Tides of Truth [02] Higher Hope (39 page)

“Did you have a nice time in church?” she asked.

“Yes, ma’am,” I answered, then realized my answer wasn’t accurate. “Actually, no, but I think it was necessary for me to be there.”

“I listened to the show you found for me. The minister made me feel really good.”

THE UNSETTLING INFLUENCE of Sister Dabney’s message had lessened some by the next morning, but I was still wrestling with the issue during my walk to work. There had been a thunderstorm in the night, and green leaves were scattered on the sidewalk and into the street. The leaves had been plucked prematurely from the branches by the violence of the storm and would never fulfill summer’s purpose or reveal fall’s glory. Whatever happened, I didn’t want my storm to rob me or allow a worldly outlook to direct my steps. When I arrived at the library, there was a handwritten note on the worktable I shared with Julie. It was from Mr. Carpenter.

“Call me.”

Beneath the words was the senior partner’s cell-phone number. Mr. Carpenter answered on the second ring.

“This is Tami Taylor. I received your note.”

“Yes, I left it yesterday afternoon. I’m in the car on my way to Atlanta for an argument in the court of appeals this afternoon. There have been some recent developments in the Paulding case that have to do with Brenda Abernathy at the newspaper.”

I stiffened. I was about to be delivered. Once Jason Paulding’s criminal activity was exposed by the newspaper, the last thing he’d be interested in pursuing would be a libel suit against Sister Dabney. In a few weeks I would be out of Savannah, leaving the Dabney case behind and happily burying my nose in casebooks.

“I ran into Abernathy’s boss at a restaurant over the weekend,” Mr. Carpenter continued. “As you know, I avoid the press, but he wouldn’t leave me alone, and I’m glad I heard him out. I know what they’re up to. The newspaper wants to run a series of exposés on charlatan preachers. It’s a risky topic in a religious town like Savannah, but they think it’ll sell papers. The leadoff article is going to feature our defendant. The editor asked if Abernathy could be present at the deposition on Wednesday. I told him no, but if it goes well and Paulding gives his permission, we could release excerpts of the testimony after the fact. In the meantime, I agreed to allow Abernathy a chance to review portions of the statements we’ve obtained. Since you’re more familiar with that evidence, I want you to screen the information and delete anything that might hurt our client.”

“Uh, I’m not sure if there’s anything like that. I’ll have to review them.”

“Do it first thing. You can expect a call from Abernathy later today. I know she didn’t want to tell you anything the other day, but her editor is going to instruct her to pass along information that may help at the deposition. Now is the time to strike, and strike hard.”

My mouth was bone-dry. I tried to moisten it.

“Mr. Carpenter, I’m not sure—”

“If you have any doubts, don’t give the information to the reporter,” Mr. Carpenter interrupted. “Like I said, it may be best to pass along a summary with contact information so she can follow up with the witnesses on her own. The paper has promised not to mention our firm. I won’t be available to talk until I leave the judicial building in Atlanta. Zach can handle any questions that can’t wait. I spoke to him yesterday afternoon. He said you weren’t available.”

“Yes, sir, I was—”

“Don’t apologize. Summer clerks aren’t expected to be at my beck and call all the time. That will come next year”—Mr. Carpenter paused—“if you come to work for the firm. I’ll talk to you later.”

The phone clicked off. I stared off into space, then closed my eyes. I wondered if I had the courage to quit my job and, as the apostle Paul said, “come out from among them and be ye separate.”

27

I WENT UPSTAIRS TO FIND ZACH. SEVERAL OF THE SECRETARIES and clerical workers passed me with cups of coffee in their hands. For them, this was just another day at the office. The door to Zach’s office was cracked open. He was on the phone but motioned for me to come inside. I slumped down in the chair. It was a long phone conversation with someone in another country. I started to get up, but Zach pointed at the chair, so I stayed put. Finally he ended the call.

“I can see you went to hear Reverend Dabney yesterday,” Zach said as he lowered the receiver.

“How can you tell?”

“Because you look like a condemned criminal.”

I didn’t feel like backing down. “It’s not right what the firm is doing to her. And now the newspaper, with our help, is going to drag her name through the mud. If that doesn’t bother you, I think you’ve got a problem.”

“It bothers me, but it also makes me face the fact that I can’t control what other people do. Jason Paulding and Joe Carpenter are going forward with a lawsuit, and Brenda Abernathy is going to write her article even if I go on vacation for the next two weeks.”

“But I can control what I do,” I shot back.

“What does that mean? You can’t talk to Dabney.”

“No, but I can tell Mr. Carpenter I’m quitting. I’d rather work on the chicken line for my father and have a clear conscience than become a partner in this law firm and know I compromised my beliefs.”

“Okay, quit.”

My jaw dropped.

“Is that what you think I should do?”

“Look, I’m not going to try to talk you into or out of anything. If nothing else, the news that you’ve resigned will shake things up around here for a few days. More people than you realize are aware of your convictions and will decide you were too weak to make it in the real world, so you ran back to the hills where you can live in a pretend world.”

“That’s not true.”

“It isn’t?”

“No.”

“Then why don’t you try to influence the situation. If you’re willing to quit, you shouldn’t have a problem getting fired. There might be a measure of honor in that. You can make your case to Mr. Carpenter, who will listen for at least a few minutes before he tells you to pack your things and leave.”

“I tried to talk to him on the phone a few minutes ago, but he kept cutting me off before I could say anything. He’s on his way to an oral argument at the court of appeals.”

“Then wait until he comes back from Atlanta. Or better yet, put off the confrontation until after he takes Dabney’s deposition and gets a chance to hear her himself. Then, if she makes any sense, you can use her words to argue on her behalf. If you leave today, you won’t have a chance to affect anything that may happen down the road.”

“But I don’t know what she may say.”

“You think she’ll admit to slandering Jason Paulding?”

“No, because I believe what she said about him is the truth.”

“How do you know that?”

“Because she was right about Mr. Callahan.”

Zach leaned forward in his chair and put his hands on his desk.

“Repeat yourself; then tell me what’s wrong with what you’re saying.”

“She was right about Mr. Callahan”—I hesitated—“which doesn’t make her infallible about everything. But she was also right about Mr. Paulding trying to defraud Mr. McKenzie. And some of the people I talked to that know her think she does a lot of good for the community.”

Zach pointed to a thick file on his desk. “I’ve not had a chance to analyze all the financial records in the McKenzie deal, but Paulding has given us the data to find out. Maybe he tried to cheat, maybe not, but there’s nothing in the Dabney file that you can base a decision on.”

“So you don’t want me to quit.”

Zach smiled slightly. “No, it’s amazing that you would consider it. But you’re also impulsive.”

“This isn’t a quick decision. I’ve been upset about this case since the first day I met with Mr. Paulding.”

Zach started to say something else, then stopped.

“What is it?” I asked.

He shook his head. “You’ve got to decide for yourself. I pray you’ll make the right choice.”

I returned to the library. Julie was sitting at one of the computer terminals.

“It’s about time you got here,” she said, glancing over her shoulder.

“I’ve been here long enough to talk to Mr. Carpenter and Zach.”

“That combo has never worked well for you. Talking to men about romance problems is as helpful as interviewing a rock about the weather.”

“I don’t have romance problems.”

“Fortunately I know that’s not true.” Julie turned her chair so that she faced me. “What’s really going on?”

“It has to do with the Dabney case.”

“That doesn’t surprise me. Every time it comes up, a dark cloud appears over your head.”

“Are you going to mock me?”

“No.”

And for once, I believed Julie was sincere. I laid out my dilemma. She listened without interruption.

“I can understand loyalty to your people,” she said when I finished. “It hurts me when a Jewish girl is mistreated, even if I don’t really know her. And as weird as she is, Sister Dabney is like one of your family.”

“Not that close, but the connection is real.”

Julie rubbed her hands together. “Do you want my opinion?”

“Yes.”

“Zach is right. You can’t help a situation by running away from it. But I also think it’s good you’ve made up your mind to quit before compromising your beliefs. If that’s decided and you find yourself in a situation you can’t go along with, you won’t have to agonize as much about pulling the plug. I just have one request.”

“What?”

“I want to be there and see the expression on Mr. Carpenter’s face when you tell him to flush the job down the toilet. I already have tons of stories about our summer, but that would take the prize.”

I was quiet. Julie brushed her hair back with her hand.

“You’re not going to quit,” she said.

“How can you be so sure?”

“How many times do I have to remind you that I have the gift of psychoanalysis? You’re an interesting case study, but fairly predictable in your responses.”

“Shut up,” I said with a grin.

“I knew you were going to say that.” Julie leaned forward. “You’re a fighter, not a quitter.”

I spent the rest of the morning reviewing the witness statements and crafting summaries designed to provide Brenda Abernathy with as little ammunition as possible. When a phone call was routed to the library, my heart raced in anticipation that it might be the reporter. But all the calls were for Julie.

Finally the receptionist said, “Brenda Abernathy on line 804 for Tami.”

“This is Tami Taylor,” I said in my most professional voice. “I have you on speakerphone with Julie Feldman.”

“I heard from my boss; did you talk to yours?”

“Yes. I’ve been working on the file all morning.”

“Go ahead. I’m going to record what you tell me.”

Mr. Carpenter hadn’t said anything about a recorded interview.

“It’s my understanding our firm isn’t going to be mentioned as a source of information,” I said.

“Correct. That’s the first thing on the tape.”

Julie picked up a digital dictation unit, turned it on, and placed it beside the phone.

“Is it okay if we make a recording on our end?” she asked.

“Sure, but I thought we were on the same side. Both of us would like to see this woman run out of town.”

“We’re representing our client,” Julie answered. “It’s not personal.”

“Whatever you say. I’m listening.”

I took a deep breath and went as rapidly through the summary as I could. To my surprise the reporter didn’t interrupt me once.

“That’s it,” I said. “I’m surprised you didn’t have any questions.”

“I do, but I’ve learned it’s better to turn people loose and let them talk rather than interrupt the free flow of information.”

Julie nodded her head in appreciation. And for the next hour Abernathy peppered me with questions. I used my summary as a script, but revealed more than I intended because several times it would have sounded worse to dodge a question than answer it. Twice Julie came to the rescue.

“We’re ready to hear from you,” Julie said. “Dabney’s deposition is scheduled on Wednesday, and we need time to revise our questions.”

“I don’t have much to add to what you’ve found,” the reporter answered. “You’re way ahead of me.”

“That’s ridiculous,” Julie responded abruptly. “Mr. Carpenter said if we opened our file to you that you would reciprocate. Do I need to set up a conference call with him and your editor?”

There was brief silence. I wondered what the reporter was doing. For the first time, I considered she might not be alone.

“No, but I don’t think my investigation is going to be relevant to your case.”

“We’re the lawyers,” Julie answered. “Let us decide.”

“Law students,” I corrected.

Julie rolled her eyes at me. And for the next thirty minutes Abernathy unloaded a litany of Dabney’s alleged heavy-handed re-quests for money, the absence of accountability, exaggerated accounts of miracles, and personal prophecies that made the preacher sound like a second-rate fortune-teller at a country fair. Some of it was prob-ably true, but parts didn’t fit with what I’d seen and heard. Any church and its minister have a backlog of disgruntled ex-members whose perceptions are skewed by bitterness. Abernathy had found a few malcontents. The reporter’s obvious intent to transform an occasional problem into the norm turned my stomach.

“You can see why your information takes the article to another level,” the reporter said when she finished.

“How?” I asked.

“My stuff is typical for this type of story. What she did to Paulding and his response to her stand out. They’re unique.”

“If it’s—,” I started, then stopped.

“True or false?” Abernathy quickly inserted. “Is there any doubt Dabney’s allegations against Paulding are false?”

“That’s not what she meant,” Julie interjected. “We have to determine if Dabney’s conduct is slander or libel under Georgia law. Just because something is false doesn’t mean all the legal requirements are satisfied.”

“What are the legal requirements?”

I sat back while Julie rehashed the chapter she’d written for her professor’s book. The reporter was very interested in getting a free seminar on a topic relevant to her job.