In Search Of A Hero. Cheryl Wolverton
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along.
“Enough that it might actually help them win the case if it’s reopened in an appeal?”
André frowned. “Kittering had allegedly caused problems in the Alaskan wilderness with the fishing and water. There was proof that the number of fish the area produced was down. But then, the population was up and many more tourists had visited the area in the previous two years. There were minute amounts of their chemicals in the water, but nothing near what the EPA insisted Kittering keep their levels below.”
“But what about the wildlife?”
Rebekkah said a quick prayer before picking up her fork and taking a bite of salad. André followed suit.
He had elegant hands, not the hands of a worker, but long gentle hands, she noticed. She thought of this Sunday when he’d shown up at church, when his friends had handed him their baby for a moment and how careful he had been. André was different from others she had met. And she knew many other male lawyers. Most were concerned about their careers and climbing the corporate ladder. Many played fast and loose. Rebekkah had clawed her way up that ladder, reveling when Drydan had taken her into the firm, even though she suspected it was to fulfill a minority quota.
She had a chance, at least.
And she wasn’t going to blow it. Yet here sat André, a man raised in elegance, shrugging over his career, calm over the fact this case, if reopened, might damage his reputation and that of his family.
How he could be so at ease, she had no idea.
“If I remember correctly,” André finally said, “there was never any direct proof that the deaths of those animals could be attributed to the drinking of the water—which was what the original lawsuit was about—the water contamination that was causing illnesses to so many in the area.”
“Yes, but what if they’ve found a connection?” she asked. “I’ve gone through all the information I could find on the case. Your client was adamant that they had no idea of the pending lawsuit, thus could not have covered it up.”
“On the day the Langley representative testified, it clearly indicates he didn’t visit the site until after the lawsuit. And then he went up with the intention of finding out the truth,” André said.
Rebekkah took another bite of her salad, frowning. “Is it possible someone forged the interoffice memo to make it look like the company was guilty when they weren’t?”
André set his salad plate and fork aside. “I suppose so. We won’t know until we see it. However, if someone did do that, then they’d surely know it would easily be proven a fake.”
When the waitress appeared with their seafood they both fell silent.
Once she was gone, André continued. “I think it best we go on the assumption this is true and that someone is indeed going to visit the site for some new proof that we don’t know about. I’d like to get to the bottom of this, too, find out if these people lied to us before we represented them.”
“If they did, and it comes out, whether you knew or not, it’s still going to hurt your father terribly.”
André nodded. “It will do that.”
“However, the poor people who’ve lost so many loved ones and fallen ill will have their proof.”
Again, he nodded. “Which would be a good thing for some of them. I saw many at the time who were simply money-grubbing people who saw a chance to get rich. That was one reason I got out of being a trial lawyer. I got burned out really quick seeing the baser nature of people and their greed.”
“Not all poor people are money grabbers,” Rebekkah said softly, her fork pausing by her plate.
“I agree. But we’ve represented many who were. Surely, Rebekkah, you’ve seen that in your experiences with my father’s company.”
Rebekkah’s glance left André speechless.
André wouldn’t let her escape, though. Reaching out, he caught her hand, which lay still on the table.
The warmth jolted her gaze to his. She froze, staring.
He didn’t say anything, just continued to hold her hand.
“Yes, I’ve seen that in your father’s business and in other businesses, as well,” she finally admitted. “But I’ve seen the poor ones, as well, those who couldn’t afford a lawyer and desperately needed help, the ones who weren’t greedy and sought out help only to be turned down because they had no money.”
“Which makes me wonder why you aren’t more supportive of where I work,” he murmured softly.
Realizing what she’d said, she pulled her hand back on the pretense of blotting her lips with the napkin. “If a person works, they can go places and not stay in the world they were born in. Many in the inner city just want to stay there.”
André went back to eating. “Which means you really want to see me help them on their way, I suppose.”
Rebekkah laughed. “You’re good at twisting things around, André.”
“And for a trial lawyer, Rebekkah, you can certainly jump from subject to subject.”
The tension relieved, she smiled. “Simply to keep you confused.”
“Oh, you do that without any problem,” André said.
And she did, André thought, watching the way the woman blinked before smoothing all emotions from her soft complexion.
“So tell me, Rebekkah, what made you want a job like the one at Watson and Watson,” André asked, deciding they’d discussed enough business for the night. He wanted to get to know his new partner better since they would be working together.
“I don’t understand,” she replied carefully. He thought most of her answers were careful, except to him. He’d noticed almost immediately he had the ability to rattle her easily. And he took advantage of it, too. “I mean, fast-paced, high stress, long hours.”
“Oh.” She smiled. The smile changed her features from beautiful to breathtaking. She really was quite a remarkable young woman. He had no idea how she’d stayed single so long, unless it was her sheer doggedness to climb the corporate ladder—something André realized wasn’t worth it when he’d lost Sarah.
“I like the challenge. I love my job. It gives me a chance to challenge my mind and the laws. It also has the possibility of advancement, bigger cases and such.”
“You want to make a name for yourself,” he confirmed.
“I want to make sure I have a firm foundation to stand on and job security.”
“Trusting God helps,” he said.
She frowned. “Figures you’d quote things like that to me.”
“I can’t let you do all the quoting, now, can I?” he asked, enjoying the sparring.
“I saw you were in church Sunday,” she countered.
“I was there, yes. But you didn’t answer my question. Do you trust God to take care of you?”
“I believe a person has to put forth an effort, but yes, God will take care of me.”
“Then it really boils down to you’re running from or to something.”
He’d struck gold with that, if the flash in her eyes was any indication. He wouldn’t push it, though. At least now he had an idea why she seemed so determined to please his father and make a name for herself. “I’ve run, too, Rebekkah,” he said simply. “I still am in some ways, I imagine. But that’s what life is about, trials.”
Tilting her head, she studied him. “Why do you really miss church, André?”
Steepling his hands in front of him, he smiled. “I’m backsliding,