“But, Your Honor-”

“Go, Mr. Hartford,” Cate repeated firmly, then rose, which cued the lawyers that the meeting was over. “You have an hour before we’re in session. Tell the bailiff if you need more time.”

“Your Honor-”

“Go and do. Now.”

Ten minutes later, Cate was sitting at her desk across from Emily Carroll, she of the nose ring, eyebrow bar-pierce, and weird earlobe-stretcher-circle thing. The girl dressed in heavy Goth, with black eyeliner around her dark eyes, a maroon cardigan that picked up her purple fingernail polish, and black pants that fit too snugly under a wide belt dotted with silver studs. But if there was a case that would save Marz, Emily would find it. Hardware aside.

“Tell me something good,” Cate said, leaning over her second cup of coffee. Temin and Marz were still in discussions. They had fifteen minutes until court started.

“Nothing, Judge. There are no cases.”

“There have to be.”

“There aren’t.” Emily shook her head and something metallic jingled. Cate didn’t want to know what.

“Did you check all jurisdictions?”

“Yes.”

Cate had researched the question herself online last night, with the same result. “Can you think of any new theory?”

“No. Sorry, I tried. The law is clear. You have to grant this motion. It’s a slam dunk.” Emily tilted her head, or maybe her eyebrow ring was weighing her down. “You feelin’ this guy, Judge?”

“Marz?” Cate hadn’t thought about it. “Yeah, I guess I am.”

“But he’s so lame. He should’ve known better.”

“It still doesn’t excuse intentional wrongdoing.” Cate understood Marz, for the first time. “He’s a guy with a dream, that’s all. Everybody’s entitled to their dream, aren’t they?”

“My dream is to pay off my student loans. I have trailer-trash dreams.”

“Don’t say that about yourself.”

“Whatev.” Emily shrugged her soft shoulders. “Anyway, Marz had to know he’d lose in court. He’s a lawyer.”

“He figured there was at least a chance that I’d let it go to the jury. It’s his dream, and he wasn’t going down without a fight. Actually, I admire that.”

Suddenly there was a rustling at her office door, and they both looked up. It was Jonathan Meriden, who shared the floor. Val must have let him past, or maybe he’d ignored her, which was his style. He leaned into the doorway in his dark suit, gripping the threshold.

“Cate, I understand you’ve got a motion today.”

“Yes.”

“Praise be.” Meriden rolled his eyes. “I can’t abide these Hollywood people. They were blocking the hallway all day yesterday, and my parties before me couldn’t get to my door. Today’s motion will finally end this circus, eh?”

“If they don’t settle.”

“Would you?” Meriden raised a skeptical eyebrow. “From what I hear, they’ve got that kid over a barrel.”

“I like to think I’d settle. I could get it for a song, and it’s fair.”

“Fairness? Ah, youth!” Meriden said dismissively, which annoyed Cate.

“I’m not that young.”

“You’ll always be a rookie to me,” Meriden shot back, then his head popped from the doorway as quickly as it had appeared.

Jerk.

“What an ass!” Emily wrinkled her perforated nose. “His clerks are asses, too. Everybody hates them, and everybody wishes they were working for you. You’re the fun judge.”

Great. “That’s me, class clown of the Eastern District.”

Emily smiled. “We’re the cool chambers.”

“Totally.”

They both laughed, but Cate was wondering if Marz and Temin had a settlement yet.

Cate strode to the dais, her robes billowing theatrically, making her feel like an actress playing a role. Someday she’d feel like she belonged in this costume, but today wasn’t that day. The negotiations had failed, and Simone had refused to settle, even when the demand decreased to ten grand. It made no sense. The attorneys’ fees for today alone would be that much. Hartford didn’t sneeze for less than twenty grand.

“All rise!” the deputy boomed, his voice echoing in the crowded courtroom.

At the bar of court, Temin and Marz stood in matching wrinkles and brave smiles. Hartford and Simone, both tall, gym-toned, and Armani-clad, didn’t bother to smile. The gallery of reporters, sketch artists, and spectators rose, setting aside newspapers and notepads. Detective Russo anchored the first row next to Marz’s wife, and occupying the seat beside the redhaired consultant and Micah Gilbert was a woman reporter whom Cate recognized from Fox. She’d evidently been tipped off that today might be a big day.

“Good morning, everyone,” Cate said as she seated herself on the dais and arranged her robes around her. The jury box remained empty, and the black bucket chairs left swiveled in their positions.

“Good morning, Your Honor,” replied the chorus, more or less on cue, and Cate managed a stage smile.

“Mr. Hartford, you have a motion to make?”

“Yes, Your Honor.” Hartford crossed to the lectern and squared his shoulders. “At this juncture, defendant moves for judgment as a matter of law under Rule 50. As Your Honor knows, the standard is well-established, and for these purposes only, the defendant Mr. Simone must accept as true the facts as alleged by plaintiff. We therefore assume that the facts are as Mr. Marz testified, that is, that Mr. Simone agreed to produce Mr. Marz’s story idea and treatment for television, and also that he said, verbatim, ‘When I make money, you’ll make money.’”

Back at counsel table, Temin made notes and Marz sat flushed, his fingers linked on the glistening walnut surface. His wife looked miserable, sitting in the row behind him. Cate could only imagine the pressure Marz was under. His job and his dream, gone.

“Defendant’s argument is simple, Your Honor. Mr. Marz’s testimony is undisputed that he and Mr. Simone did not write down the terms of their contract. Therefore, we’re dealing with an express oral contract. It is also undisputed that Mr. Marz and Mr. Simone didn’t discuss a price term for the contract, neither a specific number nor dollar amount. It is equally undisputed that they didn’t discuss a method of payment, means of payment, or time of payment. In fact, both parties agree that those facts are true.”

At defense table, Simone nodded slightly, and Marz glanced over.

“This Court must grant judgment as a matter of law on the grounds that the single statement by Mr. Simone, taken as true for these purposes only, that ‘when I make money, you’ll make money,’ is too indefinite to form an oral contract that is enforceable by this Court. In other words, it doesn’t matter whom you believe in this case, Mr. Marz or Mr. Simone. Even if everything Mr. Marz said is true, he still doesn’t have a contract, as a matter of law.”

Cate made a note on her legal pad. I’M NOT GOING DOWN WITHOUT A FIGHT, EITHER.

“As Your Honor knows, this matter comes before this Court on diversity jurisdiction, and Pennsylvania law governs the facts, as all meetings regarding the alleged contract took place in Pennsylvania.”

Cate had been up most of the night, researching online, and had learned that a different result would probably have applied under California law, a state more experienced with the way entertainment contracts were formed. It told her just how manipulative Simone had been in arranging that the relevant meetings were held in Philadelphia. She generally approved of shopping, but for the perfect shoes, not the perfect law.

Hartford said, “Under Pennsylvania law, it is clear that express oral contracts that are indefinite as to the price term are not enforceable. The seminal case for this proposition is-”

Cate raised a finger, and Hartford fell instantly silent, demonstrating the deference shown only to Article III judges and Saudi royalty. “Mr. Hartford, what do you say to the fact that Mr. Marz quit his job at the district attorney’s office in reliance on his oral contract with Mr. Simone?”