A week later there is a knock on my office door.
Ms. Kaspen?” it’s the secretary. “Ms. Spinner would like to see you in her office.”
Crap! Bernie always sees through me. I compose myself, running my fingers across the front of my Dior skirt. I like to buy expensive things. If I wear something that costs more than a month’s salary, I amply feel that the rotting carcass of me is at least shrouded nicely.
I head over to her corner office, practicing my ‘life is great’ smile. I knock and she bellows for me to come in.
“I have both good and bad news for you,” she says when I enter. Same ol’ Bernie, she always has cut right to the chase. Gesturing for me to take a seat in one of her cow patterned chairs; I sit and cross my legs.
“Which would you like to hear first?” she asks. Bernie has silver in her hair now and a life partner named Felecia.
“The good,” I say biting the inside of my lip. Bernie’s bad news could be anything from “I am shutting down the firm to become a caterpillar farmer” to “I lost the number to my favorite deli.” I feel the need to mentally prepare.
“The good news,” she begins, “Is that I’m giving you, your first big case—and it’s a big one, Olivia.”
“Oh…kay,” I say feeling a bubble of excitement well in my stomach. I have the urge to jump up and ra ra sis boom ba!
“What’s the case?” I say calmly.
“Ever heard of a little pharmaceutical company called OPI-Gem?” she asks.
I shake my head “no”.
“They’re one of the baby pharms. Six months ago they released a new drug named ‘Prenavene’ into the market. Three months after its release date, twenty seven separate hospital reports were filed in which Prenavene was found in the systems of heart attack cases, two of those being under the age of thirty with no prior health problems. “There was a formal investigation and the Feds dug up a whole lotta poop on these people.”
“What kind of….poop?” I ask.
“During their testing period, blood clotting showed up in thirty-three percent of their human rats. Thirty-three percent Olivia! Do you know how big that is? It’s big like a two foot cock.”
I flinch. For a lesbian, she referenced male genitalia an awful lot.
“Big enough for the FDA to ground the product six months before OPI had a chance to market it.”
Bernie tosses me a gargantuan file.
“So how did they get themselves on the market without FDA approval?” I ask.
“Oh, they got their approval. They falsified data submitted in seeking FDA authorization to market Prenavene, which is a generic drug. They submitted its original version for the FDA tests.”
Ahhh—the old switcheroo trick.
“But why would OPI take the risk after what their independent testing found? They must have known that eventually the whole thing would come crashing down around them.”
“Most fraud in clinical trials is unlikely to ever be detected. Most cases, which do come to public attention, only do so because of extraordinary carelessness by the criminal physician.”
“Hmmmm,” I say.
“They’re not our case,” she says plucking the file from my fingers and replacing it with another one.
“The CEO and co-founder of the company had a massive heart attack and died about two weeks ago. All eyes then fell on his daughter, a twenty something spoiled brat, with an Ivy league education and too much signing power.”
“Her title?” I ask.
“Vice president of internal affairs. The DA is coming at her hard. They are building their case against her as we speak.”
“What do they have on her?” I flip through the file, my eyes scanning the boring law jargon.
“Her signature was on the release forms that were turned in to the FDA, which means that she oversaw the entire project. She knew they were testing the real drug and not Prenavene.” I blow out a low whistle in response to this news. The prosecution already had one hell of a case. I plop the file down on her desk.
“You’ve discovered the bad news without me having to tell you,” she says grimly. “She’s guilty as sin, admitted to the whole thing to us.” I snatch the file back up.
“We want to take a risk on this one,” she says bouncing a pen off of the wall. “This case is going to be all over the media, it will boost us to the next level of firm.”
“Sooo, the next question would be…why are you giving a case this size to the rookie?”
“Two reasons, my prodigal daughter. One, because I like you, and two, because the client asked for you specifically.”
“What? How?” I had covered many cases in Texas, but nothing that would garner any type of attention to me. I was a relatively unknown litigator.
“The client was shopping for you.”
“What’s her name?” I ask, not sure what all of this means.
“Smith, Johanna Smith.”
“I’ve never heard the name before.”
“They might have read about your cases in Texas or perhaps you came recommended by previous client of yours, either way, you’ve got it, kiddo. Don’t screw it up.”
I stumble to my office with the case file clutched to my chest. Was I ready for this? One good case, correction—one impossible case, if won, would boost me to partner…
I hole myself up in my office for the rest of the afternoon, re-reading the file again and again until the words become a blur and I have a raging headache. The secretary has left for the day, along with most everyone else. I nod a greeting to the cleaning lady on my way to the car and mentally plan out the conversation that I am going to have with Johanna Smith in the morning. Crap! The case was too big for me.
On my way home I call Turner to tell him the news and fill him in on the case. He sounds less than thrilled.
“I don’t know Olivia. The DA is going to come after this girl pretty hard. Are you prepared to lose your first big case?”
“Thanks for the vote of confidence,” I snap into the receiver.
“Look, I believe in you—I do, but this is a tough one. They have direct evidence tying her to the fraud, they have two witnesses willing to testify that she was involved. If you lose the case you can kiss partner goodbye.” What an ass. I tell him that my boss is calling on the other line. When I hang up, my eyes are pooling with tears.
“This is my break!” I scream at the car in front of me, “and I’m going to take it!”
At seven the next morning, I arrive at the office to find a sweet charcoal Jag in my parking spot. I find a space a few spots away and march through the doors wondering who had the audacity to park where it says Reserved Kaspen. The secretary greets me with a cup of coffee and then blocks the entrance to my office with her body.
“There’s something that I should tell you before you go in there,” she says as I take a sip from my pink mug.
“Did you poison my coffee?” I ask, peering at her over the rim.
“No, but—”
“Then you can tell me while I turn my computer on,” I reach past her and turn the doorknob.
There is a man in my office. I see his back first, as he is studying the numerous plaques and photographs I have on my wall. I shoot the secretary a look and she mouths “Johanna Smith’s husband” to me, before making a discreet exit. She has lipstick on her teeth.
“Mr. Smith,” I say confidently, though I am quite flustered at the surprise. My briefing with them wasn’t scheduled for another two hours.
He turns slowly, his hands clasped behind his back. I see his grey suit, the white collared shirt unbuttoned at the top, the golden tan, and I choke on my coffee.
“It’s Drake, actually,” he says in an amused voice.
I back away, trying to catch my breath and find myself pressed against the wall.
“Surprise,” he says, and then he laughs at the look on my face.