Doubt (Caroline Auden #1) - C. E. Tobisman Page 0,20

We’re running out of money.”

Caroline looked at the gruff retiree with compassion.

“We were going to travel together, my brother and I,” Jasper said, “you know, to make some good memories before . . . in case he doesn’t get a kidney in time . . .” He trailed off and looked away, his eyes filling with unshed tears.

Shaking his head to gather himself, Jasper met Caroline’s eyes again and set his jaw.

In his tight-lipped expression, Caroline saw the toughness of a man who had survived hard combat but who knew he might still lose the long war.

“Our lawyer says if we win this motion, Med-Gen will settle,” Jasper said. “Tom ran marathons. Benched 270 pounds. Right after he switched over to that new protein powder, bam!—total renal failure. They know they’ll lose in front of a jury. They’ll pay us out instead. Unless they win this motion, of course. Then we won’t see a dime.”

“I understand,” Caroline said.

“Do you?” Jasper met her eyes and searched them. “You need to win this thing.”

“We’re going to do our best.” Caroline winced at the we. As if she spoke for anyone other than herself.

“You need to do better than that.” His expression was tense and flushed. Then he looked down at his feet and kicked the linoleum.

“Please,” he said softly.

“We’ll win,” Caroline said with a certainty she didn’t feel and an authority she didn’t have. She instantly wished she could take the words back because she doubted it was true, but she knew he needed to hear it, and she was the only person around to say it.

“Good,” Jasper grunted and turned away, back toward his brother.

Watching him go, Caroline realized she’d just made a promise she had to keep.

Caroline sat alone at the wooden table at the front of the courtroom. A pink plastic pitcher of water with a short stack of white paper cups beside it occupied one corner of the sticky surface. A meager but much-appreciated offering from the court to nervous litigants and their lawyers. Caroline considered pouring herself a cup but rejected the idea. She feared her hand would tremble. So instead she sat frozen. Waiting for the hearing to begin.

Behind her, people jammed the benches like churchgoers who had been promised cupcakes after services. The only empty seats were in the jury box, where the heads of sleeping jurors had left stains on the ancient wood.

The bailiff entered the courtroom and walked to the front, swinging around to face the gallery.

The murmur of voices stilled.

“All rise,” the bailiff called out.

With a rustle like falling rain, the assembled crowd stood up as one.

“Court for the Southern District of California is now in session. The Honorable Judge Edmund Samuels presiding.”

When the bailiff finished speaking, the door of the chambers clicked opened.

The judge emerged, hunched and slight. His black robe hung loose on his body. His thin white hair stood up like a rooster’s comb. He moved slowly across the front of the courtroom, then climbed the stairs to the tall, black, leather chair.

Gesturing with age-spotted hands, he silently asked for the audience to be seated.

“Good morning, everyone,” he began in a voice no louder than if he’d been talking to a friend across a dinner table.

A polite murmur of hellos rippled through the courtroom in response.

“Please state your appearance,” the judge ordered. “Who’s here for the plaintiffs?” He scanned the sea of faces.

Caroline stood up. This was it. The rite of passage.

“Caroline Auden. Here on behalf of the SuperSoy Plaintiffs’ Steering Committee.” Her voice sounded strong and clear in her ears. Good.

“Thank you, Ms. Auden,” the judge said.

Caroline released the breath she’d been holding. She had pulled off her first statement of appearance without passing out or vomiting on her shoes. Her future was looking bright.

She waited for the judge to call for an appearance from Med-Gen.

But instead she heard a man’s voice announce, “I’m Eddie Diaz of Tiller, Brenner, and Hidalgo. I’m also here for the Plaintiffs’ Steering Committee.”

Caroline turned around to find the voice’s owner.

A man with tousled black hair stood behind her, just beyond the low wall that divided the counsel tables from the gallery. He wore a gunmetal-gray suit and a tomato-colored tie that was loud enough to be assertive yet quiet enough to be credible.

“Thank you, Mr. Diaz,” the judge said. “Who’s here for the defense?”

A woman rose from defense counsels’ table. “Annette Fujimoto for Med-Gen. I’m from Sakai, Anderson, and Day.”

Caroline studied the petite defense attorney. She recalled seeing the woman’s name and