Now he gets it. I see understanding filter in.

He starts stumbling. “Well, actually, you can see I left a lot of breast tissue in Miss LaPietra’s case. She didn’t want them totally removed, you see—”

“And yet, the results look eerily similar, don’t they?” she prompts, but doesn’t wait for him to answer. Instead, she attacks. “I mean, look here at the craters left in Jenna’s breasts. Same as on the mastectomy photo. And the scar contractions pulling the skin? Same as well, right?”

“Yes,” he says angrily. “Those do look similar, but there are a lot of differences if you want to—”

“Dr. Summerland,” Leary snaps at him, and his eyes widen in surprise, “can you honestly look those jurors in the face and tell them that these are acceptable results for a topless dancer? Well, for any woman, really, who wants to keep her breasts?”

I look over at the jury and they’re all glaring at him, daring him to say Jenna’s results were acceptable.

Leary will go on to grill Dr. Summerland for another three hours and twenty minutes, but this moment will mark the beginning of Dr. Summerland’s breakdown into the worst testimony in the history of forever. He takes her attack so personally that he starts arguing with her. The judge has to reprimand him four times, even once calling a recess to dress him down in private.

By the time Leary gets done with Dr. Summerland, I have to restrain myself from not standing up, putting my fingers in my mouth, and giving a wolf whistle, followed by a slow clap of respect. By the time Dr. Summerland gets off the witness stand on shaky legs, I know every single juror hates the man with an undying passion.

I just hope they hold on to that feeling, because we still have days and days of trial to get through. This trial will go on for at least two weeks, maybe more. It’s a lot of time for them to forget what an utter douche my client is. I hope they remember how badly he fucked up and don’t focus instead on the testimony they’ll end up hearing last.

Because my witnesses will say that Jenna LaPietra was a paid prostitute.

CHAPTER 21

LEARY

“Thank you, Dr. Calloway,” I say politely as I sit back in my chair. “I have no further questions.”

Judge Henry looks over to Reeve. “Any re-cross, Mr. Holloway?”

“No, Your Honor,” he says with a polite smile. I didn’t expect he would. Dr. Calloway is my expert witness, a general surgeon from Duke. During my direction examination of him, he told the jury in no uncertain terms that Dr. Summerland had no business whatsoever in attempting a breast reduction. He told the jury that general surgeons are not qualified to do that type of surgery. He told the jury this after he made it clear that he taught a course in advanced medical ethics for general surgeons at Duke, and that Dr. Summerland actually took that course a few years ago as part of his continuing-education requirements. I tried hard not to look at Dr. Summerland when Dr. Calloway actually pointed at him from the stand and said, “Dr. Summerland should remember that we specifically discussed the boundaries that general surgeons are not to cross.”

It was freakin’ glorious.

As expected, Reeve’s cross-examination of Dr. Calloway was short. He did his best to poke holes in his firm stance, even getting Dr. Calloway to admit there was no law or rule against what Dr. Summerland did. It was an effective cross, as much as he could expect against this type of expert, but he knew not to push more when Judge Henry asked him if he had any further questions.

The judge releases Dr. Calloway, who gives a polite smile to the jurors as he steps off the witness stand. I start to stand up to call my next witness, Dr. Franklinton, who’s a plastic surgeon at Duke. His testimony is going to focus on how complex a breast-reduction surgery is, and how it’s imperative to gently and delicately remove the tissue, paying fine attention to sensitive shaping of the remaining breast. I expect it will highlight just how inept Dr. Summerland was when he butchered Jenna.

“Your Honor,” Reeve says as he stands up and I turn to look at him in surprise, “may we take a small break before the next witness?”

Judge Henry looks at me. “That’s fine with me.”

“Then we’ll take a ten-minute recess,” Judge Henry says, and rises from his seat to probably take a potty break of his own. The bailiff escorts out the jury members, who look grateful for the slight reprieve in testimony.

Reeve doesn’t leave, though. Instead, he huddles at his table with Dr. Summerland, Tom Collier, and two of the other insurance representatives. I can’t hear what they’re saying, but it doesn’t matter. I’m flipping through my notes to make sure I’m up to speed on everything I want to get out of Dr. Franklinton when he takes the stand.

I get so immersed in my work, I jump in shock when Reeve taps me on my shoulder. I look up at him, immediately covering up my notes with my hand. It’s not that I don’t trust Reeve—it’s just a habit I’ve developed in the courtroom. And to prove how much I do trust him, I remove my hand just as quickly.

He gives me a tight look and says, “If you have a moment, I need to talk to you and Judge Henry privately in his chambers.”

Surprised but curious, I get up from the table and follow Reeve into the back hallway and to Judge Henry’s office. Mary is not at her desk, but the judge’s door is open and Reeve knocks lightly to announce our arrival.

Judge Henry is sitting at his desk and looks up with a smile. “Come on in.”

We enter and Reeve closes the door behind us. He doesn’t waste a moment’s breath when he says, “Your Honor, in light of Dr. Calloway’s testimony just now, as well as expected similar testimony from Miss Michaels’s next two experts, my clients, Dr. Summerland and TransBenefit, have given me authority to make an offer to settle this case.”

My eyebrows raise in surprise.

Not that an offer is coming in general. That often happens in the middle of a trial when the case is going especially well for the plaintiff.

No, I’m surprised that an offer is coming in this particular case, since TransBenefit has been so adamant they won’t discuss the possibility. I don’t respond but wait for Reeve to lay out the terms.

“They’re authorizing me to offer five hundred thousand dollars to settle the case in its entirety—two hundred thousand in up-front money, and the remaining three hundred thousand in the form of an annuity administered by TransBenefit. Of course, they will also want Miss Michaels and Miss LaPietra to sign a confidentiality agreement.”

“That’s quite a jump,” Judge Henry says, and I couldn’t agree more. It’s a serious offer, but it’s not the amount I want for Jenna. I’m prepared to also call to the stand a vocational-rehabilitation expert to discuss Jenna’s unemployability, as well as a life-care expert and an economist to discuss the economic damages her inability to work will project out over the future. Their preliminary figures are in the seven-figure range.

So, while $500,000 isn’t anything to sneeze at, it’s also a zero shy of what’s really fair for Jenna.

“Miss Michaels,” Judge Henry says, “this is a good offer. Go talk to your client and discuss it. I think it’s something she needs to seriously consider.”

I nod at the judge and Reeve and turn toward the door.