Mistress of Justice

I’m sure.”
    “But this isn’t a bill of sale, Mr. Reece,” the judge said. “It’s a negotiable instrument worth hundreds of millions of dollars.”
    “With all due respect to Mr. Reece,” the Hanover lawyer said, “I am reminded of a case once in which a similar claim of a missing note was made and it turned out that the document in question had been sold by the bank to a third party. I would never suggest that New Amsterdam Bank was guilty of such wrongdoing but … we can’t take that chance.”
    Reece walked to the counsel table and returned with some documents. He handed one copy to the lawyer and one to the judge. “Motion papers. I move to allow the introduction of secondary evidence of the note. I’ve briefed the issue in here. If you would like to recess for twenty-four hours to allow my opponent here to respond—”
    “No more delays,” the judge snapped. “This case has fucked up my calendar enough.”
    The other lawyer shook his head. “You lost the note, Reece, I’m ready for trial. Your honor, I move for a directed verdict in my client’s favor.”
    The judge flipped through the lengthy brief that Reece had prepared then lifted an impressed eyebrow. “Good work, Mr. Reece. Brilliant analysis.” Then he tossed the brief aside. “But it doesn’t cut it. No secondary evidence will be allowed.”
    Reece’s heart sank.
    “On the other hand, I won’t grant a directed verdict for Hanover. What I will do is grant a motion to dismiss
without
prejudice. That will allow Mr. Reece to bring his case in the future. However, given the nature of defendant’s financial condition, I doubt they’ll have much money for your client to collect, Mr. Reece. You’d better talk to your malpractice carrier. I think your client may look to you for restitution in this matter. And that’s to the tune of two hundred and fifty million dollars.”
    The opposing counsel began the formalities: “Your honor, I move for dismissal of—”
    “Mitchell!” a woman’s voice called from the back of the courtroom.
    The judge looked up, glaring at the intrusion. Everyone in the gallery and the jury box swiveled to watch Taylor Lockwood hurry down the aisle.
    “It’s customary to ask permission before shouting in my courtroom, young lady,” the judge snapped sarcastically.
    “Forgive me, sir. I need to speak to plaintiff’s counsel for a moment.”
    Hanover’s lawyer said, “Your honor, I—”
    The judge waved him silent and nodded Taylor forward.

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
     
    “I
am
sorry, your honor,” Taylor Lockwood said.
    Judges were public servants, catering to the will of the people, but as her father had reminded from a young age, you could never be too deferential to jurists or, as he put it even to grade-school Taylie, you could never kiss too much judicial ass.
    She walked to Reece and handed him an envelope. Inside was the promissory note, looking as mundane and matter-of-fact as the copy he’d showed her at their first meeting.
    Mitchell Reece took out the document and exhaled slowly.
    “Your honor, at this time the plaintiff would like to introduce Exhibit A.” He handed it to the opposing counsel, who looked at Taylor with a gaze of distilled hate. “No objection.” He returned the note to Reece’s unsteady hands.
    Reece walked back to his favorite space, in front of the jury box. “Your honor, before continuing with my case, I first must apologize to the court and to the jury for this delay.” He smiled contritely. The six men and women smiledor nodded back and forgave him; the interruption had added an element of drama to the case.
    “Fine, fine, Mr. Reece, let’s move this along,” the judge grumbled, his chances for a fast escape to golf or tennis ruined.
    “One moment, your honor.” The Hanover & Stiver attorney bent toward one of his clients, probably Lloyd Hanover, Taylor guessed, to judge from his slick, tanned appearance, which matched what Reece had told her of him. After a bit of conversation the attorney stood up. “Approach the bench again? With opposing counsel?”
    The judge gestured them up. The defense lawyer said, “Your honor, my clients would like to present a settlement offer to the plaintiff.”
    The judge lifted an eyebrow to Reece. Taylor’s father had also taught his daughter that settlement was the Holy Grail of judges. Burdened by an endless workload, they infinitely preferred the parties’ agreeing to work out their differences rather than