, "ignoring your counsel's instruction, and telling me what she does say. Or would you prefer that I go before Judge Bond?"

With this, Sarah saw that the core of Nolan's strategy of division was more psychological than legal—to estrange Mary from Lara, and from Sarah herself, until she fired her lawyers or dropped the suit. But she could not know how clearly Nolan grasped the full potential of this strategy, all the intricacies—the jealousies, old wounds, and fresh resentments—hidden by the successes of Inez Costello's now-blighted family. "Same instruction," Sarah repeated.

Nolan's keen gaze remained focused on Mary. "Are you following your counsel's orders, Ms. Costello?"

Taut, Sarah could only watch. Answering, her client spoke without inflection, looking at no one. "Yes."

For a moment Nolan studied her, and then shrugged his dismissal. "Then I suppose I'll have to ask your sister."