The Witness
1.0
The opening arguments have been made, and we are now calling our witnesses. My attorneys had assembled a long list of current and former Educorp personnel, but have since pared the list. “We cannot bore the jury to death,” I am told. “We must make our case potent and crisp, with a snap. Everyone knows that Educorp is a big, bloated corporation run by greedy assholes. Most of our witnesses would just confirm that. We only need to present the ones who have evidence that Educorp broke the law.”
Numbly, I have nodded along during the strategy sessions. I have become a cog in this machine, and the lawyers are happily trucking along now that they are getting plenty of media attention. I do not know how much of my cause they believe in, but at least they are playing to win. I am at their mercy.
We sit around a conference table, devouring slices of pizza and guzzling Styrofoam cups of coffee. I am exhausted from the constant stress of sitting in court and being scrutinized by the media. They have invaded my privacy, my past. Every night, my wife and I debate whether or not to pull Max out of school.
When the trial gets vicious, things might get bad for him at his school. He’s a big kid, but I worry about older students bullying him. I worry about him being ostracized. I worry that teachers and administrators will make life hard for him. He should not have to pay for my sins. The guilt adds to my exhaustion, and I sit rumpled in an office chair.
I have stopped exercising, and fast food is taking a toll on my body. My skin is sallow and greasy, and the bags under my eyes are puffy and dark.
“We’re putting you on the stand,” my attorney says. “Hank Hummel did some damage, but he only set the stage. We need to prove wrongdoing.”
I ask when we will begin preparing for my testimony, and I am told that we must prepare immediately.
“But it’s late, and I need to get home. I’m barely seeing my family as it is,” I protest.
“Do you want to win this thing? We need to keep Educorp off balance. Every day that we fail to stick it to them is a day that they get ahead of us. Do you know how many lawyers they have? What you see in that courtroom is like a damned iceberg - there’s a shit ton more that you can’t see. They’re digging up dirt on you and trying to clean up their own.” Maybe it’s a gallon of caffeine at work, but I sense true zeal behind my lawyer’s voice. His breath is a strange combination of Domino’s and dolce latte.
Nodding, I pull out my phone and text my wife that I will be home late. She doesn’t respond.
2.0
The media circus has hit three rings by the time I am sworn in. My background is explained in a narrative, much like the time those months ago when I first consulted with a hotshot West Texas lawyer. I tell the jury how I grew up a child of means and privilege, and then went off to an Ivy League university. Was my path in life eased by my highly accomplished father? I have no doubt that it was.
Was it unfair? Yes, but I did not give it much thought at the time. Who does?
“Did you ever feel bad that you worked exclusively in the industries that siphoned the most profits from taxpayer dollars and consumers who had no choice but to purchase your services?” my lawyer asks. He had told me that he would be throwing me some painful zingers, and he needed my emotion and remorse to be real. The question hurts, because I have thought about it before.
“Yes, I felt bad.”
“Then why did you choose to work in those industries? Why not do something else?”
“I needed to work and they were hiring. Or, well, I had connections who could get me in. If I didn’t take the job, someone else would.”
“In these jobs, did you ever violate the employee handbook?”
Sighing, I admitted that I had. I had done the whole smorgasbord: Sex with a coworker, a fellow college grad a mere six months into our first full-time job, plenty of surfing forbidden websites, stealing office supplies. Maybe I left at four forty-five instead of five o’clock several times. I’d done my share of belittling fellow coworkers, and maybe even a bit of drinking on the job when it involved scotch with the boss. Had I always responded ‘promptly’ to work emails? No.
Thankfully, my lawyer allows me to give generalized answers.
“Let’s talk real. What was the expectation about following the rules? No bullshit.” My lawyer is quickly admonished by the judge for the language and told to keep it clean.
“The expectation was to get your work done, don’t embarrass the company, and keep good relationships with your colleagues. Keep things afloat and moving forward, I guess. Get along.”
“What would happen to someone who did follow all the rules?” My lawyer produces the employee handbooks from my prior places of work: Armor, Inc. and HealthGuard. “For example, the rules about…” He proceeds to read.
It is a masterful tactic, and before long jurors and reporters are rolling their eyes about some of the sillier employee expectations put forth by Armor, Inc. and HealthGuard.
“I suppose you would be a social outcast and annoy your supervisor to the point of termination,” I respond.
“So, in your experience as an administrator and executive, what are the rules for? I mean, if good employees aren’t supposed to follow all of these rules, why have them?”
Jackpot! I felt a moment of elation and relief.
“The rules give the company a way to fire employees they don’t like. If nobody can follow all the rules, you can easily find ‘cause’ to fire anyone.” I used air quotes.
“And how do you know this?”
“I saw it done.”
“No further questions, your honor.” My lawyer smiles and returns to his seat. I am sweating now, fidgeting. It is time for the cross.
2.1
“I will pick up where your own counsel left off, if that’s all right,” says Educorp’s chief legal beagle. I nod, knowing I cannot protest.
“Do you know that employees can easily be fired for cause by not following all the rules...because you fired them?”
I knew he would ask this, for it was part of last night’s prep. Still, I feel like the wind has been knocked out of me.
“Yes,” I reply.
“How many employees, at Educorp or previously, with HealthGuard or, going further back, Armor, Inc., did you terminate?”
“I don’t know the number, sir.”
“Our records indicate fourteen, over the past thirteen years. Would you say that that is an accurate assessment?”
“It sounds accurate.” I know better than to argue, for Educorp has undoubtedly tracked down and interviewed every single one. I’m sure they would all love to be witnesses for the defense.
“Who was responsible for terminating the employment of these individuals?”
“I suppose it was me.”
“Was the name of any other administrator or executive on the final documents terminating the employment of those fourteen men and women?”
I thought about it. “No, sir.”
“Did you receive any written documentation from your supervisors ordering you to fire those individuals?”
I do like how he sticks to objective, written documentation. Smooth move, schmuck.
“Nothing written. Corporate liked to keep its nose clean,” I say. I expect an admonition or witty rejoinder, but the highly-paid lawyer only smirks.
“Did anyone other than you sign the documents for the HR department indicating that the individual’s employment was terminated?” the lawyer asks again.
“No.”
3.0
The editorial is brutal and analogizes me as a Nazi at Nuremberg, whining that I “was only following orders.” Only, in this case, the conservative pundit says, there were no such orders. I was acting of my own free will.
“That is what we hire executives to do - to execute. To do. To lead. For an executive to turn around and sue his employer for his own executive action
s is beyond hypocrisy,” the pundit has written. I am beyond the point of being angry, and am merely numb. I have spent countless hours reading the editorials each day, both liberal and conservative. By now, every major media outlet has begun reporting on my trial.
I am the talk of the town, and there is no love lost. Most of the literati around here are devout Republicans, and my legal team’s tactic of refuting the merits of laissez-faire capitalism has made me persona non grata. I know that I should stop reading the articles, but I can’t. I hear Max coming down the hallway and set my tablet back on the end table.
“Hey, son,” I say, my voice artificially chipper.
His face looks pained, and he finally tells me that people at school have been harassing him. Other students, mostly, but a few teachers have also made snide comments. Max may not be heading for valedictorian or salutatorian, but he certainly knows when the anti-socialist talk is aimed at his father. I curse myself for allowing it to get to this point.
“Do you want to take some time away from school? It’s almost Thanksgiving break, after all.”
“No, Dad. It’s no big deal.” Despite the hell he’s going through, and how angry he has been at me, he still doesn’t want to disappoint me. It both breaks and heals my heart.
“Are you sure? Your mother and I have been talking, and-”
The alarm on my phone chimes, reminding me that it’s time to get Max and Madison ready to head out the door to school. I heave myself off the couch and walk to the foyer closet, where my suit jacket is waiting. My phone chimes again, and I think I’ve forgotten to turn off the alarm.
It turns out to be a text from my lawyer.
A settlement offer from Educorp has arrived.
3.1
The morning is chilly, but my blood is hot. I race the Honda Ridgeline through town as fast as I dare, needing to drop my kids off at school and buy some precious time before court. I need to think. At a red light, the engine sputters and I quickly seize my phone from the center console and call my lawyer.
“What’s the offer?” I ask, excitement causing acid to rise up in my esophagus. It burns.
“They will hire you back on, with full benefits, as a curriculum researcher,” my lawyer responds. His voice sounds dejected.
“Researcher? What does that mean?” I am immediately suspicious. The light turns green and I accelerate, keeping my speed slower than before. I need time to think.
“You work from home or in the local office, keeping a low profile. Your salary will be the same as at your previous position as head principal.”
“Huh. When do you need an answer?” He tells me that Educorp wants an answer by the start of court, which is in fifty-one minutes.
“Fuck. I’ll get back to you,” I say. I toss the phone back onto the console and look at Max, who is sitting next to me in the passenger seat.
“Did they offer you a deal?” my son asks, his eyes wide.
“Yes. I get my old pay back, but I keep a low profile as some sort of researcher. Work from home, maybe.”
Max asks if I will take the deal, and I tell him that I don’t know.
3.2
“Take the deal,” my wife says. “Do you even have to think about it?”
I can only stutter and stammer, the words not wanting to come. Intellectually, I know that the deal is a no-brainer. It returns to my family the income I had lost and plugs me back into the world of the employed, the world of stability and respectability. My wife could quit her stressful job as a public defender and I could get Madison back into a decent school. We could get Max back on the road toward getting an athletic scholarship. With time, my HumCap share price would recover and we could even get Max back on HGH.
The last several months would be a bad dream, nothing more.
“Well, are you going to call him?” She means my lawyer. “Tell him you’ll take the deal!”
“Let me see if they’ll take Madison back at her old school,” I finally say. I don’t know why I say this, but it buys me time. I have just dropped Madison off at the public school and am parked against the curb on a residential street, surrounded by ramshackle houses. A dog with no collar wanders in front of me on the deserted road. I look through chain-link fences at backyards full of broken lawnmowers and car parts.
This is how the poor live, and I wonder what led them to this sad state of affairs.
I call my lawyer and ask if the deal with Educorp includes Madison going back to her old school. He sighs and says he’ll check. Obviously, he wanted a straight “yes” or “no.”
Not knowing what the answer will be, I start driving again, heading toward the courthouse. I make it back to the highway before my lawyer calls me back and tells me that Educorp will not be able to re-enroll Madison until next year. “They say it’s rules and regulations,” my lawyer says.
“I don’t accept the deal,” I reply. “I’m on my way to the courthouse.”
4.0
My wife will probably be sleeping in the guest room tonight. I try to tell her that this isn’t about the money, that it is about the principle. Punny, I know - principle instead of principal.
“They won’t play by the rules. They don’t have to. They’re just buying me off for a pittance, and just for today. Who says they won’t fire me next year, or the year after? Who says they won’t kick Max out of his school, just because?” I ask while she sits in silence.
“Who says they won’t kick Max out of his school anyway, because you won’t take the fucking goddamn deal?!” she explodes.
I know she is right. Why not take the deal for today, and not worry about tomorrow? Tomorrow they can just do what they want anyway, so might as well not fight it.
Valiantly, I try to explain my mental calculus. I tell her that accepting the deal sets a precedent, something they could throw in my face if I ever tried to file suit against them again. “If I settle, and then they expel Max, I can’t go back.” We argue about nondisclosure agreements and the language of any deal. We argue whether or not it will doom the other plaintiffs.
My wife, who has always been the bleeding heart liberal of our union, tells me that she doesn’t care about the other plaintiffs. “You need to think about your family!” she screams.
I try to say something to make her less angry, but I cannot.
She storms out of our bedroom in tears. With dismay, I see that Madison sees this. I see both Madison and Max watch their mother grabbing pillows and blankets and carrying them into the small guest room. Desperately, I want to call my lawyer and beg him to appeal to Educorp. “Tell them I accept the deal!” I want to yell.
For some reason, I can’t bring myself to do it. I can’t do anything. The trial will go on tomorrow, and my marriage will likely crumble. Is it because I care about the other plaintiffs? Is it because I want what’s right for Madison? Why don’t I just take the deal?
I feel emotions I’ve never felt before. I take several sleeping pills and a bottle of wine into the bedroom with me, hoping to numb myself to sleep.