Blood Money

Chapter Thirty-Three

Jack took BNN’s offer straight to Ben Laramore.

The hospital’s main-floor cafeteria was crowded, no privacy, so they met in the friends-and-relatives lounge on the ICU floor. It was a depressing room with one window, forest-green walls, and black pleather chairs. The darkness was by design, so that visitors on night watch for a loved one in the ICU could slip away every now and then and catch some sleep. Around midnight the couches and spare blankets would be in high demand, but for the moment, Jack and his client were alone.

“A hundred thousand dollars does us no good,” said Laramore. He was seated on the edge of the couch, leaning forward, elbows on his knees.

“That’s what I told Ted Gaines,” said Jack.

Laramore was staring at the floor, silent. Jack watched him in the dim glow of a small lamp on the end table. He’d known Ben Laramore for less than a week. Jack had seen him tired. He’d seen him sad. He had not yet seen him this way. He looked beaten.

Jack spoke softly. “I wasn’t suggesting you should take it. But it’s my obligation as an attorney to convey every settlement offer to my client.”

He looked up sharply. “Then do it.”

“I just did.”

Laramore jumped up, energized with misdirected anger. “No. Go tell Celeste.”

“What?”

He grabbed Jack by the arm, pulling him up. “Come on. Go convey the offer to your client.”

“Ben, please.”

“I’m serious. You’re licensed to be part of this half-assed system. Go do your job as a lawyer. Go tell Celeste that after putting her in a coma, BNN has graciously put enough money on the table to keep her breathing all the way until Wednesday. Maybe even Thursday.”

“Ben, calm down and have a seat. Please.”

Laramore breathed out in disgust, muttering a brief apology as he returned to the couch.

“He’s pretty cocky, this Gaines,” said Laramore. “Is that because the judge is going to throw us out of court?”

“Clearly Mr. Gaines thinks so.”

“What do you think?”

“I think if we prepare for this hearing the same way we would prepare for trial, then we’ll be okay.”

Laramore leaned back and sank deeper into the stuffed pleather couch. “Let me ask you something,” he said. “What is Celeste’s case worth if we get past the hearing on Tuesday?”

“There will be plenty of fighting about that,” said Jack. “A lot of expert testimony.”

“Ballpark it.”

“A twenty-year-old woman who could require sixty years of care. Total care, if she stays in a coma. Some level of care seems likely even if she comes out of it.”

“So you’re giving her no chance of complete recovery?”

“I’ve ruled out nothing. That’s why I don’t want to put a number in your head. But if we can establish liability, and if there is no significant change in Celeste’s condition, this is an eight-figure case.”

“And they’re offering us a hundred grand?”

“That’s the first offer.”

“The only offer,” said Laramore. “And that’s the problem. Celeste doesn’t have six months or a year for these guys to come up with an acceptable number on the eve of trial. She’s been in a coma for six days. That’s already too late for some of the cutting-edge procedures that doctors are doing for patients in comas. Every day that we dance around with these jackasses, another opportunity passes.”

“That’s why Tuesday is so important,” said Jack. “Right now, BNN has us back on our heels. But if we make a good showing on Tuesday, we’ll have the upper hand.”

“You believe that?”

“I do,” said Jack. “That’s the main reason I came all the way over here.”

“What, to tell me to keep my chin up?”

“No. To convince your wife that we need her help.”

“No, absolutely not,” said Mrs. Laramore. “I won’t leave Celeste to go sit in a courthouse all day.”

Jack and the Laramores were inside the ICU, standing right outside Celeste’s room. The hallway was as far away from Celeste as Mrs. Laramore would go. They kept their voices low, mindful of other patients with open doors.

“The plan is for you to be our first witness,” said Jack. “You can head straight back to the hospital as soon as you finish. Two hours, tops, including travel time.”

“And what if that two-hour window is when Celeste finally opens her eyes?” Her upper lip trembled, and Jack wasn’t sure if she could finish her thought, but he gave her time. “What if Celeste looks out and doesn’t see her mother, doesn’t have anyone to calm her fears or hold her hand and give her strength to wake up?”

Jack had no answer, and she wasn’t looking for one anyway.

“I can stay here,” said Ben.

She glared at her husband, clearly unhappy with the solution. “Celeste needs her mother.”

Ben glanced at Jack, then took his wife’s hand. “Honey, this is so important.”

“I wouldn’t ask,” said Jack, “but you, more than anyone, can make this judge see what kind of person Celeste is.”

Her eyes welled, and her lip began to tremble again. “You want to see what kind of person she is?”

Before Jack could answer, she pushed open the door, popped in and out of the room, and emerged with a photo album. She opened it and showed Jack. “I’ve been going through this all day with her, talking to her, pointing things out, trying to trigger her memories. This is her senior year of high school and graduation,” she said, pointing. “This is when we took her to college. This is Celeste and her roommate.” She flipped the pages. “And this is her just a couple of months ago. Mother’s Day.”

Jack looked at each of the photos, casually at first, then more carefully. He was struck by a theme that ran through the time period represented by the photos, not sure it could even be called a theme. But he didn’t want to discuss it then and there, especially as distraught as Mrs. Laramore was.

“May I borrow this album?” asked Jack.

“No!” said Mrs. Laramore, clutching it. “I don’t mean to be rude. But we can’t lose this.”

“I can e-mail JPEGs to you, if you want them,” said Ben.

“That would be great, thanks.”

“I need to get back,” said Mrs. Laramore, and she disappeared into Celeste’s room. Ben led Jack down the hallway toward the secured entrance and pushed the button on the wall to open the doors.

“I’ll talk this out with my wife. And I’ll get you those photos.”

“Thanks, please do that.”

Jack exited the ICU, and the doors closed automatically behind him. He continued to the elevator, confident that Mrs. Laramore could be talked into testifying. His mind was more focused on those photographs. Flashes of brilliance sometimes didn’t seem so brilliant upon second look, but he was beyond certain that his more careful review of the photos, once e-mailed to him, would confirm his initial impression:

With each photo since high school-with the gradual passage of time, starting roughly with the death of Sydney’s daughter-Celeste Laramore looked more and more like Sydney Bennett.