Judgment

24

No matter what stresses had intruded into her life — the struggles with Jake, the terror of the impostor janitor threatening her, the blackmail threat from Matías Sanchez — visitors to her courtroom would have thought everything was going on as normal. The parties in Meyers v. Wheelz were off doing depositions, which freed some afternoons to write. The malpractice trial was coming to an end, and Juliana had to write instructions for the jury.

She’d woken up that morning feeling as though the incident with the janitor was a terrible dream. It wasn’t as if things were returning to normal. Maybe they never would. But the terror she’d felt, that awful sense of powerlessness: that had dwindled. In its place was a low-level buzz of anxiety that wouldn’t go away.

She pulled up a set of jury instructions and began to edit, make changes.

By the time she finished revising, her jury charge began:

Members of the Jury, you are about to begin your final duty, which is to decide the fact issues in this case. Before you do that, I will instruct you on the law. These instructions are in three parts...

Some of it was basic stuff, Jury 101. You must follow the law as I give it to you whether you agree with it or not. That’s not just because I’m the judge. It’s because every person who comes before the court for trial is equal and is subject to the same law.

She even threw in some country music. Don’t outsmart your common sense. (Lee Brice.) And she was done.

At two thirty there was a knock on the door.

“Come on in.”

Kaitlyn Hemming entered. “There’s a call for you on line two — it’s both counsel on the Meyers case.”

“What’s it about?”

“They’re in the middle of deposing the defendant and they have a dispute. They need to talk to you.”

“About what?”

“The plaintiff’s lawyer is asking the CEO — Allerdyce? — if he’s ever settled any sexual harassment claims before—”

Juliana nodded. “And the guy is refusing to answer because he says any such settlements, if there are any, are confidential.”

“You got it.”

She told herself to focus. Part of her mind was cycling again, obsessing over what was happening to her. Uselessly rehearsing the nightmarish situation she’d found herself in. She closed her eyes for a moment.

“Okay, put ’em on,” she said.

She imagined for a second the CEO of Wheelz, Devin Allerdyce, and saw his rodent face. She had no doubt that guy had harassed other women who worked for him, that there’d been other claims against him that the company had settled quietly, the terms of the settlement kept confidential. But of course she couldn’t say that aloud. She had to maintain a pose of fair-mindedness.

Kaitlyn put Juliana’s phone on speaker. Juliana said, “This is Judge Brody. Is everybody here?”

A female and a male voice said yes at the same time. She said, “Can you please identify yourselves?”

“Harlan Madden for the defense, Your Honor.”

“Glenda Craft for the plaintiff, Your Honor.”

“Stenographer?” she asked.

“Terri Rhodes, stenographer.”

“Anyone else?”

“No,” said Madden.

No Matías.

“Okay, let me see if I can help you. Ms. Craft, can you give us some background as to what the issues are here?”

“Sure. I asked Mr. Allerdyce about any prior claims made against him and Wheelz regarding sexual harassment. This information is highly relevant to establish a pattern and practice of discriminatory behavior at Wheelz. It’s also relevant to whether or not the company’s practices and policies provided effective remedial measures to prevent harassment—”

“Judge.” Harlan Madden.

“Let her finish, please.”

“Effective remedial measures to prevent harassment,” Glenda Craft went on. “The plaintiff’s claim in this case is that they did not, and evidence of other claims will help establish this.”

“Mr. Madden, what’s your position?”

“Not only is this information irrelevant, Judge, but to the extent that there are prior claims that have been resolved, those claims were resolved subject to confidentiality agreements, and the company is bound by these agreements not to divulge the nature of the claims or the terms of the settlement. To require them to produce this information would be forcing them to breach confidentiality agreements that they may have entered into with other employees. The company is not at liberty to disclose those terms. That information is privileged and not discoverable.”

Juliana wasn’t surprised, of course, that Harlan Madden didn’t want his client talking about any sexual harassment claims that might have been made against him in the past. That made sense. And he had a point: if Wheelz had settled claims made by other women, it had surely required the terms of the settlements be kept confidential. That was fairly standard. Wheelz didn’t want those details made public.

On the other hand, it was perfectly legit for Rachel Meyers to know if the CEO had harassed other women before. That strengthened her case.

What made the dispute interesting was that Rachel had refused to sign any confidentiality agreement with the defense. Probably for the same reason she had persistently refused to settle: above all, she wanted her story told. She wanted everyone to know everything that happened in the courtroom. She wanted a public trial.

Juliana thought for a moment about requiring both parties to submit briefs and then make oral arguments. But she realized she didn’t need to make them go through all that. She had a pretty good idea of what the right solution was. A compromise of sorts.

“All right,” she said, “here’s what I’m going to do. Courts in our jurisdiction have found that this information is relevant and discoverable. At a minimum it speaks to the policies and practices of the company and whether they were effective in remediating these disputes. So I’m going to compel the defendant to produce this information, but I’m going to impose some confidentiality restrictions. Access to any settlement agreements is restricted to Ms. Meyers, her attorney, and her experts, and these individuals cannot make any further disclosure.”

“Judge,” protested Madden.

“We’re done here,” she said.

When she finished for the day, she locked her lobby, left the courthouse, and walked over to the parking garage. Normally, she tried to make it home by six, but tonight she was going to be a little late. She texted Duncan to let him know.

She was going to make a detour. She was going to try to find Matías Sanchez.