Dead Peasants (12 page)

38

Two days later Jack met one of his pro bono clients outside County Court in the Tim Curry Justice Center. Raul Rodriquez was a young man who drove a cab to support a wife and two children. Empire Texas Mortgage was trying to evict him from his home. He had been sweet-talked by a realtor and mortgage broker into buying a house that he couldn’t have afforded if he had driven his cab 24/7. He didn’t read the fine print. All he knew was that he was making a payment of $850 a month and had been able to do that for several years until the mortgage ballooned. He was given the option of paying off the entire mortgage or re-financing with payments of $2200 a month, about what he took home. When he explained his predicament, Jack had him bring all of the papers to his RV. He spent the better part of a day going over them before he found a way to get Rodriquez off the hook.

Jack and Raul entered the courtroom and took a seat on the back row, waiting for the case to be called. Jack had chosen his
Bat Masterson
cane for this appearance.

“
Empire Texas Mortgage, Inc. v. Raul Rodriquez,”
Judge George Miller called. Truth be told, Judge Miller was sick of the foreclosure docket. They were all the same. Some lawyer called a witness from the mortgage company who proved up the documents and that no payment had been made for six or ten or twelve months. Usually, no one showed up for the homeowner. He signed the papers handed to him by the mortgage company lawyer and moved on to the next.

“Robert Graves for Empire Texas, Your Honor. We’re ready to proceed.”

The judge was about to motion him up when Jack said, “Jackson Bryant for the defendant, Your Honor. I’m ready, too.”

The judge looked up with surprise as Jack and his client walked down the middle aisle, stepped through the swinging gate and stood at the counsel table.

“Well, well, this is interesting. Mr. Bryant, I’ve looked over these papers. Looks like your client hasn’t made a payment in nine months. Do you really think you have a defense.”

“Yes, sir. I do. I think you’ll agree with me when I put on my case.”

Judge Miller nodded and turned to Graves. “Call your witness, Mr. Graves.”

Graves called a minor official from Empire Texas who officed in Dallas. He proved up all the necessary documents, marked them as exhibits and passed the witness. He had what was known among lawyers as a
prima facie
case.

“Mr. Bryant, you may cross-examine.”

“No questions, Your Honor.”

“Empire Texas rests, Judge,” Graves said.

“Your turn, Mr. Bryant.”

“We call Sara Hilliard.”

A frail, middle-aged woman dressed in a white shirt and grey pants approached. After she was sworn, Jack established that she worked for Quillen Bank and Trust. He noticed Graves whispering to his client who motioned with his hands that he didn’t know Sara Hilliard.

“Ms. Hilliard, you’re a mortgage clerk in the Fort Worth office of Quillen who I subpoenaed to be here today.”

Sara Hilliard’s eyes darted around the room before she said, “Yes, sir.”

“Let me hand you these exhibits that Mr. Graves introduced. Did you notarize the signatures of Howard Jefferies, a loan officer at Quillen when this mortgage was bundled with a bunch of others and sold to Empire Texas? Take your time and look at all of the documents.”

Sara looked at them one by one and turned them over on the witness stand rail as she did so. “I did, Mr. Bryant.”

“Do you note something strange about the multiple signatures of Mr. Jefferies?”

Sara Hilliard paused and flipped back through the documents.

“Let me help you, Ms. Hilliard,” Jack said. “They are all exactly the same, aren’t they? Eight signatures among these papers all exactly alike.”

Sara nodded.

Jack rose and walked to the witness stand where he leaned on his cane. “In fact, those were all done by a machine, weren’t they?”

“I suppose so, Mr. Bryant. I didn’t mean to do anything wrong. It was just my job.”

Robert Graves had stopped taking notes and stared at the witness as reality sunk in. His client was about to be screwed, big time, and not just in this case.

“You notarized that signature, swearing as a notary that Mr. Jefferies signed those documents and you, as a notary, witnessed him signing when some machine in the back office was programmed with his signature, true, Ms. Hilliard? Or, maybe you were back there, witnessing a machine and notarizing its signature?”

The witness seemed to shrink down into her chair. “We were very busy then. We had to process hundreds of mortgages a day sometimes. I’m sure that if Mr. Jefferies would have had the time, he would have signed for the company.”

Judge Miller had enough. “Stop. I’ve heard enough. I’m declaring this mortgage null and void. Mr. Bryant, I presume you’ll have the appropriate order to me by the end of the week.”

“Your Honor,” Graves said as he rose, his voice reflecting concern, “my client knew nothing about these machine signatures.”

“Judge, I’ll have an order for you,” Jack said. “As to Mr. Graves’s comments, I suspect his beef is with Quillen Bank and Trust. His client has been taking money from a lot of folks on mortgages they didn’t even legally own.”

The judge turned to Graves and stroked his chin. “Mr. Graves, it looks like we’ve got one helluva mess on our hands. I want you to start by going back through the files on all of the mortgages you’ve brought me in the past two years. I want an accounting of the cases where this conduct has gone on, starting with Quillen, and then we may expand the investigation. I also want you to come up with a plan to unwind all of these foreclosures.”

“And, Judge,” Jack said, “I’m putting on the record here in open court that I’ll be bringing a lawsuit against Empire Texas for all of the payments my client has made and will be seeking punitive damages for fraud.”

Jack excused himself and walked with his client into the hallway where Rodriquez shook his hand, then hugged him. At the elevators, Rodriquez went down to ground level while Jack waited for an elevator to take him to the eighth floor. When he exited, he saw a sign pointing to the Office of the District Attorney. Jack approached double doors and pulled one open. A pleasant lady sat behind a counter and smiled as he entered.

“Can I help you?”

“Yes, ma’am. I’m Jackson Bryant. If Joe Sherrod is in, I’d like to visit with him. I don’t have an appointment, but he and I were in law school together.”

“Just a minute. I’ll call his secretary.” The receptionist made the call and replaced the phone. “He’ll be right out.”

Almost before the words were out of her mouth, the interior door opened and Joe Sherrod burst through. “Jack, man it’s been a long time.”

Joe Sherrod was a few years older than Jack with white hair, wire rim glasses and a politician’s exuberant personality that served him well as district attorney. Jack also knew that he had the reputation of being a fine trial lawyer and, unlike so many of his peers who became administrators when they rose to his level, he still liked the courtroom and would personally try one or two capital cases a year.

“Has been, Joe. Actually, I think you and I last visited over a drink on the river walk at the State Bar Annual Meeting in San Antonio about ten years ago.

“Come on back.” Joe motioned him through the door to his corner office. Besides the usual large desk, credenza, guest chairs and a seating area in front of a fake fireplace, the most notable part of the office was a wall filled with newspaper clippings of trials where Joe had sent the defendants to death row.

Jack admired the clippings. “Very impressive.”

“Won them all but for that damn T. Cullen Davis. I’ll go to my grave believing that son of a bitch was guilty as hell, but Racehorse Haynes kicked my butt, and he walked away a free man.” Joe motioned Jack to have a seat and buzzed his secretary to bring coffee. “What are you doing in town?”

“I live here now. I retired last summer and moved back to Fort Worth. Bought a house in Rivercrest just because I could afford it, maybe just a little bit to thumb my nose at some of our classmates. Spent the fall going to TCU games and just got back from the Sugar Bowl.”

A light came on over Joe’s head. “J.D. Bryant. That’s your son. Boy, are we glad he showed up in Fort Worth. My youngest son is playing football for Arlington Heights. You think we can get you and J.D. out to the house for dinner?”

“You name the date and we’ll be there. Let me tell you why I’m here. It’s about a woman named Colby Stripling.”

Jack took the New Orleans police report and sketch from his briefcase and handed it to Joe. The district attorney took his time absorbing the event and studying the sketch. “Damn, Jack, lucky you were there. What do you want me to do?”

Sherrod’s secretary brought in two TCU Horned Frogs mugs with steaming coffee and placed them on the table. Jack declined cream or sugar, thanked her and took a sip. “I’m not sure. She’s scared. If that tourist is right, it was intentional. We can’t figure out who would want her dead.”

“Doesn’t she live in Monticello? Seems like I’ve seen real estate signs around there with her name on them.”

“She does. Lives in the house where she was raised. After her parents died, she moved back. Lives by herself.”

“She’s got an alarm system, right?”

Jack nodded.

“Here’s the good news. I live in that same neighborhood.” He smiled at Jack. “We public servants can’t afford to live in Rivercrest or Shady Oaks. Our homeowners association pays off-duty cops to patrol the area every night from seven p. m. to seven a.m. We have two officers in two patrol cars circling around. They know most of the cars that belong in the neighborhood. Folks tell them when they’re going to be out of town.” Sherrod picked up the New Orleans police report. “I’ll have this on our computer system so every cop in Fort Worth and surrounding towns will have a copy of it. Then, I’ll personally deliver it to our neighborhood cops and tell them to pay special attention to Colby’s house. That’s the best we can do.” Sherrod paused. “Maybe it’ll be enough. If not, Colby could be in real trouble.”

39

Jack’s conversation with Joe Sherrod somewhat reassured Colby. She returned to her work, and as the weeks went by with no other incident, she began to relax. Oh, she still kept a close watch on her rear view mirror and jumped at the slightest noise. She acquired a full grown German Shepherd from a place that trained them as attack dogs. She named the dog Killer and soon had him sleeping at the foot of her bed. Jack bought her a Ruger LCD with a laser sight and went with her to a course to get her concealed handgun license. Thereafter, he took her to the gun range nearly every Sunday afternoon.

One evening Jack and Colby were sitting on Jack’s back patio, watching the sun go down. Killer lay quietly at Colby’s feet until he would spot a squirrel sneaking down from a tree, intent on retrieving a couple of pecans. Killer would focus on the squirrel without moving a muscle until he thought the squirrel was far enough away from the tree. Then, he would spring to his feet and charge the squirrel that would beat a fast retreat back to the tree where it would taunt Killer with chatter. Killer would circle the tree several times before going back to his position at Colby’s feet.

“Look, Colby,” Jack said, as he turned to face her. “I know you’ve done everything you can to protect yourself. You’ve even got Killer here going with you to the office and staying in the car when you have an appointment to show a house. There’s one more thing you might consider. Why don’t you move in with me? I have five bedrooms just gathering dust. The upstairs would be yours.” Jack raised his hand in a Boy Scout salute. “I pledge not to set foot on the second floor.”

Colby smiled while she gazed off toward the setting sun and thought. Then, she took Jack’s hand. “I appreciate the offer. I really do. Still, you know I can’t make a commitment. Until something changes in my life, I prefer to have my own house and my own space. Does that make sense?”

Jack sighed. “I suppose. I just don’t want anything to happen to you.”

“I’ll be okay. Hey, did I tell you I started tae kwon do this week. Private lessons three times a week. I didn’t want to be in a group. I figured I need to learn fast.”

“I know something about the martial arts from my military days. I’ll be your sparring partner whenever you’re ready. And my other offer remains open indefinitely. I’d really prefer to have you as my house guest. It would be a lot safer.

“I know, Jack, but my mind is made up.”

40

The next day Jack was about ready to lock up the RV when he heard a car door slam in the parking lot. When the stranger knocked, he hollered, “Come on in. You just barely made it. I was about ready to shut down for the day.”

The door opened and a slender white man in his mid-thirties climbed the steps. He was dressed in slacks and a white shirt with a blue checked tie at half mast around his neck. He carried a steno pad in his left hand. As he walked back to the office, he stuck out his hand. “Hartley Hampton. I’m a reporter for the
Star Telegram
. I cover the courthouse beat.”

Jack rose to take his hand and motioned him to have a seat. “I didn’t figure you to be one of my clients. Most of them don’t even own a tie. What can I do for you?”

“Mr. Bryant…”

“Call me Jack.”

“Jack, the bailiff in Judge Miller’s court told me about your win against Empire Texas. I gotta say that was most impressive and about damn time that someone took on these lousy mortgage companies.”

Jack took a sip from his water bottle. “Thanks, but I’m not looking for any publicity. I loved it when I was a plaintiff lawyer in Beaumont, but those days are behind me.”

Hampton raised his hand. “It’s not a question of publicity. It’s both a human interest story about you and a news story about what Quillen has done to thousands of people. I’ve checked you out. I know your background and what you’ve done for the people out here on the North side. Sorry, Jack. You may not want it, but you’re newsworthy, and I’m grabbing onto the story before some of my competition does.”

Jack gazed out the window and finally turned back to Hampton. “Okay. I can see you’ve got the bit in your teeth; so, I might as well cooperate. You interested in a beer? I was just about to head next door to Moe’s.”

Hampton smiled as he realized he had at least gotten his foot in the door. “Sure. Maybe I can get Moe to tell a few tales behind your back.”

The two men walked out into the parking lot where Jack started to show Hampton how he secured his RV.

“Wait, wait a minute. Let me get a camera.” Hampton opened his Toyota Camry and retrieved a Canon digital to take a picture of the RV before Jack implemented the security. “Okay, show me what happens.”

Jack pushed the button on his key chain and the metal shutters covered the windows. “Wow, that’s cool shit,” Hampton exclaimed as he took more photos of the RV. “Hell, I may hit the front page with this one.”

They walked over to Moe’s where everyone greeted Jack before they took two seats at the bar.

“Moe, this is Hartley Hampton. He’s a reporter. Wants to do a story on me and the mortgage industry. Give us a couple of Shiners.”

“Uh, make mine a Miller Lite,” Hampton said.

When Moe handed them their beers, Hampton insisted on clinking his bottle with Jack. “Here’s to a great story.”

As they sipped their beers Hampton told Jack what he had learned about him. Hampton had done his homework and needed no notes to walk Jack through his life from Byers Street to Beaumont to Iraq, back to Beaumont and eventually to Rivercrest. Jack nodded as he realized Hampton was a very thorough reporter. No point in pussy footing around with him.

“So, I get moving back to Fort Worth, and you can damn sure afford to live in Rivercrest, but why do pro bono work and hang out here at Moe’s instead of at Rivercrest?”

“Call the pro bono payback or whatever you choose. I find I like helping these people. The world’s a mess these days and the poor are suffering the most. I don’t need the money; so, why not?” Jack waved his arm around the bar. “As to these people, I’m really one of them. I don’t choose to run with that Rivercrest crowd.”

Hampton started to ask another question, but Jack interrupted. “And one more thing. Helping people who can’t help themselves gives me a rush I never anticipated. To see the look of gratitude in their eyes is beyond explanation.”

“Tell me about the Rodriquez v. Empire lawsuit. How’d you figure out what was going on?”

Jack ordered another beer for each of them before he replied. “Not rocket science by any means. Contrary to what some of the talking head lawyers on television say, most lawyering isn’t. It’s hours and hours of poring over medical records in a malpractice case, looking for that one error that caused a patient’s death. Or maybe it’s spending days in a conference room of some silk stocking law firm that’s defending a products case, looking for that one memo, like in the Pinto cases where Ford was caught red handed years ago with a memo that it would be cheaper to defend wrongful death cases arising out of a defective gas tank than to issue a recall.”

“I’ve heard that. You’re telling me it’s really true?”

“Damn right. Some people at Ford decided their bottom line was more important than saving lives. As to the Rodriquez case, I spent a day reading documents, and it hit me. It didn’t even take a document examiner to see what had happened. Empire tried to foreclose on paper it didn’t even own. Pisses me off every time I think about it.”

Hampton sipped his beer and then banged it down on the bar, causing the domino players to look up to see who was causing the ruckus. “Hell, this is going to be a series, maybe three parts. I’ll start with you, then the Empire case and follow it with the repercussions to mortgage companies around here. Jack, I suspect you and I are going to be friends for a long time. I could hang around your RV and come up with a story a day.”

Jack shook his head. “I can’t say I like it, but it’s a story that needs to be told. Just try to downplay anything about me.”

Hampton rose to shake his hand. “No promises, Jack, but you’ll like my series.”