So Weeps the Willow - 13. Discovery - Chapter 3

Discovery – Chapter 3

Laura Hardinger hurried to the conference room. She had the most recent discovery responses from the company they were suing, and in an accordion folder, the formally produced documents they’d demanded. These were the smoking guns, providing the key evidence. To Laura, it seemed their side had exactly what they needed. Sure enough, there were some carbon monoxide sensors which didn’t respond as they should’ve. This company had cheapened out on the technology, just as predicted. Her immediate superior, a managing partner of the firm, had said the company was hiding flaws in the designs. After a cursory review, she had to agree. These people had saved money on production to make more money.

It was all part of the civil legal process. Plaintiff firms were advocates. They identified problems and products that injured or killed people and found ways to achieve justice for their clients. Along the way, the other side’s lawyers erected landmines and detours to stop advocates and divert them from discovering their pathways of deceit. She felt empowered working for the injured, even if it was more work than the other side, the corporate defense law firms.

It didn’t matter. They had found the silver bullet. She rushed down the hallway to the Sacagawea Room where his boss and their client waited. She liked her, the client, from her conversations on the phone. The young woman, not much older than she, was a nice person, also an advocate, and really ready to do battle.

She burst through the door just in time to hear; “Have a bite of the prune Danish. It’s the best.”

Tom was holding a large mug of steaming liquid, coffee no doubt, and his client was leaning over the sideboard looking at a tray of pastries. She was blonde, chunky, and sort of slow-moving.

“What do prunes taste like?”

She appeared truly perplexed at the selection.

“They are sweet and good for the digestive system.” Tom responded. He winked at Laura. She winced, in spite of herself. Tom was a silver fox, and yet there was something about him that bothered her. She couldn’t fathom what that was.

The woman, who actually resembled Shrek’s mate in the animated movies, delicately picked up a golden-brown pastry with an inky, shiny surface. She closed her eyes, bit into the bun, and then chewed slowly. Her eyes opened gradually, widening in surprise. “This is delicious!”

Her excitement was genuine.

“Do you have coffee yet?” Laura asked, moving quickly toward the insulated silver carafe and the gleaming white china cups.

“I’d like some water,” Twyla answered after swallowing the big bite of Danish. “I don’t have a lot of time today.”

“No problem,” Tom answered, and graciously gestured toward a seat at the conference table. The client looked around, her head ducking a bit. Lots of clients were intimidated by the atmosphere at Rivers, Potter & Associates. Laura remembered the first time she saw this room during her second interview. The magnificence was intimidating, an impression she’d digested fully since that day she’d been hired, a truly life-changing day. The blonde woman was experience the same thing, she thought.

Laura watched Twyla’s eyes flit about the room. She was absorbing the gleaming, warm arches of maple wood accented with the dark, rich and sober colors of the black walnut. The room had a high ceiling, deceptively reaching for the stars, but safely within the confines of the tenth story of the art deco Medical Arts building. Surrounding the long golden-varnished conference table was a phalanx of bookcases lined with yellowed linen-spined books, encased in red bands and gold leaf printing on the bindings. Their uniformity and age impressed the viewer with the timeless aspect of the firm and their connection with traditions; like connections to justice, history, and the powerful pull of what is right.

The walls were painted with the neutral colors of vellum and cream-colored, expensive papers, ready for the legal beagles to fill with wisdom and truths. These walls gave the viewer a sense of the empty page ready for their own story to be told, scribed, relayed to those worthier of consideration.

She smiled broadly as the woman seemed to shrink even more into her sweater, a cheap affair obviously picked up from Target or JC Penney’s. The sweater was awash with pastels, muted colors of the rainbow, fluffy and without firm shape.

The client, Twyla, was watching, like a deer in headlights, and listening to the spiel. Laura’s boss, Tom Potter, winked at her as his patter continued. He was telling the blonde about their findings about the gas heater during discovery. The manufacturer, after prodding, had produced their schematics and testing documents showing deficiencies. The client’s eyes seemed to cross in confusion as he explained the importance of beta tests, Y and X curves, and the company’s overall negligence. Laura had never been good at statistical analysis, so she relied on Tom to tell the story. He was wowing the client as she never could. Twyla looked lost and a bit shell-shocked.

Quite frankly, Tom’s explanations were short on actual facts and long on the kind of conjecture they knew lay at the heart of most cases. Etne Industries pretended to act as a responsible party with their products. Like all corporate combines, it was focused laser-like on one goal—making large amounts of profit with the lowest possible costs.

Laura heard Potter’s practiced ‘client information session’ come to a slow, careful end. Tom was good with clients, especially the more economically distressed ones. His hand patted Twyla’s with concern and his voice was low and serious with his final, “Do you have any questions?”

Laura wasn’t surprised when Twyla didn’t speak at first. Tom’s voice tended to mesmerize even when he wasn’t trying to calm and assure the client. Her eyes darted about the space nervously, Laura noted, and then settled on first her, and then Tom.

She licked her lips, started to speak, stopped, and then said, “So this really was an accident?”

The question mark seemed to linger in the air.

Tom recovered first. “Of course it was. Your brother purchased a kerosene heater that was supposed to be safe to use indoors. Etne advertised it as completely without risk, had a few vague warnings, but in the end their product didn’t have the kinds of safety devices that would prevent a death. Your brother was the victim of a company indifferent to their customer’s safety.” He paused, looked to Laura with knitted brow, and she shook her head quickly in response.

With a moment’s hesitation, Tom cleared his throat and continued, “Is there any reason you would think your brother died for another reason?”

Twyla didn’t answer at first. Her attention was diverted to the prune Danish, which then seemed to repulse her. She shuddered and her eyes flittered. The heavy-set woman hugged herself and with a face that tinged pink and looked sullen she said, “He didn’t kill himself.”

Tom’s face paled. “No, of course not. We don’t think that at all. The coroner’s report is clear. This was an accident, but not one without a party to blame. I…,” He looked at Laura, nodding.

“Twyla, we are here to help you, of course. We want to make sure your brother’s death wasn’t in vain. However, we need to know any facts which the defendant could use to distort the truth to the jury. Defense counsel will use anything they can find to poke holes in our theory of the case and—“ She looked at Tom, whose demeanor had relaxed considerably, “—even argue his death was because of his own actions and not those of the manufacturer. The corporation in question is especially cagey. They have used defensive arguments of contributory negligence and assumption of risk before. We want to stop those defenses if we can.”

Laura repressed a smile, feeling self-satisfied with things so far. While these terms sounded ominous, no one took them seriously, not anymore, certainly not in any courtroom in this jurisdiction. The beefy woman’s face twitched. She swallowed hard and looked down at her hands.

Finally, Twyla said in a small, clear voice, “My brother was an alcoholic. He had an online blog recording his problem. I took it down because,” she choked on the words. “I couldn’t bear the idea others were reading it.”

Laura moved to the chair next to her, sitting down smoothly, but quickly, to not startle the woman. “I’m so sorry.” She looked up to her boss who was scowling and whose face was rapidly reddening with stress. “This is so difficult for you. You lose your brother. You find things about him you aren’t exactly happy about.” Tom’s face became steely, his eyes flashed disappointment.

Twyla immediately responded. “Yes. I was so upset and thinking people were reading his thoughts and thinking he was crazy or had such problems and we didn’t do…we didn’t know.”

Tom’s face softened. His eyes were still glinting with the hard analytical bent they usually did, but he wasn’t angry or upset any longer. That had passed, it was obvious. So, the guy had a blog, admitted being a drunk, and probably confessed far more awful things they’d need to move to suppress before trial and attempt to ignore during discovery. All these cases had victims with secrets. Sometimes it was an affair, a terrible mistake and a quick resolution. Sometimes they had problems with the law. It caused issues, but most of the time they were irrelevant in the end.

It was the stupid dependency crap that was so hard to dodge in negligence cases. Drunks caused their own problems, as did drug addicts, gamblers, idiots who loved kinky stuff, and even people who couldn’t stop telling lies. Sometimes the pathological liars, most of them morons without the sense God gave a rabbit, were the easiest targets for corporate hacks to impeach.

Tom cleared his throat indicating she should continue exploring this minefield. Laura smiled, gently patted the other woman’s hand, and looked as kindly and compassionately as she could. “Twyla, did you save your brother’s posts?” She closed her eyes after the question and waited. The time seemed to stretch for a moment and then the woman released her breath.

“I did. I saved them. I couldn’t delete my brother’s last words. If I was wrong. I—“

Laura’s eyes flickered open. She glanced at Tom who was still holding his breath. Then she looked back at Twyla, who was turning pale.

“You did the right thing. I’m so glad you saved the evidence of his state of mind. Your instincts were excellent.”

Sometimes Laura heard her words after she spoke them. Upon reflection, such outbursts weren’t really wise. Already, she was analyzing the use of a man’s depressed state of mind due to the languid effects of slow and steady carbon monoxide poisoning over a short, but important, period of time. The conditioned attorney in her reacted instinctively, and with the actual words of the deceased, they could counter any charges by the defendant about their meaning. IThese were the client’s brother’s last words, in essence.

It was common knowledge the legal community used social media sources as a rich minefield of information about the background, history, attitudes, and even in some cases the physical state of the plaintiff. Just last month, Laura had a case where the idiot client claimed back injuries that prevented her from working as a nurse, yet Facebook had provided a series of photos with her skiing down snowy slopes in Colorado. More photos since the accident provided evidence of the woman snorkeling in southern Florida. Finally, the woman had a selfie with her and her bestie at the apex of a hill in northern Wisconsin after a long hike. The text read, “A ten-mile climb was exactly what I needed to prepare for our trip to the Alps next month. Isn’t retirement awesome?”

The plaintiff in question was thirty-seven-years-old, who had registered for Social Security, and was suing for a slip and fall in front of a mall three days before Christmas. Yeah, social media was a treasure trove of information for defense counsel and a horrific gauntlet for plaintiff’s counsel.

Laura shook her head and asked, “What exactly did he say in his blog?”

What Twyla answered was quite amazing. Laura sat back, listened, and was pleased. This wasn’t too bad. In fact, she could use this to their advantage. Easy-Peasey.

Tom left, shaking Twyla’s hand, and offering his support. Laura settled back in and began explaining the process to their newest client. The blonde woman nodded as the lawyer explained the next steps.

“First, we get all the information we can from you and from the authorities. We take that information and put it into a legal document called a complaint. The complaint is filed with the court and we have someone serve a copy on those people, we call them ‘parties’, giving them notice of the lawsuit.

“The parties being sued then have their attorneys write a formal document called an ‘answer’, which they then file with the court and serve to us. This gives us a chance to see what excuses they are using for their bad behavior.”

Twyla swallowed, and then asked, “Then we go to trial, right?”

Laura shook her head. “No. Then we ask for a trial date and provide a document called an ‘initial disclosure’ to the defendants. They also give us information like who owns their corporation and if they have insurance. After the court agrees on a trial date, we start the discovery process. This can be short and sweet or long and involved. During the discovery phase, we ask the defendants to give us information about their products and they ask us about Jake and about his life. Discovery is an important part of the case, because that’s when we collect evidence. Without discovery, there isn’t usually enough proof for us to get a positive verdict.”

Twyla chewed on her fingernail, her forehead furrowed, thinking, pondering what Laura explained. “So, do we have to hand over the blog, the words my brother wrote about being a drunk?”

“We will try to prevent that. His words about his, well, issues, are probably not relevant. Jake died from a faulty heater, not because of his state of mind. We will do everything we can to prevent it falling into the other side’s hands.”

“I don’t want Jake to be dragged through the mud by these people,” Twyla said. She suddenly burst into tears and continued, “I couldn’t bear it, if they did that.”

Laura patted the blonde woman’s hand again, shushing her softly, calming her. “We’ll do our best, and there’s no reason to believe it will be produced … given to the other side.”

Twyla’s tears dried up as Laura finished explaining what would happen next.

***

Ben finished his email, considered rereading it, and then saved it and shut down the computer. He pushed it to one side and watched as the teen across from him slurped cereal from a bowl, refused to look up, and kept trying to hide the hickey under the collar of his shirt.

The past year of their relationship had been a journey, sometimes amazing, most of the time boring, occasionally infuriating. Rush and he had become even closer, the months-long sabbatical they took, (okay, it was a breakup) had become something legendary, real, yet not actualized. Their time apart was because of a glitch in their thinking. Now it was over. They were back together.

Ben was part of them, Rush and Clay. It wasn’t always easy with the teen, but it had become something he enjoyed, overall. They were slowly becoming a little family, maybe not terribly conventional from the outside, but entirely worthy of the word. He decided to rile the teen up a little.

“What’s his name?” Ben asked, taking a sip of his coffee.

“Huh?” Clay answered, still shoveling spoonfuls of cereal into his mouth. “Who are you talking about?”

Ben let the answer hang in the air. After Clay’s eyes darted up and at him, he responded. “The boy who sucked on your neck until it left a mark. Who is he?”

Clay glowered. He was really good at that, glowering of course. Teens are usually rather adept, but this teen had made it an art form. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” And with that denial, Clay hunched his shoulders hoping the mark would be concealed, and therefore forgotten.

Ben decided to play this like Rush would. Rush always told a personal story or made up some shit to make Clay start thinking about his actions. “I remember my first hickey.”

Clay didn’t even pause. He did answer, “You mean when guys dragged other guys out of caves and hit them with clubs, you know, before there were TVs and stuff?”

Ben just smiled, tapping the side of his coffee mug. “Yes, back when dinosaurs wandered Middle Earth. I remember the first time a guy gave me a hickey, it felt so fucking good, until the next day. I realized I looked out of control, like someone owned me. It was embarrassing.”

“I’ve had worse,” Clay answered softly. His voice was so quiet, Ben knew he was reacting to the point. Clay was good at avoiding the subject, except when he wasn’t.

“Yeah, you have,” he responded. “But, here’s the deal, I also dealt with a year of people shitting on me about it.” Ben stopped and leaned closer. “You’re not the first person who’s had to face things. Many of us have had things go wrong too.”

Clay’s head bounced up. His eyes were looming large. Ben felt a sudden surge of anger and frustration. Why did the teen have to be so stubborn? He said the first thing that popped into his head.

“The first boy I made out with never admitted it. In fact, he denied it. You know what I did?”

Clay’s face was now taut, attentive, ready for a response from Ben.

“I made up a girlfriend.”

Clay’s mouth dropped open. “What?”

“I made up a girl, some chick from a town nearby to explain my hickey, my first,” Ben almost shouted at the teen. “I couldn’t explain it so I imagined my life as a straight guy. I created a life for myself as a straight boy necking with some straight girl, who liked me. How pathetic is that?”

Clay didn’t answer, but he closed his mouth and blinked. “I never thought—“

“No, you think you’re the only person with problems. I never got to actually really experience my first crush, my first sorta boyfriend, or even talk to anyone about it. You know what? Sometimes when I think back to Tanner and me, I don’t know if it was real. We never got our picture taken together. He never called me his boyfriend or went on a date with me. Once a week, he’d call me up and we’d get together and fool around. Then, he’d leave right afterwards. At school, he pretended he didn’t really know me.” The teen was staring at him in shock, his mouth open and eyes wide. It made Ben even madder for some reason.

He stood up, pushing the chair back with an angry screech. “You know, I know how much your situation sucked, but when someone tries to help, let them. Maybe your life isn’t worse than everyone else’s. It might just be different. We all have shit to deal with. Yours isn’t always worse.” With that, Ben slammed the chair back in place and stomped from the room.

Clay watched him leave, completely confused, and a little scared. He was never afraid of Ben, who was so sweet and loveable, even when he was trying to be parent-y like now. He shook his head, and then ate another bite of cereal and thought about Ben’s words. God, that would suck. Having a guy, one you really liked, pretend you didn’t exist. It still wasn’t as bad as what he faced. But, it caused him to think, in spite of himself.

He finished his breakfast, still pondering about the older man’s over-reaction.

***

After his temper tantrum, Ben ran up the steps two at a time. The adrenaline surge was still carrying him, his blood pounded in his ears. He shouldn’t have gotten so upset with Clay. He was a teenager and therefore so full of angst and confused and…what the fuck? Had he really just revealed the story about his first love?

That story was so pathetic and sad. Ben opened up the office door and went inside. Turning on the laptop, he considered the damage he’d just inflicted on their newly restarted relationship. Clay and he were starting to get to know each other better. They were very careful in their dealings. Rush had encouraged Ben to talk with the kid more. He tried, but it always felt awkward and forced. Clay was too respectful most of the time. Their conversations were factual reports of the events in their lives. There was very little actual sharing.

He’d most likely screwed that up royally.

Ben opened the detective agency’s email account and waited for it to load. He thought about the progress they’d made. Clay was talking to him. The teen seemed to respect him somewhat. Had that all gone out the window? Would he see Ben as some nerdy weirdo, unable to handle even the basics of a relationship? If anything, Ben’s outburst would shut down Clay from sharing anything else personal. He’d pretty much ruined the chance Clay would trust him. Forget respect, he’d shattered the bond of trust they’d started developing.

What was he thinking?

Ben saw there were several spam emails, which he started deleting. That’s when he saw one from a name that was very familiar. It was Naomi Flynn, who worked with them at the DA office for the Braun/Williston case. She was the assistant district attorney handling the case and he’d worked for her. Rush was working for the Minnesota Bureau of Criminal Apprehension, and it was during that case they’d met.

After the case exploded, and then imploded, Rush had been fired. Ben had been transferred from the DA office to work with the social services division, and Naomi had quit being a prosecutor. In her last conversation with them, she admitted part of the reason she resigned was because of how they were treated by the press, the political system, and by the system itself.

Naomi admitted to them both she was also burnt out and wanted to explore something else. He didn’t know what she ended up doing, until now.

Here was an email from naomi.flynn@mccloudsablemadisonlaw.com.

He read the re: line first. “New Case, Need Help!” Ben chuckled as he opened the message.

Hey Rush,

It’s been ages since we’ve talked, but I heard from a friend you are doing some private detective work. The firm I’m with does insurance defense work and from time to time, we need someone to look into things. Until last week, we had some older man the firm has used for years. I never liked him. He always tried to look down my blouse, and you know how steamed it makes me when some lecherous breeder guy pervs on me. Yuck!

Anyway, to make a long story short, he got shit-canned and so I can use who I want. I thought of you immediately. I know I can trust you and you’ll have my back. Do you think you could help me out? As it turns out, I have a new case which needs some attention right away. I’ll give you the details after you respond with a; ‘Yes, Naomi, I’d love to help you. I will charge you insurance approved rates, and since I’m a big Mo, promise never to look down your shirt. Love Rush!’

So, send me your registration number, your W-9 info, and let’s get some work done.

I know I’ve been a bad correspondent, but I intend to fix that. I hope you’re still boinking that sexy paralegal. I’ve found myself single, again. I just can’t find a decent lesbian who accepts the fact I work seventy hours a week. They’re all so needy!!!

Thanks and let me know ASAP,

Naomi.

Ben couldn’t stop giggling as he finished reading the crazy lawyer’s proposal. Naomi had always been a good boss. She was seriously tough, but fair and he never had a problem with her style -- brash and over-the-top. He thought Rush probably would jump at the chance to get some steady detective work which didn’t involve serving papers or worse. This would be his opportunity to dig into something with meat on its bones.

“Ben?” a voice called from the doorway behind him. The paralegal turned, feeling a little flushed with nervous energy.

“Yeah?” he asked after swiveling around. “Clay, I’m sorry.”

The teen filled the doorway, his broad shoulders filling the space and his lanky, square body blocked the hall from view. His hands were up and open, using a ‘stop-talking’ gesture. He was shaking his head sadly.

“No, it’s me who should apologize,” Clay said clearly and a little sadly. “My therapist warned me not to get all, ‘me-me-me’ in my interactions at school. I have that tendency. My friends called me out on it, so I’m getting better about it. Ham said I should consider other people’s feelings when I’m reacting. Everything isn’t all about me.”

Ben didn’t answer at first. He didn’t know what he should or shouldn’t say. Clay didn’t seem to require a response, and continued.

“I thought about what you said, and you’re right. We both got used. You by a closet case who stole your teenage dating years from you. Garret used me to make money. Garret also betrayed me by telling me he loved me when he really didn’t, not in a way that’s right. I think the tool you dated betrayed you as well. You probably felt a lot of things about him and he betrayed those feelings by acting like you mattered to him.” Clay stopped talking and his hands fell to his waist.

Ben now knew what to say. Clay got his point exactly. He’d worked out they were both hurt by another person in their first relationship. While it wasn’t the same, at all, it was painful. “I shouldn’t have gotten mad at you.” Ben’s words came halting and breathy.

Clay smiled. “You know what’s funny. I trust you so much, I pushed back at you. I don’t do that unless it’s someone I feel comfortable with.” He slouched against the doorpost and rubbed his chin with his hand. “I push back against Rush, my friends, and especially Ham. Sometimes I think I get Dr. Hamilton Dahl so furious he wants to punch me in the neck.”

Ben opened his mouth to speak, but Clay interrupted before he could. “Not that Ham would ever lift a finger to me, but I push his buttons. I think this means I’m that cool with you, Ben. I now make you as crazy as the other people I love.”

Ben’s throat became dry, hoarse, and he felt the tingle of tears in the corners of his eyes. “I trust you too, Clay,” he finally said.

“Good. Cause with you living here, I need to work on listening to you better. You’re a pretty together dude.”

With that, the teen disappeared around the corner down the hall. Ben rubbed his eyes dry. He sat back in the chair and called Rush on his cell phone. They had a contract to complete.

***

Twyla felt like the day had gotten away from her. After leaving downtown, her father called and asked her to stop by. She agreed, but knew it was too much. She felt numb, dead inside, and she felt like a puppet for some reason. All she really wanted was a hot shower, a cold, fresh salad, and a movie that she wouldn’t have to pay attention to. Traffic was backed up so bad. It was creeping in slow motion. Only a couple of cars would get across the intersection. The line inched forward only a few yards it seemed.

Her dad was taking her brother’s death really badly. Last night when she saw him at the diner, he looked gaunt, his skin had a gray hue to it, and the haunted look his eyes held made her want to cry. He would start tearing up, stop the process with hard rubs to his eyes, then smile and escape back into the kitchen. She wished he’d take some time off, but knew he couldn’t afford to not work.

They were all just getting by.

Mom had always been on the edge, using Jake as her personal savings account. Twyla wasn’t as gullible as Jake had been. Their mother would call her for money. Twyla would change the subject, listen to the blubbering tear-filled begging alternated with accusations of being hateful, and finally their mom would hang up and call Jake. Jake was the soft touch whenever Mom was involved.

He was also gone. It seemed unreal. Maybe that’s why the words and actions of this afternoon felt so canned. She wasn’t being fair to their attorneys. Her own mental state was so off, this feeling of disjointed confusion obviously had more to do with losing Jake than anything they had said.

They had been wonderful.

The traffic edged forward. She moved those few scant yards. Then the light changed. Her mind replayed the afternoon’s events.

“Mrs. Smith, hearing the story about how Jake was a victim of a horrible accident really disturbed me.” The attractive, young attorney re-crossed her legs and leaned closer, stretching her arms encased in blue silk blouse toward her. She clasped Twyla’s hands in her own. “Your brother was the victim of a terrible tragedy we don’t believe should ever happen. In fact, our firm investigates these kinds of incidents all the time. Someone is responsible. We will make them pay for their indifference.”

“Indifference?” Twyla answered, pulling her hands out of the other woman’s grip. “I don’t understand.”

Laura sat back and adjusted her blouse quickly. “The legal term is ‘negligence’. When a company doesn’t make sure it’s products are safe, we ask the court to make the injured party whole using a legal claim called negligence. In your brother’s case, he bought a kerosene heater. The maker of the heater didn’t provide the kinds of warnings that told your brother how to safely use the appliance. The manufacturer also could have put a device on the heater that shut it off when it leaked poisonous gas, like carbon monoxide.”

“So, Jake didn’t really do anything wrong. He turned on the heater and it was defective and that’s what killed him?” Twyla asked rather than responded to the attorney’s words.

The handsome man named Tom was nodding along with Laura. It had taken a few tries calling them by their last names until both had convinced her she should use their first names instead.

She told them to call her Twyla.

The morning had been so quick. It had only taken a few minutes for the two attorneys to retrieve her from the waiting room, listen to her story, and then start explaining the process.

They told her, first Tom, then Laura, about how they would gather facts, collect medical records, police reports, the fire department report, which seemed to be really important for some reason, and interview her formally. They would have an investigator question some of Jake’s friends. Then, they would file something called a complaint and it would name various companies which had been negligent; the primary company being the manufacturer of the heater.

They would continue collecting evidence, (how much could there be, she wondered?), during a process called discovering, or something that sounded like that. There would be costs, but nothing her or her parents would have to pay up front. They would work on a contingency basis. Twyla didn’t understand it completely. They kept saying she wouldn’t have to pay anything unless they won. They repeated that several times.

They were quite adamant and after the morning was gone, Laura offered to take her to lunch. But first, Tom took her arm and gently guided her around the palatial office. It was spectacular with even more gleaming woods and plush carpets, chairs with soft looking seats, and paintings that looked very crazy, but expensive. At the end of this tour, Tom showed her their lounge which had a case with awards in it. There were plaques and mounted pictures of people, news clippings, and several statue-esque things, gold or clear with milky lettering, or even some that were made of chrome and glass.

Tom pointed out they were one of the top firms in the state. They had held many guilty parties accountable for their ‘negligence’.

Tom was especially attractive and his cologne had a woodsy scent to it. He smelled like a lumberjack, a very clean one, and looked like a politician.

Twyla was very relieved when Laura met them and Tom ‘handed her off’ to the other attorney. Laura asked about her husband, their kids, their parents, her work. By the time they got to the restaurant after walking a few blocks down the noisy street, it seemed Laura had extracted a great deal of information from her. She felt squeezed dry.

Lunch was divine though. It was really special with some tiny bites to begin with, followed by a small, crunchy, sweet, salty, and bitter salad. The entrée was a few scallops fried in butter and so tender they’d melted in her mouth. Laura had ordered wine, but Twyla refused. Watching her mother dive nose first into the life of a drunk coupled with Jake’s latest struggles, had made her skittish. It wasn’t like she’d never drank, but right now it seemed...unwise.

After the delicious, and extravagant lunch, Laura brought her back to the office. For an hour they signed papers, each more obscure than the last. She was given a couple of folders with papers for her parents to sign.

“Hey, you dumb bitch, move it!” a voice called out over the honking horns. Twyla blinked and saw the way forward was clear. She pressed on the accelerator and lurched forward. More honking ensued as she barely made the light. Looking up at the rearview mirror, she saw several angry faces shouting words at her. It didn’t even really affect her. She still didn’t know what happened that day.

She’d signed a lot of papers. She agreed to a lot of terms. After hiring a lawyer, a team really, now she wondered if she should have hired a lawyer to help her hire a lawyer. It was so daunting.

Her phone rang. It was her dad. Knowing it was him helped a little. She took a deep breath, picked up the cell, and said, “Hi Dad. It’s done. We are officially suing.”

“Are you okay with it all?”

Twyla heard the concern in his voice. He was against this. Mom was all for it, not surprising. But, he supported her just as he’d always done. In the end, he told her it was her decision.

“I think so. I want to make it right for Jake. Let’s make sure no one ever dies from a faulty heater again.”

Her father was silent. “Are you coming to dinner?”

“I’m on my way.”

Twyla turned the corner and drove up the ramp onto the freeway.

***

Ham Lake Herald – Blog Section

A Switch in Time, to Save a Dime?

By Nigella Flecks

October 13^th, 20XX

Yesterday, Marvel Smith was working her shift at a local pawn shop, when suddenly dark clouds of billowing smoke began leaking from the office in the back room of her workplace. In a Richfield Times exclusive, Smith explains what she witnessed:

“I was doing the daily inventory and waiting for the boss to return, when I smelled smoke. I looked over and saw it coming from around the edges of the closed door. I called out to Charese telling her to get outta there, and quick. It was real scary.”

Charese Thompson is Smith’s coworker, and she was in the storage area moving some materials. The fast-moving fire blocked the woman’s exit, and two firefighters had to suppress the flames and bring her safely out of the burning building.

Thompson was treated for smoke inhalation at the scene. Smith said this about her coworker:

“She was awful lucky. That fire coulda burned her to a crisp. I was glad I got out and called 911 in time.”

Smith is a hero for her quick thinking, but the two brave firefighters should be commended for saving Thompson. Both Brandon Freeman and Brenda Stangeland entered the blaze, rescued the woman, and did so quickly before she was more badly injured.

Both firefighters refused to provide statements, but Smith had more to add. “We didn’t know they [space heaters] were so dangerous. I read about something like this in the papers. These things happen all the time and nobody does a thing about it. I can’t believe these people get away with it.”

Smith is referring to the carbon monoxide death just a few weeks ago near uptown. Jacob Ogden (age 34) died in his sleep from an alleged faulty or failing kerosene heater. There is a civil suit pending against the manufacturer and a few of their parts suppliers for negligent products and insufficient warnings. In other blogs and discussion forums, there have been questions about this brand of heater. While this isn’t a carbon monoxide death, it is a kerosene heater, maybe even the same brand, which caused this fire. People could have died, and perhaps it’s time for politicians to do something.

Thousands of people die and are injured from negligence and faulty consumer products. Huge multinational corporations import foreign made equipment, which they sell to a public vulnerable to failed safety devices and shoddy workmanship. There is very little oversight unfortunately, and people are dying in their beds and almost burning to death at their workplaces.

Calls to state representatives for the area, Rep. Gene Rafferty and Rep. Shannon Pickle haven’t been answered as of this posting.