Minneapolis Court House
September 3, 9:00 a.m.
Ben ran a hand down the lapel of his suit jacket. “I call Paige Werner to the stand.”
Putting
a child on the witness stand to testify was the worst part of Ben’s
job. But if a child was over the age of ten, and sometimes even younger,
they were usually called to the stand. For many of these children their
lives would always be a living hell. They would go from foster home to
foster home until they were eighteen.
Today, Ben was
representing twenty-nine-year-old Jeremy Werner. The Werner’s oldest
daughter Paige had just turned ten and the oldest of three siblings.
Recently divorced, both Rachel and Jeremy Werner wanted sole custody.
When
Ben had deposed Rachel Werner, he’d seen through her. She wanted child
support—not her children. Oh, she’d put on the drama-queen act and cried
like a baby when Ben asked her questions. She’d ranted and raved
hysterically about how Jeremy Werner had never been there for her or his
children. But Ben had done his homework and found it had been Jeremy
who’d attended his children’s school conferences, had signed Paige up
for a dance classes, and enrolled his two younger boys in T-ball. It was
also Jeremy who’d attended dance recitals and baseball practices.
Rachel Werner had not only been a silent partner in this marriage, but
as a mother.
Dressed in gray sweat pants, her ample
breasts bulged inside the blue-and-white striped tank top, Rachel sat at
the defense table, her right leg bouncing up and down rapidly. The
stringy, unkempt hair, the sallow complexion, Ben was well aware of the
signs of withdrawal. Most junkies tried to stay off dope long enough to
win a custody case, and then they’d be right back at it.
The
door of the courtroom opened, and a diminutive Paige Werner appeared.
Wearing a navy cardigan, sundress, and sandals, she was small for her
age. Staring at her fingers weaving in and out of each other, her light
brown ponytail was tied with a white ribbon. Ben recognized the DHS
worker who walked beside her.
“It’s okay, Paige,” Ben
soothed and opened the gate. A courtroom was overwhelming for an adult,
let alone a child; the judge donned in a black robe perching God-like on
the bench, the twelve empty jury seats and parents sitting at opposing
tables.
Paige slowly walked to the witness stand,
picking up each foot as if it was too heavy to lift. Robot-like she
stopped when she reached the three steps that led up to the witness
stand, turned around, and faced the bailiff.
“Please raise your right hand, miss,” the sober-faced bailiff said.
Paige’s
dark, doe-like eyes looked so full of pain Ben didn’t know how much
more of this she could take. She raised her hand, her petite fingers
curled over slightly.
“Do you swear to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth?” he asked the sad-looking child.
Her blank gaze went to Ben, and he nodded.
“Yes,” she said faintly.
“Witness may take the stand.”
Ben unbuttoned the middle button of his jacket. “Paige,” he said and took a few steps toward her, “do you know who I am?”
“My daddy’s lawyer,” she said shyly.
“That’s
right,” Ben said evenly. “And do you remember what I told you?” He
turned his head and briefly glanced at the defense table. “That your
mommy’s lawyer and I would be asking you some questions today?”
“Uh huh.”
“Please answer with a yes or a no,” a voice boomed.
Paige jerked her head toward the judge, her eyes like saucers.
“It’s
okay, Paige, you didn’t do anything wrong.” The judge nodded at the
court reporter. “We just have to have a yes or no, so we can write it
down.”
“Okay,” the child said, barely audible.
“Let
me ask this again.” Ben smiled warmly. “Do you remember I told you that
both Mr. Lansky and I would be asking you some questions today?”
“Yes,” she said and looked down.
“Do you know why you’re here today?” Ben took a couple of steps to his right, blocking Paige’s view of her mother.
“Uh huh.” A panicked expression quickly came across her face. “I mean yes.”
Ben
wanted to walk up the steps, wrap his arms around her, and tell her
everything would be alright. But everything wasn’t going to be alright
and hadn’t been since the day Paige was born.
“And as you know, Paige, we’re here today to ask which parent you feel you would like to live with.”
She wiggled anxiously in her seat. “I know.”
“Do you remember I told you that we’d be asking you one very important question?”
“’Bout whether I want to live with my mommy or daddy?” Her tone pleaded with Ben to say no.
Ben nodded. “That’s right.”
Her chin started to quiver. “But I don’t want anyone to get mad.” A crocodile tear rolled down a freckled cheek.
“I
know.” Ben walked back to his table and picked up a carton of Kleenex.
“This is tough, but it’s important everyone knows how you feel.” He put
the box down on the ledge in front of her.
Paige pulled out a tissue and wiped her cheek. She sat up straight, her eyes focused and clear. “I want to live with my daddy.”
A high-pitched shriek of resounded through the courtroom.
Ben
shot his head toward Rachel Werner, giving her an arresting look. He
turned quickly back around and faced the child. “I want you to pretend
it’s just you and me talking, okay?”
“I’ll try.” She gnawed on her lower lip.
“That’s
good enough for me.” Ben took a few steps to the side, blocking Paige’s
vision of her mother again. “Can you tell us why you would like to live
with your daddy?”
“My mommy’s…” Paige paused. “She’s too tired.”
“Can you tell us why you think your mommy’s tired?”
“She…she…” Paige covered her face with her hands and shook her head.
Rachel
Werner stood up so fast, her chair toppled backwards. “You’re a liar!”
She pointed a shaky finger at her daughter, her face balled in anger.
Paige
cowered in her seat as Rachel Werner’s state appointed attorney stood
and put a hand on his client’s shoulder, but Rachel Werner shirked it
off. “Leave me the hell alone, asshole.” Angry spittle sprayed out her
mouth.
“Mrs. Werner.” The sound of the gavel came down hard on the bench, and the judge’s face turned an angry crimson. “Sit down.”
“Everyone
knows children should be with their mother,” Rachel Werner said
hysterically. “She’s a little liar and everybody,” she screamed and bent
over from the waist, “everybody knows it.” Her eyes glared fiercely at
Paige. “You hear me, you little liar!”
“Counselor.” The judge shook his meaty jowls angrily. “Get your client under control, or I’ll throw her in jail for contempt.”
The
fresh-faced attorney leaned over and whispered something into his
client’s ear. Reluctantly, the mother sat back down, her hands and legs
trembling in sync.
“Mrs. Werner.” The judge looked over
the top of his glasses at her. “In this day and age, the parent who
will be awarded custody will be because of the best interest for the
child. The rights of both parents are equal. A mother has no more rights
than a father.”
Rachel Werner bowed her head, her shoulders flinching with each muffled sob.
Ben leaned over the witness stand and patted Paige’s hand. “It’s okay, honey. We’ll stop if you want.”
“I knew she was gonna get mad,” Paige sniveled. “My brothers and I want to live with my daddy.”
“And why is that?” Ben asked.
“He makes us bunny pancakes and stuff.” Paige managed a slight grin.
“So, you have breakfast before school when you stay with your daddy?”
“Weekends
we get to choose what we want.” Paige changed positions and smiled at
her father. “Like eggs or pancakes and I get to help.”
“And
what about dinner when you’re staying with your dad?” Ben locked his
hands behind his back. “What kinds of things do you eat?”
“Daddy says we need to eat good stuff.” She wrinkled up her nose. “Like broccoli and carrots.”
Ben smiled. “And when you’re with your mom what kinds of things do you have for dinner?”
“Well.” Paige looked up pensively. “Peanut butter and jelly sandwiches.” Her eyes lit up. “Sometimes pizza”
“And your mom makes the pizza?” Ben probed.
Paige slapped a hand over her chest. “I’m big enough to make pizza.”
Ben swallowed a chuckle. “So, if there is one big reason why you would like to live with your daddy, what would it be?”
“He
plays with us.” Paige put her hands out to the side. “Like we do dog
piles and all jump on top of him. And…hide-‘n-seek.” She shrugged her
shoulders. “Lots of stuff.”
Ben raised an eyebrow. “So, he plays with you?”
“Uh huh.” She stiffened. “I mean yes.”
Even
though Ben wanted to ask her more questions, he knew when to stop.
Attention spans were short, and sometimes children became confused and
would answer the same question differently.
“No further
questions.” Ben winked at Paige, walked back to his table, and sat
down. He put his hand over the French knot in his tie and moved it back
and forth a few times. Hopefully Paige would remember to focus on Ben
and not Rachel Werner when she was being questioned by her mother’s
attorney.
The judge nodded at Rachel Werner’s attorney. “Counselor?”
“Thank
you, Your Honor.” The slightly built attorney with black-rimmed glasses
perched on a pug nose stood and approached the witness stand.
This
case was over. The lawyer would hound Paige until she cried, the judge
would recess, and by the end of next week, the father would have sole
custody. A mother who was a practicing addict as opposed to a father who
was clean and sober with a job that would support his children was a
no-brainer.
Nothing enraged Ben more than children
being placed with a parent who hadn’t earned their title. Men’s rights
had come a long way. Two decades ago children were almost always awarded
to their mothers, no matter how bad of a parent they were.
After the judge announced he would render his decision by the end of next week, the courtroom was adjourned.
“Thanks.” Jeremy Werner’s face beamed as he shook Ben’s hand.
“Just
take care of Paige.” Ben stared into the father’s tired, young eyes.
“Or I will guarantee you I’ll see you on the otherside of the
courtroom.”
“I will, Mr. Grable.” Jeremy grinned. “I promise.”
Ben
picked up his briefcase and took a fleeting glance at Mrs. Werner. Head
on the table sobbing, her right leg moving up and down rapidly, she was
a mess.
He marched down the aisle and pushed the door
open at the back of the courtroom. As usual, the hallways were jammed.
Women in faded jeans and somber frowns sat on benches in hopes a judge
would issue a restraining order against an abusive husband; young women
held crying toddlers, trusting an absent father would be jailed for lack
of child support; and anxious, supportive fathers sat beside teenage
sons about to face their first DWI charge.
He rode the
elevator to the skywalk level as it only took minutes for Ben to walk
from one building to the next. From eight until four, the above ground,
indoor walkways were always crowded with professionals carrying attaché
cases, as well as the homeless who wandered aimlessly through the maze
of heated, indoor paths. Meshed inside a faceless crowd seemed to calm
Ben down, especially after an intense courtroom session. He caught the
musky scent of leather when he passed Wilson’s, and next to it, the
sweet, succulent aroma of Godiva chocolate. With all the boutiques along
with a sundry of restaurants, the skyway was a city in itself.
Ben
took an escalator up to the top floor. It was a little after eleven,
but people had already started to filter into the food court. His
stomach did a flip-flop when he spotted Ann at a table as she’d told him
she’d try to get away and meet him for lunch. Ben was already crazy
about her. It felt like they’d known each other a lot longer than two
weeks.
“You made it.” He leaned over the table and gave Ann a quick hug. “You like Chinese?”
“Love it.”
“You sure? Because there’s everything from pizza to—”
“I really, really, really want Chinese.” She flashed Ben a dimpled smile.
He
snatched the Star and Tribune off another table and handed it to Ann.
“Hey, do me a favor and find the New York Stock Exchange. Search for the
cymbal DBS and let me know what it’s at.”
“It’s at
thirty-five,” Ann informed Ben when he set a tray on the table. She
folded the paper and pushed it aside. “That smells wonderful.”
“Great. Up a point.” He took the cartons off the tray and set a paper plate and plastic silverware in front of Ann.
Ann opened one of the red-and-white checked boxes and leaned over the steaming carton. “Ginger chicken?”
Ben grinned. “Ginger chicken.”
“Iced
tea, too? Can you read my mind or what?” She scooped out a portion of
the chicken onto her paper plate and then served Ben an ample portion.
“What’s DBS?”
“A research company I invested in a
couple of years ago.” Ben pulled out a chair across from her and sat
down. “The research center is trying to find a cure, or at least
diminish some of the symptoms of Parkinson’s disease.”
Ann took a sip of her drink. “Do you know someone with Parkinson’s?”
Ben’s
expression turned somber. “My grandmother. Watched her suffer for years
before she passed. People shouldn’t have to live like that.”
“Oh, Ben,” she said sympathetically, “I’m sorry.”
They
chit-chatted about their morning as they ate, Ben sharing with Ann that
his heart broke every time a child had to testify in court, and Ann
telling him about the newest arrivals in the nursery.
“How old are you?” Ann blurted. “Oh, sheesh”—she leaned back in her chair—“that came out of nowhere. Sorry.”
Although
she had that wholesome girl-next-door look, she was beautiful, and Ben
caught himself staring at her. “Older than you. I know that.” Ben
scooped up the last of the chicken on his plate. “Twenty-eight.”
“When’s you’re birthday?”
Ben swiped over his mouth with a paper napkin. “Why? Wanna know what I want?”
“Maybe,” she said flirtatiously.
“You into signs and all that?”
Ann rolled her eyes. “Not at all. My father would not be proud if I were.”
“December twentieth,” Ben said. “Almost a Christmas baby. When’s yours?”
Ann’s mouth dropped open. “You’re kidding, right?”
“Why would someone lie about their birthday?” Ben closed the empty carton and put it back on the tray.
She slapped a hand over her chest. “Mine’s December twenty-first.”
“Okay, sock it to me. What year?” Ben eyed her. “Please don’t tell me I’m a cradle robber.”
She cocked her head to the side. “Same year as yours, Mister.”
Soon
after Ann Ferguson and Ben Grable marry, and Ben unseals his adoption
papers, their perfect life together is torn apart, sending the couple to
opposite sides of the courtroom.
Representing
Ann, lawyer Michael J. McConaughey (Mac) feels this is the case that
could have far-reaching, judicial effects -- the one he's been waiting
for.
Opposing counsel knows this high profile case happens just once in a lifetime.
And
when the silent protest known as HUSH sweeps the nation, making
international news, the CEO of one of the top ten pharmaceutical
companies in the world plots to derail the trial that could cost his
company billions.
Critically
acclaimed literary thriller HUSH not only questions one of the most
controversial laws that has divided the nation for over four decades,
but captures a story of the far-reaching ties of family that surpasses
time and distance.
***
Hush does not have political or religious content. The story is built
around the emotions and thoughts of two people who differ in their
beliefs.
EDITORIAL
REVIEW: "Suspenseful and well-researched, this action-packed legal
thriller will take readers on a journey through the trials and
tribulations of one of the most controversial subjects in society
today." - Katie French author of "The Breeders," "The Believer's," and "Eyes Ever To The Sky."
Genre – Thriller
Rating – PG-13
