“You’ve got to be kidding.”
“Bobby thinks they might have been holding it somewhere else ’cause it damn sure wasn’t in their evidence cooler. Interesting they held onto it though, like just in case it got subpoenaed.”
“Right…they had to hold onto it somewhere because they couldn’t risk an obstruction of justice charge on a criminal case. But no way would they have produced it for us in a civil trial if we’d been allowed to go through discovery. ‘Unable to locate at this time, Your Honor. Our filing system, blah blah.’ I wonder how many more rape kits go missing.”
“Probably all the ones involving athletes,” he scoffed. “Looks to me like Harwood’s cutting their losses with these guys.”
It made sense. Once they settled the wrongful death suit, there was nothing to be gained by sticking with four men who’d obviously carried out a brutal assault on an unconscious woman. They could go back to polishing their trophy.
“Welcome back, Theo. Nice tan.” Kendra held out her ebony forearm to compare.
“Someone better tie me to my desk today. I’m ready to go back to St. John’s.”
Theo generally chaired the Monday morning meetings with her senior staff. But after a week in the Caribbean with Celia, she had almost no idea where things stood in the office. With hopes of handing the task off to Kendra, she’d arrived a couple of minutes late for the meeting and found Kendra in her usual second chair, forcing her to the head of the table.
With help from Gloria and Jalinda, she’d spent the second half of the summer laying the groundwork for the case against Mercy Hospital Group, which had yet to be filed. Class actions were time-consuming and required an enormous amount of work, all of it unpaid unless they won a settlement.
Sprinkled among that work were several pro bono cases—restraining orders and divorce filings for women too poor to afford an attorney. Her only major media moment was a press conference in LA on behalf of an A-list actor’s wife to announce he’d violated the “forsaking all others” clause of his prenup and was on the hook for an enormous divorce settlement.
With vacation behind her, she was ready to throw herself back into her work. “Good morning, all you social justice warriors—and I mean that in the best possible way. I hope your week was as good as mine.”
Her jovial greeting brought an end to the side conversations, and all eyes turned toward the head of the table. Two partners, ten associates, Gloria, and at the far end, Sandy the accountant, who was there to keep them from spending money they didn’t have.
“Kendra, how about starting us off with your good news?”
The attorney smiled triumphantly. “Most of you already know. Friday night we heard from BoRegards’ attorneys on the wage theft case. They’ve run up the white flag.”
Philip butted in, “They couldn’t afford to wait this out any longer. Their stock’s been in free-fall since the day we filed our case. Investors crunched the numbers and speculated a jury award might go as high as eighty million.”
Kendra added, “So we held the line at thirty-one million and they’ve accepted it.”
The announcement brought a hearty round of applause. The firm’s share was one-third plus expenses—a hefty payday.
“We’re not home free until the contracts are signed and the check clears,” Theo reminded. “But because of Kendra’s leadership on this case, we’ve been negotiating from strength. The document analysis, those weeks on the road doing depositions all over Florida, Georgia and the Carolinas…they’re about to pay off for thousands of workers.”
“Eighty-six percent of whom are women,” Gloria added.
“Well done, everyone. What else do we have this week?”
Sabrina was working with Hank to investigate the case of a Georgia state trooper who’d asked a young woman for oral sex in exchange for letting her out of a stop sign violation. They needed supporting evidence of past behavior with other women to make a case, since the courts were usually deferential to law enforcement officers.
“Next up, we’ll be finalizing preparations to file the Mercy Hospital Group case,” Theo said.
Such an announcement of progress on a major filing usually stirred excitement in their meetings. Today however, it was clear her team was exhausted from the BoRegards case and looking forward to a break.
“The good news is that Gloria and the paralegal department have done an excellent job on the initial data gathering, so we won’t be looping anyone else in for several weeks. Unless your name is Philip, that is. That should give you all a little beach time when you wrap up BoRegards.”
As her staff filed out, she was met at the door by Penny. “I just added an appointment to your schedule for this afternoon. A young woman, Jordan Cooke. She said you asked her to call when she got back from Europe.”
It took a moment to place the name. She was a Harwood student, a woman who reportedly had been assaulted by a date after he put something in her drink.
Theo debated having Penny call back and cancel. For all intents and purposes, the Burkhart case was over. At least as far as Constantine and Associates was concerned—the case against the players was set for trial in six weeks unless they agreed to a plea.
On the other hand, Ms. Cooke had expressed an eagerness to talk and had kept in regular contact during her trip through Europe. She might appreciate knowing they’d made a diligent effort to force Harwood University to take claims of sexual assault more seriously. Theo could do her the courtesy of a brief meeting.
* * *
Celia mindlessly climbed the stairs to her office as she read the letter from her department head for the third time. With only ten days before the start of fall semester, Andrew had changed her course assignments. Instead of Intro to Theater and Performance Overview, which she’d prepped over the summer, she’d been reassigned to Advanced On-Camera Acting and a senior seminar in performance theory. A pair of dream classes—exactly the sort of assignments she’d hoped for when she made full professor. Though getting them at the last minute meant starting the semester behind the eight ball.
After dropping her briefcase on her desk, she carried the letter back downstairs to her boss’s office. “Not that I’m complaining, Andrew, but this is quite a surprise.”
A Shakespearean actor originally from London, Andrew Barker had singlehandedly founded Harwood University’s performance studies department twenty-two years ago. Celia thought him a capable administrator, though his scholarly contributions to the field left something to be desired. That was typical of faculty who came from a performance background as opposed to a PhD program.
“I thought you’d be pleased,” he said, leaning back in his chair and clasping his hands behind his head. His girth called to mind the character Falstaff.
“Oh, I am. I just don’t understand why this is happening so late. The On-Camera Acting class has always been Paul’s, and the senior seminar was Eric’s.”
“What has always been need not always be.” His years in the Deep South had done little to diminish his proper British accent. “I’ve grown increasingly concerned that senior faculty have lost touch with the fundamentals of our discipline. We all could benefit from the occasional foray into the introductory lecture hall. How else do we learn to appreciate the point at which our students begin?”
Celia had made that argument also, but only to herself as she’d longed for the opportunity to teach upperclassmen. It was unheard of within the department to protest against the fortunes of one’s peers. Full professors had earned their rank, and with it, the privilege of working with the most advanced students. But now she too held that rank.
“The syllabi have already been submitted,” he continued. “You’re free of course to make minor adjustments to accommodate your personal interests. However, bear in mind the students who signed up for these courses over the summer have certain expectations and may already have purchased materials on the reading list.”
“Thank you, Andrew. I appreciate this opportunity more than I can say.”
“Yes, well…let’s hope your colleagues are as appreciative of theirs.” His worried look suggested that wouldn’t be the case at all.
As she reached her office, Eric Butler stormed out of his. His eyes blazed with anger, and he carried a letter like hers.
It was a remarkable end to a most memorable summer, one in which she’d even thought she might be fired. Not only had her promotion gone through, she’d received a spring production budget well beyond her request. And now to get two of the most coveted course assignments on the fall schedule. Someone at Harwood wanted her to be happy, and she had a feeling it wasn’t Andrew. What she didn’t understand was why.
The schedule change posed a unique challenge. Rather than enter the semester fully prepared for each class meeting, she’d have to put in extra time week by week to stay ahead of her students. There were books on Paul’s syllabus she hadn’t read in years. Lots of work but she was more than willing to do it.
A text came in from Theo asking her to call when she got a chance. That remained their habit, left over from the days of avoiding written correspondence.
Theo answered the call right away. “Can we hit the rewind button? I want it to be last Sunday morning in St. John’s again.”
It was hard to beat a lazy day in bed in a beachfront bungalow. Especially since Monday marked the start of their forced sabbatical from each other before they’d come together again on the weekend. Still the same old nonsense about needing structure so they could focus on work. Instead they talked so frequently they might as well be together.
“I have an appointment this afternoon with a young woman named Jordan Cooke,” Theo said. “Did I ever mention her?”
“It’s not ringing a bell.”
“Her name came up when I was doing interviews on campus with some of Hayley’s friends. Apparently, something similar happened to her not long after Hayley’s attack. A party where she passed out and woke up the next day in bed with some frat guy. I wanted to interview her, but she was in Europe all summer with her mom. Now she’s back and wants to talk.”
Just the mention of Hayley’s case triggered an uneasy feeling. Even though the players were now facing criminal charges, it sickened her how the university had gotten off scot-free. Gupton and Tuttle still sat at the helm, neither held accountable for their threats and refusal to take action against the players.
The worst part was Theo, who’d been angry and despondent for over a month, not only kicking herself for her own perceived missteps, but obsessed with getting revenge on the twit from Hubbard-McCaffrey for his breach of ethics.
Theo wasn’t the only one in a funk. It was only after the case ended that Celia realized how much stress she’d been under from the constant fear of retaliation. She was in no mood to go through that again. “I don’t see what good it’s going to do at this point, Theo. That ship has sailed.”
“I know, me neither. But I figured I owed her the courtesy of an interview since she followed up like I asked her to. Who knows? Maybe she’s had some time to think and wants to file a case of her own.”
And Theo could tell her she was wasting her time.
“I got some news this morning too.” Celia went on to describe her meeting with Andrew. “This can’t all be coincidence. It’s like somebody upstairs is going out of their way to make sure I’m the happiest professor on campus. Not that I’m looking a gift horse in the mouth. But my colleagues won’t like this preferential treatment if it comes at their expense.”
“I’ve seen this kind of thing before, Celia. Institutions are notoriously afraid of litigation. Not only like the case we filed, but the one we would have filed on top of it if they’d punished you. This is why I always said you had the safest job at Harwood. They’re afraid of you. Enjoy that power. It won’t last forever.”
“Easier said than done. They’re going to turn me into a pariah.”
“And sometimes, that’s part of their master plan. They can’t retaliate, but it’s no skin off their nose if your working environment becomes so unpleasant you decide to leave on your own.”
Celia chuckled cynically. “I can tell you right now, it’ll have to get a lot more unpleasant than this.”
* * *
Jordan Cooke’s designer dress and TAG Heuer wristwatch made it clear she came from money. She was classically pretty, with long brown hair, high cheekbones and full lips painted with a tangerine gloss. According to Jalinda’s research, she was a native of suburban Boston, where her father was CEO at one of the nation’s largest pharmaceutical companies.
“What are you studying, Jordan?”
“Business administration. If all goes as planned, I’ll start my MBA at Harvard next year. That’s where my father went so he’s kind of insistent, if you know what I mean. But my mom went to Harwood, in case you were wondering how I ended up here.”
Though she had the confidence of a woman with money, Jordan appeared mildly nervous, twirling a sapphire ring on her right hand and swinging her foot across her knee. That made it all the more surprising she’d followed up with the interview, especially since Theo had been clear all along she wanted to talk about Hayley Burkhart. Everyone knew that case was over, so she easily could have demurred.
“Jordan, when I first contacted you, I was working on a case involving a young woman at Harwood, Hayley Burkhart. Did you know her?”
“Sort of, but not all that well. She was a Tri-Delt. I’m Chi Omega. We had a few events together, fundraisers mostly…a couple of parties maybe.” Her face fell as she dropped her gaze to her lap. “But I heard what happened to her. Everybody did. She didn’t deserve that.”
“No, she didn’t.”
“I looked for news about the case practically every day while I was gone. I was glad to see
they all got arrested. But it won’t surprise me if they get off, especially since Hayley isn’t here to tell people what they did.”
Theo nodded along, recognizing the bitter tone of resignation. Women giving up in the face of what felt like insurmountable odds.
“As I’m sure you know, Jordan, I reached out to you because one of Hayley’s friends told me something similar happened to you. She said you were pretty open about it. Would it be okay for us to talk about that?”