Celia smiled. “Yeah, so do I.”
“Is everything okay?” her mother asked, gaze narrowed.
“No,” Celia said, before she could edit herself. It just popped out. Then she realized that saying no was a relief. No, everything was not okay. She’d said it, it was out there. Good. “I have to be at court in an hour, and you know how I feel about court appearances.”
“And who can blame you?” Suzanne said, putting on a cheerful face. “I’m sure it’ll be fine.”
Celia sighed. She’d made it this far, she could get through today as well. Onward.
* * *
For a long time, Celia had hated courtrooms.
She still had bad dreams—hard to call them nightmares, when they were vague and nerve-racking rather than terrifying—about the trial of Simon Sito, the Destructor, where she’d been called as a witness and her brief foray into juvenile delinquency as one of the defendant’s hench-idiots had been exposed to the world. The revelation destroyed her budding relationship with Mark Paulson, damaged her friendship with Analise, and cemented her reputation in the city as the completely useless bag of flesh who’d failed her amazing parents, the Olympiad. Yet oddly enough, her testimony started to repair her relationship with her parents. They stood by her during those rough weeks. Arthur stood by her.
Courtrooms were fraught. On one hand, they were a symbol of bureaucratic tediousness. On the other, they destroyed—and repaired—lives. On the whole, she preferred that her confrontation with Danton Majors was going to take place in the formal, controlled atmosphere of a courtroom rather than come to a head in the kind of showdown that her parents would have faced back in the day, bolts of fire and laser beams blasting destruction across the sky. Courtrooms were always better battlefields, and she’d come to embrace them. Even though they still gave her hives. They smelled like paper and cheap floor polish.
Midmorning, Celia led her team into this particular courtroom like a general at the head of her army. Motions and countersuits, all lined up. She was high on painkillers and caffeine, but no one needed to know that. If this went as planned, she wouldn’t have to say a word. Just sit there looking serene and in control. Bored, even, if she could manage it. Without actually looking sleepy, which she might not be able to manage. Security wouldn’t let her bring one more cup of coffee into the courtroom, alas.
Danton Majors was in the gallery, seemingly out of innocent curiosity, but she thought he might look a tiny bit worried. He sat a little too still, and his gaze was a little too focused. He glanced toward her when she came in, and his reply to the bright smile she gave him seemed somewhat pained. One of his aides from the committee meetings had accompanied him, a young man—another monkey in a suit. Protégé, lawyer, secretary? Bodyguard? Or did Majors just like having m
inions around?
On the plaintiff’s side of the courtroom, Superior Construction made a good show of appearing to be legitimate. The central figure, a large man in a light gray suit, was the on-paper owner of the company. The gray-haired shark to his left was McClosky, of McClosky and Patterson. Celia’s team had learned that Patterson had retired five years ago, and McClosky maintained the skeleton of the law firm for exactly this sort of purpose—fronting shells, corporate smoke and mirrors. Right now, McClosky only had one client: Delta Ventures.
More men in suits accompanied them, giving every sign of presenting a strong front. Aides, clerks, additional staff, whatever. Records would show they’d been hired in the last month, about the time the initial suit was filed. Nothing in the up-front admissible evidence would show any double-dealing. Which was why Celia’s investigation had gone through back channels: payroll tax filings, building permits on record. Walk through the door of Superior, you’d find nothing but bare wooden struts holding up the pretty front.
This was all theater, anyway.
A bailiff called them to attention, and the judge entered. She was a no-nonsense woman who would get through this quickly and without fuss, Celia hoped. She declared the session opened, called opposing attorneys to the bench, gave instructions, papers were exchanged, quiet conversations held. The performance continued.
Her team was the best money could buy, but the secret to a successful business was that you couldn’t actually buy the best. You had to earn their loyalty by winning them over. By bestowing your own loyalty, by promising them you’d look after them, protect them, and then making good on the promise. Make it infinitely worth their while to do their very best work for you. Money had very little to do with those considerations in the end. Celia’s employees worked hard for her because they loved working for West Corp. They respected her. She worked hard to earn their respect. When her lawyers prepared their arguments and countersuit, they weren’t just doing it for her, they did it out of pride in the company. They felt like they had a stake in it all. Of course they worked hard.
Such a small investment of her own respect and loyalty, with such endless rewards. These hired puppets working for Danton Majors didn’t stand a chance.
Her frame of mind was solidly in a state of offense and attack, so she had to remind herself that West Corp was the defendant here, and she didn’t get to just stand up and reveal all. The case was read, antitrust complaints brought by Superior Construction, monopolistic practices, so on and so forth, suing for seven figures of damages and a stay on any bid made by West Corp or any of its subsidiaries.
The evidence they brought forward was all in the public record: newspaper articles, building licenses, contracting bids, property deals, investments, tax returns. Celia wasn’t worried about any of her dealings being pried open and investigated. She ran West Corp as transparently as she could and adhered to all reporting laws for precisely this reason—she wasn’t going to be the one sideswiped in court, not over something stupid like a frivolous lawsuit.
One of her lawyers accompanied the team for the sole purpose of countering every single piece of evidence Superior Construction brought. The rest of her team was set to filing the countersuit and proving that Superior wasn’t what it said it was.
Her lawyers proceeded in a rapid patter of legalese, drowning the court in an avalanche of orchestrated data. Exhibit after exhibit entered into the record, charts and graphics showing that West Corp adhered to the spirit of the law as well as the letter, and the diversity of construction and contracting firms proved without a doubt that West Corp had not damaged competition in Commerce City.
Then the countersuit, after a motion to have Superior Construction’s suit thrown out as frivolous. The judge didn’t react, so this couldn’t have been unexpected. Good.
“Your Honor, we can show without a doubt that Superior Construction has not only not been damaged by West Corp’s business practices, but that Superior Construction, in fact, does not exist in enough of a recognizable corporate form to be damaged by normal competitive business practices.” This was Liz Bastion, one of West Corp’s senior litigators, thirty-five and a badass. Celia had hired her personally out from under another firm and liked her a lot. She wanted the woman on her side precisely so she’d never have to face her down in court like this.
Then came the evidence Espionage—Anna—had provided, cleaned, vetted, and supplemented so that all appeared legal and admissible. Mountains of paperwork followed, tax returns and property records, newspaper articles and testimony from public officials, and a beautiful visual aid, a chart showing organizational structures linking Superior Construction to the shell of a law firm on up to Delta Ventures and Delta Exploratory, and to Danton Majors. They never mentioned Majors by name, because that wasn’t the point here. But they didn’t have to. On the plaintiff side, McClosky glanced back nervously at Majors, which just about clinched it. They hadn’t expected Celia and West Corp to go digging, had they? They thought that legal loopholes and shields would protect their corporate façade.
Or they’d known the edifice wouldn’t withstand scrutiny, and in essence the true purpose of the charade was simply to embarrass Celia and delay the city development vote. Which was why her team needed not just to defend West Corp, but to crush the suit into oblivion.
“In obvious conclusion,” Bastion declaimed, “the plaintiff’s suit and claims are not merely frivolous, they are actively meant to damage the defendant and the defendant’s reputation. They are a conflict of interest and potentially illegal based on city statutes regarding business licensing and fair business practices, the details of which are outlined in a countersuit that West Corp plans on filing against the defendant. We’d like to enter a copy of the preliminary filing into the records as Exhibit BB. In light of these considerations, the defense moves to have the suit brought by Superior Construction against West Corp dismissed entirely because it is frivolous, obstructionist, and a conflict of interest for a plaintiff who is merely seeking to eliminate competition, not engender it. Thank you, Your Honor.”
The judge scanned the latest file folder that Bastion delivered to her, her frown growing deeper, her brow more furrowed. When the judge glanced at the plaintiff’s side, not with neutral regard but with active annoyance, Celia knew she’d won.
After a moment of thought, the judge announced, “Would both counsels please approach the bench.”
After a discussion that ran long enough to be agonizing, the judge straightened. “All right, it’s an unusual request, but I’ll give you more rope to hang yourself, if that’s what you really want.”