“And if I choose to settle?” Her teeth sank into her lower lip.
“Then I cannot, in good conscience, take the case.”
This was Nicky speaking. I couldn’t see myself sitting with this man in an air-conditioned room, running numbers and meaningless clauses, while knowing he’d get away with another atrocity against humanity. I leaned forward.
“So let me ask you again, Ms. Gispen—money or justice?”
She closed her eyes. When she opened them again, there was thunder in them.
“Justice.”
My fingers squeezed the ball more firmly, adrenaline pumping through my bloodstream.
“It’s going to be hard. It’ll force you to step out of your comfort zone. And I mean leave its zip code completely. Assuming we can get past their inevitable motion to dismiss, we’ll move into the discovery phase. During discovery, his lawyers are going to serve interrogatories and requests for production with the sole objective to dig up dirt and drag your name through the mud a hundred different ways. There’ll be depositions and evidentiary hearings, and even after all of that, your former boss will certainly file a summary judgment motion to try and get the case dismissed without a trial. It’ll be painful, and perhaps long, and definitely mentally draining. And when you come out of this, on the other side, you will change the way you look at the human race as a whole.”
I felt like an ambitious frat boy covering all his bases before getting someone into bed—was she sober enough? Willing enough? Did she have a clean health sheet? It was important to align our expectations before getting started.
“I’m aware,” Amanda said, sitting a little straighter, tipping her chin up. “Trust me, this isn’t a hasty reaction, nor a power trip to get back at a former employer. I want to go through with this, Mr. Miller, and I have plenty of evidence.”
Three and a half billable hours and two canceled meetings later, I knew enough about Amanda Gispen’s sexual harassment case to understand I had a good shot at this. She had time stamps and call logs aplenty. Witnesses in the form of the flight attendant and a receptionist who’d been let go earlier that year, and damning text messages that would make a porn star blush.
“Where do we go from here?” Amanda asked.
Straight to hell, after the amount of ethical rules I’m about to break.
“I’ll send you an engagement letter. Claire will help you with gathering all the information and prepare for filing a complaint with the EEOC.”
Amanda’s fingers bunched the hem of her dress. “I’m nervous.”
I handed her the stress ball like it was a shiny apple. “That’s natural, but completely unnecessary.”
Amanda took the ball. Pressed it shyly. “It’s just that . . . I don’t know what to expect once we file.”
“This is what you have me for. Remember you can settle a sexual harassment case at any time. Before and during litigation, or even throughout the trial.”
“Settling is not really something I’m considering right now. I don’t care about the money. I want to see him suffer.”
You and I both.
Her upper teeth caught her lower lip, biting. “You believe me, don’t you?”
How peculiar, I thought, was the human condition. My clients asked me this question often. And though my real answer was that it didn’t matter—I was on their side, rain or shine—this time, I could appease her and still speak my truth.
“Of course.”
I wouldn’t put anything past Conrad Roth. Sexual harassment seemed within his capabilities.
She handed me the ball back, drawing a breath. I shook my head. “Keep it.”
“Thank you, Mr. Miller. I don’t know what I’d have done without you.”
I stood, buttoning up my blazer. “We’ll discuss your expectations, and I will relay my recommendations based on the evidence.”
Amanda Gispen stood up, one hand clutching the pearls around her neck, the other reaching for another handshake.
“I want this man to rot in hell for what he did to me. He could’ve raped me. I’m sure he would have, if it wasn’t for the flight attendant. I want him to know he’ll never be able to do that to anyone else.”
“Trust me, Ms. Gispen. I’ll do everything in my power to ruin Conrad Roth.”
CHAPTER FOUR
CHRISTIAN
Past
Like all things born to die, our relationship started at the cemetery.
That was the first time I met Arya Roth. On the fifth or maybe sixth time Mom dragged me along to Park Avenue over summer break. Administration for Children’s Services had been raiding apartments in Hunts Point the previous winter, removing neglected kids from their households, after Keith Olsen, a boy down my street, had died of hypothermia in his sleep. Everyone had known Keith’s father traded the family’s food stamps for cigarettes and women, but no one had known just how bad the Olsens were doing.
Mom knew ACS was a bitch to handle. She wanted to keep me, but not enough to ask Conrad and Beatrice Roth to let me stay in their apartment while she worked. This resulted in Mom leaving me outside their building six days a week to fend for myself from eight to five while she cleaned, cooked, did their laundry, and walked their dog.