The Justice Game

39

Friday was the third consecutive day that Kelly ate lunch at her desk. That morning, she had also skipped breakfast after her swim at the LA Fitness club. She’d munched on a package of crackers mid-morning and now polished off some fruit, a sandwich, and a handful of carrot sticks while she reviewed corporate e-mails.

So far this week, she had probably reviewed five thousand pages of documents that one of her corporate clients would be disclosing in response to a discovery request in a big products liability case. Kelly was one of several associates on the case, and it was her job to grind through the boxes of documents lining the floor of her office and decide which documents should be withheld under the attorney-client privilege. It was mind-numbing work, the legal equivalent of operating a toll booth-take a dollar; give fifty cents change; “Thank you very much.”

It was ironic how the media talked about the advantages of Blake Crawford having a big D.C. firm and all its resources representing him. The truth was that Kelly felt she had to squeeze the Crawford case in after hours and on weekends, all the while keeping up her billable-hour quotas on other cases where she was low woman in the pecking order.

She read quickly through three more e-mails and placed them in the non-privileged pile. The glamorous life of a big-firm lawyer.

Her tedium was interrupted by occasional pings from her computer-the sign of new e-mail hitting. It used to be a welcome sign, but now she opened each e-mail with a little more trepidation. Since her victory at the Motion to Dismiss hearing, her e-mails had occasionally been sprinkled with hate mail from various gun nuts out there.

She had printed out each of the offending e-mails and kept them in a little file for motivation. “First thing we do, let’s kill all the plaintiffs’ lawyers,” said one. “You can’t have my gun but you can have a few bullets,” said another. Others were more blunt and full of profanity. Reading them the first time gave Kelly the chills. Reading them the fourth or fifth time made her angry.

The firm had taken the appropriate steps-reporting the e-mails to police, offering Kelly private security (which she refused), and taking her e-mail address off the firm Web site, though any moron could still figure it out. John Lloyd, the senior partner on the case review committee, had actually suggested changing lawyers on the case-which Kelly scoffed at-or that Kelly might want to consider buying a gun for protection. It was the first time in her career that she had asked a senior partner at her firm if he was crazy.

The e-mail Kelly had just received had the name of the Crawford case in the subject line. It looked like it had been sent from another temporary address that would be impossible to trace. She steeled herself for the contents, feeling that familiar mixture of bravado and fear.

As she began reading, she sensed immediately that this e-mail was different. By the third sentence, every ounce of Kelly’s bravado had disappeared. She felt like somebody had knocked the wind out of her, like her heart had literally stopped. The blood drained from her face, and for a moment she couldn’t move. Congratulations on landing the case of a lifetime. Warning: DO NOT SETTLE THIS CASE! Judge Shaver does not need the publicity. As long as you follow my instructions, your secret is safe with me. Otherwise, you’ll be able to read all about you and the judge on the Kryptonite blog. Repeat: this case must go to a jury verdict. The day you settle is the day Kryptonite breaks the story.

She read the e-mail a second time, then a third. The Kryptonite blog was a gossip site that broke embarrassing stories about actors, politicians, and rock stars. It was the blog equivalent of National Enquirer, more reckless in its accusations than most blogs, but every once in a while it would actually get something right.

Judge Shaver was the district court judge for whom Kelly had clerked nearly seven years ago. He had recently been nominated for a seat on the Fourth Circuit Court of Appeals. He would have his grilling with the Senate judiciary committee if and when the senators found a way to break up the logjam of appointees in the pipeline. In the meantime, he was in limbo.

The timing of the e-mail couldn’t have been worse.

What floored Kelly was the fact that somebody else knew about her relationship with the judge. She had never discussed it with anyone. Not a single living soul. Not her father. Not her best friend. Not a psychiatrist or counselor. Nobody knew.

Except this person named Luthor.

Luthor. That was the name the writer used to sign off the e-mail. An allusion, Kelly knew, to Superman’s greatest nemesis.

She printed the e-mail, folded it in thirds, placed it in a sealed envelope, and put it in the bottom of her briefcase. She deleted the original e-mail from her computer and emptied her computer trash. She realized that the original was still lurking on the firm’s server someplace, but she couldn’t help that.

It would be hours before she could focus on the corporate e-mails again. The task suddenly seemed incredibly insignificant. Her world had just been turned upside down. A ghost from seven years ago had returned with a vengeance.

She ran down the worst-case scenario in her mind. As a former clerk, she had been interviewed during the FBI’s background check on Judge Shaver. She vividly recalled the visit by the agents, the cordial conversation and probing questions they had asked. She had protected the judge and, in the process, placed her own head on the guillotine.

“Is there anything that might make you question his judgment?” they had asked.

“No.”

“Are you aware of anything a person could use to blackmail or threaten Judge Shaver?”

“No.”

“Are you aware of any intimate relationships between Judge Shaver and anyone other than his wife?”

Though she thought it was none of their business, Kelly had not hesitated. “No.”

Now she could be looking at a national scandal, a Shakespearean tragedy, with Kelly in a leading role. The thought of it made her stomach churn with anxiety.

So far, Luthor had demanded something that Kelly fully intended to do anyway-try the case to a verdict. But what would he want next?

She called Judge Shaver, something she had not done since she took the job at B amp;W. His legal assistant answered the phone and perked up once Kelly said her name.

“It’s great to hear from you! How long has it been?”

“Seven years,” Kelly said.

They chatted for a while, though Kelly hardly heard a word the lady said.

“Is Judge Shaver in?” Kelly eventually asked.

“No.” His assistant drew the word out, hating to disappoint Kelly. “He’s at a judicial conference in Phoenix until next Wednesday. But I’m sure he would love to hear from you. Do you want his cell phone?”

“Sure.”

As soon as Kelly hung up, before she lost her nerve, she dialed Judge Shaver’s cell. Again, there was an exchange of pleasantries.

“I need to see you about something,” Kelly explained. “It’s fairly urgent.”

Shaver asked if they could talk about it over the phone, but Kelly insisted on meeting in person. When he asked if it could wait until next Wednesday, she heard the tension in his voice.

“I think so,” Kelly said.

The judge didn’t respond immediately. “Should I catch the first flight home?”

Kelly wanted to say yes. She needed to talk this over with him as soon as possible, needed to prepare him for the worst, develop a plan. But having the judge abruptly leave the conference would create its own set of problems. What if Luthor was following him? Maybe Luthor knew about the judicial conference. Maybe he wanted Kelly and Judge Shaver to drop everything and get together for an emergency meeting so he could capture it all on video.

“It’ll keep until next Wednesday,” Kelly said.

“Okay,” Shaver responded, sounding uncertain. “You’re sure?”

“Yes.”

The judge checked his calendar and said he had a heavy morning docket next Wednesday but could meet at 11:30.

Eleven thirty. The middle of the day, a time when others would be milling around the office. The judge was being careful. He didn’t want the two of them to be together alone.

She wished they had both been this circumspect seven years ago.