as my next witness. Since everyone else was at lunch, the room was cool and quiet. The proceeding was being held in a stately old government building near the federal courthouse, the place where McKnight Corporation would find itself in approximately six months for a trial if the arbitration didn’t go well. The arbitrators had barred members of the press from the room, but journalists were always stationed outside, like vultures waiting to swoop, so most of the time I stayed put until I had to leave for the day.
It was hard when the room was so still. I wasn’t as focused as I should have been. My thoughts kept straying from the notes and deposition transcripts piled in front of me to the letter tucked at the bottom of my trial bag. I kept counting the days until I could leave Chicago and drive to Woodland Dunes. Only two more now.
So far, the arbitration had been an odd mix, some parts better than I expected, others decidedly worse. I’d been pleased with my opening argument. I went into that zone where I wove my words easily, where I could read the arbitrators’ faces and change my course when their interest waned. The only thing that threw me was the constant feel of Sean McKnight’s eyes on me. It didn’t seem like the lustful watch of a man interested in a May/December romance. That would have been simple, because I knew how to handle come-ons. No, his stare felt more like an ever-present evaluation. Every time I saw him observing me from the corner of my eye, I had to force myself to concentrate so that I could keep on the path of my statement.
Luckily, after the opening arguments, McKnight did as he said he would and disappeared until it was time for his testimony. Once he was on the stand, he became the charming person customers associated with McKnight department stores. I was surprised when the plaintiff’s attorney, Evan Lamey, didn’t hit McKnight hard with questions about the Fieldings takeover. I would’ve liked to think that Lamey was entranced by McKnight’s good looks and smooth talking, but I knew better. Lamey was trying to cast a shadow of doubt over McKnight with his cross-examination, all the while saving his real zingers in case a trial was needed. As a result, McKnight finished his testimony at the end of the day with a smug look on his face.
“You see,” he said, leaning toward me so the others wouldn’t hear, “I didn’t need the practice.”
I clicked my trial bag shut. “Don’t kid yourself. He went easy on you.”
A flicker of doubt crossed McKnight’s face, then disappeared. He didn’t ask what I meant. Instead, he simply said, “When do I have to be back here?”
“Closing arguments. Friday at one o’clock. Unless of course you want to show support for your employee, who will be testifying tomorrow.”
“And what do you do with your evenings here in Chicago?”
“I…” I faltered for a second, startled at the shift in topic. I wondered if I’d been wrong before, if he might be hitting on me. But his eyes were cold, and he had taken a step away, as if he found it difficult to be in my proximity.
“I don’t think that’s any of your business,” I said.
“I think it is. I’m paying you to be here.”
“You’re not paying me for my time after hours.”
“Yes, right.” He studied my face with that way of his. Then he swiveled on the heels of his Italian-leather shoes and walked out of the room. I decided that he was, by far, the rudest and oddest client I’d ever had.
People started trickling into the arbitration room now, and I was finally able to get my mind on track. Unfortunately, the McKnight Web designer, a Jesus look-alike named Gary Sather, didn’t fare as well as his boss that afternoon. My direct exam went smooth enough, although I had to constantly remind Gary to speak up and to respond to questions out loud instead of answering with a nod or a shake of his head. On cross-examination, he crumbled. Lamey didn’t hold back this time. He went after Gary hard, his cross designed to show that the McKnight Web site stole ideas from its competitor, Lamey’s client.
“Is it possible,” Lamey said, prowling in front of Gary like a lion stalking its prey, the tails of his gray suit coat flapping behind him with the movement, “that the Easy Click and Shop system you said you designed for McKnight was actually a copy of technology you saw somewhere else?”
Gary blinked again. He looked at me for help, even though I’d told him not to. “I don’t think so,” he said.
Lamey stopped in front of him. “You’re not sure, then?”
I tried to will the answer to Gary by mental telepathy. Say you’re sure, say you’re absolutely positive that you created it on your own, just like we practiced.
Gary missed my telepathy and lamely shrugged his shoulders.
“Let me ask it another way,” Lamey said, taking a step toward the witness. “Is it possible that you’d seen something very similar to the Easy Click and Shop system on another Web site before you designed the McKnight site?”
Gary blinked again. “I guess it’s possible.”
“So, it’s possible that you borrowed that technology and used it on the McKnight site.” Lamey flipped through some papers as he said this, a trick designed to make Gary think that he had something in writing that could verify his statement.
Gary watched him and licked his lips. “Yeah,” he said finally. “It’s possible.”
I resisted the urge to drop my head in my hands.
I opened the window and let the azure sky push a damp spring breeze through the rental car. I’d finally escaped the clog of cars that surrounded the Loop and was heading east on the Dan Ryan Expressway toward the Skyway. On the passenger seat, I had a bottle of water, a bag of pretzels and a map of the Midwest. Strangely, I didn’t actually need the map. I knew the way, as if I could sense the streets and highways that would lead me to the past, to Woodland Dunes, and maybe to the truth about my mother.
Yesterday’s closing argument had gone as well as possible, but afterward, when the arbitration room cleared, I’d broken the news to McKnight that Gary’s testimony would almost certainly make the arbitrators find for the plaintiff.
McKnight listened, his unreadable eyes watching me, and then he said, “Fine. He’ll be gone by this afternoon.”
I looked at him incredulously. “You can’t fire him!”
“I can, and I will.”
“Don’t you realize that terminating him is exactly what the plaintiffs want? At trial, they can make a huge issue of how you knew Gary had messed up, and that’s why you sacked him. If you keep him on, though, you show confidence in your Web site and your belief that your employee did nothing wrong.”
McKnight spread his lips in an insincere smile. “Point taken. He stays until the case is over. Although I suppose we could have avoided this conversation if you’d prepared him correctly.”
I felt my jaw clench. The silence of the large room seemed to envelope us, although I could hear the murmurs outside the door; no doubt Lamey was spinning his tale of impending victory for the reporters.
“I worked with him for two days before his deposition, one day last week on the phone, and two nights this week,” I said, trying to keep my voice low. “Gary is a very nice person, but he’ll never be a good witness. No amount
