Losing Faith Part 5

"Please be seated," Faith says without looking up. Then her eyes meet Aaron's, and she swallows hard. After a momentary pause, she says, "Uh, counsel, please state your appearances for the record."

Aaron can only imagine that Faith is seething inside. He wishes he could convey somehow that this isn't his fault, convinced that she'd understand if she knew all that he did.

The prosecutor stands first. "Good morning, Your Honor. David Sanyour, a.s.sistant United States attorney, representing the United States of America. I am joined this morning by a.s.sistant United States Attorney Michael Herrera."

Aaron knows Sanyour from past battles and respects him as an adversary. The person David Sanyour reminds Aaron of most is not a person at all, but Buzz Lightyear from the Toy Story movies. Erect, solid, sternly chipper, he looks the way you might imagine lawyers appeared in the 1950s, with short-cropped hair and black-plasticframed gla.s.ses. There's something absurdly robotic about him, made all the more comical by the seriousness with which he believes in his own moral superiority.

"Good morning, Mr. Sanyour. And you, too, Mr. Herrera," Faith says. Then she turns and stares hard at Aaron. "And it appears we have two new lawyers present for the defense."

Aaron rises to address Faith. "Good morning, Judge Nichols. Aaron Littman of the law firm Cromwell Altman Rosenthal and White. With me is my partner Rachel London. If it pleases the court, we move to be subst.i.tuted as counsel of record for Nicolai Garkov."

Aaron says this with a friendly smile, but Faith doesn't return the gesture. Her face is locked in a grimace, as if she's just swallowed something particularly foul tasting.

"This certainly does not please the court, Mr. Littman. Not even a little bit. In fact, I find it the height of arrogance for you to come to this proceeding and take your place next to Mr. Garkov as if my granting your application is a mere formality."

"My apologies, Your Honor. I didn't think-"

"I couldn't agree more, Mr. Littman. You clearly did not think. So now I'm thinking for you. I a.s.sume you're aware that my predecessor, Judge Mendelsohn, put this matter down for trial on April fourteenth?"

"I am, Your Honor. But given that the court and defense counsel both have to play a little catch-up, we were hoping for a short adjournment of that date."

"Well, you can keep hoping, Mr. Littman, because that's not going to happen. As far as I'm concerned, the fourteenth is etched in stone. I'm well aware of the game of musical lawyers that defendants with means attempt to play as a way of pushing out the trial date. But not in my court, I can a.s.sure you. So, Mr. Garkov, if that's why you hired Mr. Littman, then I'm afraid you're not getting your money's worth."

Aaron already knew it was a distinct possibility that Faith wouldn't postpone the trial. But it's Faith's phrasing that's the true concern. If Garkov didn't think he was getting his money's worth, what would he do to ensure a more adequate return on his investment?

"We'll be ready for trial on the fourteenth," Aaron says. "Will Your Honor please accept our subst.i.tution?"

"Hand it up," Faith says, followed by a sigh that reeks with displeasure.

Aaron pa.s.ses the piece of paper to the court officer, who walks the doc.u.ment over to Faith. In her three years on the federal bench, Faith's seen hundreds of subst.i.tution forms, and all this one contains is a single sentence, stating that Nicolai Garkov consents to the subst.i.tution of Aaron Littman for Roy Sabato as counsel of record, followed by signatures from Aaron, Sabato, and Garkov. Nothing else. Nevertheless, Faith studies the single page intently. When she's finished, she lifts her head and addresses Sanyour.

"Does the government have any objection?"

Sanyour stands and b.u.t.tons his suit jacket. "Your Honor, so long as there is no prejudice to the government by a delay of justice, we have no objection to Mr. Littman becoming counsel of record for the defendant." Then he unb.u.t.tons his suit jacket and sits down.

Aaron can almost see the wheels turning in Faith's head. With the prosecutor's consent, she's out of options for denying the change of counsel.

"Mr. Garkov," she says in a stern voice, "although you are ent.i.tled to counsel of your choosing, it is my responsibility to ensure that such counsel can be effective in his or her representation of you. I have severe misgivings in this case about allowing a subst.i.tution at this late date. As I just indicated, I'm unwilling to delay the trial, and you were previously represented by very capable counsel in Mr. Sabato."

Aaron touches Garkov's arm, the coaching signal that he's not to speak. Aaron too remains silent, as Faith has not posed a question so much as expressed displeasure at what's unfolding before her.

As if she realizes that the floor remains hers, Faith continues. "I can tell you firsthand, Mr. Garkov, having stood before the bench myself for quite a number of years, that litigation and wars are often won or lost in the preparation. For that reason, you have to be absolutely certain that your interests are better served by Mr. Littman trying this case with very little time to prepare than if Mr. Sabato remained as your lawyer." She looks firmly at Garkov. "So that there is no going back on this decision, Mr. Garkov, I need you to state in open court that you are aware of the time constraints that Mr. Littman would face if he were to become your counsel, and you nevertheless wish to proceed with him."

Aaron rises and pulls Garkov to his feet by yanking him at the elbow. When they're both upright, Aaron looks up at his client towering above him. He offers a subtle nod, telling Garkov to provide the confirmation Judge Nichols seeks.

"Yes," Garkov says.

Faith scans the courtroom, as if trying to come up with another way out. But if the prosecution and Garkov aren't going to give it to her, she has no choice but to sign the order.

"Given that Mr. Garkov is willing to proceed on the same schedule as previously established," she says, "and noting the prosecution's acquiescence, as well as Mr. Garkov's const.i.tutional right to proceed with counsel of his choosing, with the reservations I've already stated on the record, I'm going to permit the subst.i.tution."

"Thank you, Your Honor," Aaron says, but his groveling doesn't seem to register with Faith in the least. She doesn't even make eye contact as she signs the doc.u.ment officially making him counsel of record.

When Faith does look up again, it's in the direction of the prosecution table.

"Mr. Sanyour," she says, "are there any matters that you would like to raise with the court at this time?"

Sanyour stands again and again b.u.t.tons his jacket. "No, Your Honor," is all he says, and then he sits down.

Faith next turns her attention to Aaron. "Mr. Littman, I'm a.s.suming that you are still too new to have an opinion about anything in this matter. But I'm going to raise an issue of my own. Although Judge Mendelsohn saw fit to permit Mr. Garkov to be in home confinement pending trial, it is my order that Mr. Garkov be held without bail, pending trial. Effective immediately."

There's a loud rumble in the gallery, reflecting the utter shock at Faith's ruling. Garkov has been out on bail for months, and there hasn't been any change in circ.u.mstances to justify incarcerating him now.

"Your Honor," Aaron says, quickly coming to his feet, "given that this is a departure from Judge Mendelsohn's ruling, and because the court has ruled without notice or the benefit of briefing, the defense requests that you hold your decision in abeyance until we can be heard on the matter."

"You can be heard now, Mr. Littman. In fact, I'm all ears. Please explain to me why your client should continue to be able to live in the lap of luxury. This is a man who has been indicted for crimes that, if he were to be convicted, would likely result in life imprisonment. He is probably one of the most egregious flight risks imaginable, given the seriousness of the crimes for which he stands accused, coupled with the fact that he is a man of considerable means who is not a citizen of this country."

Prior to making an argument before a court, Aaron is usually provided extensive legal memos outlining the state of the law and bullet points of the best arguments and sound bites to make. He takes that work and uses it as the basis for crafting his own presentation. As a general matter, every five minutes Aaron speaks in court are preceded by one hundred hours of other people's toiling. But that doesn't mean he hasn't had to wing it from time to time. Indeed, some of Aaron's best arguments have come in such circ.u.mstances.

"Thank you, Your Honor," he says, and then pauses for a moment as he mentally sorts through the points he intends to make. "First, as the court is aware, bail has nothing to do with punishment, but is a device to ensure the defendant's appearance at trial. Mr. Garkov has been out on bail for months without incident. Accordingly, there's no reason to believe that he is a flight risk now. If anything, the risk of flight was much greater back when Judge Mendelsohn initially ruled that Mr. Garkov should be placed in supervised home confinement. Second, Mr. Garkov is under extremely tight protection. I can attest firsthand that it would be virtually impossible for him to flee the jurisdiction. He is guarded by no fewer than six people at all times. Third, at the present time, Mr. Garkov's home incarceration is at no cost to the government. By contrast, time in the prison system imposes a cost, not only in terms of the dollars required to clothe and feed inmates, but also in the fact that the prison system is already overcrowded. And finally, Mr. Garkov has a const.i.tutional right to aid in his defense. We understand that Your Honor has ruled that the subst.i.tution of counsel shall not delay the trial, and we respect that ruling, but it does mean that we have to get up to speed very quickly. That will be immeasurably more difficult if Mr. Garkov is held at the Metropolitan Correctional Center than if he were in home confinement."

"Thank you, counsel," Faith says in a perfunctory way.

For a moment she turns to Sanyour, as if she's going to ask the prosecution to weigh in. She must think twice about that, perhaps out of concern that Sanyour will cut her off at the knees the way he did on the subst.i.tution issue, because she quickly straightens up in her chair. Aaron knows from the Matthews case that it's the posture she a.s.sumes when she's about to rule.

Faith hesitates for a beat and then plunges forward. "It is the order of this court that the bail conditions previously entered are hereby revoked. Mr. Garkov is to be held in the Metropolitan Correctional Center until trial. The court officers should now take the defendant into custody."

The court officers move toward the defense counsel table. As Garkov's hands are being cuffed, he presses his face right against Aaron's ear.

In an icy-calm voice, Garkov says, "I want to see you tomorrow morning."

11.

Faith is still trying to catch her breath when she closes the door to her office. She held her composure in the courtroom, but the moment she's out of sight, her head starts to spin.

What in the h.e.l.l could Aaron have been thinking?

That's just it, she tells herself; like she said in court, he wasn't thinking. Or, equally likely, he was thinking only of himself. Typical Aaron. G.o.dd.a.m.n it. He could never turn down a marquee case, even if it is for a terrorist.

Faith knows full well the furious activity that's about to kick into gear at Cromwell Altman. Half a dozen lawyers will work all night on a motion to reconsider. It will be one of the cla.s.sic Cromwell Altman tomes, fifty pages long with two hundred case citations, despite being written in less than twenty-four hours, and will say little more than that she was wrong to revoke bail.

"Judge," her clerk Sara says, entering Faith's office. "I . . . Do you want me to do anything? Research bail revocations, maybe? Um . . . I don't know . . . Anything?"

Sara looks to be in as much shock as Faith over this turn of events, albeit for a very different reason. Sara knows that Faith normally doesn't make a judicial ruling, particularly one of such magnitude, without consulting her clerks and asking for research.

"No," Faith says, trying her best to sound like she's in total control. "Thanks, Sara. I . . . I would like some privacy, though. In fact, tell Kenny too. I don't want any interruptions this afternoon."

NEWS OF THE DRUBBING Aaron took in court made it back to Cromwell Altman ahead of him. Even before he removes his coat, Diane is telling him that the phone has been ringing nonstop.

"There have been at least twenty press inquiries," she says. "And Paul Stillman called and said it was urgent. Mr. Rosenthal also asked that you see him right away."

Paul Stillman is the firm's public relations guru. Although Aaron doesn't fully understand what Stillman does to earn his twenty-five-thousand-dollar monthly retainer, handling the fallout from Cromwell Altman's representing a terrorist certainly falls within his bailiwick.

Aaron knows exactly how the conversation with Stillman will go. Stillman will complain that he can't do his job if he doesn't know what's going on, and then he'll want to meet to "brainstorm"-that's Stillman's favorite phrase-about how to best handle the press inquiries.

To Aaron's way of thinking, however, there are only two responses available: "Aaron Littman, a lawyer for Nicolai Garkov, said that he was disappointed with the judge's ruling and was still considering his options, but noted that he was confident his client would be exonerated of all wrongdoing," or "Lawyers for Nicolai Garkov could not be reached for comment."

He concludes that it really doesn't make much of a difference, and so calling Stillman can wait. Besides, he'd much rather get Rosenthal's counsel at a time like this.

Just being in Sam Rosenthal's office makes Aaron nostalgic for a time when lawyers were truly counselors. The s.p.a.ce has the feel of the sitting room of a mansion in the English countryside. The chairs and sofa are covered in rich, tan leather fastened by nail heads, the floor-to-ceiling bookshelves are crammed with old hardback volumes with cracked leather spines, and none of the paintings was created in the last two hundred years. Rosenthal sits behind a comically large desk, his head six inches from whatever he's reading, as if he needs to smell the words to understand them.

Aaron knocks on the door, even though it's open. "I hear you wanted to see me."

"Please, close the door, Aaron."

They usually meet behind closed doors, but Rosenthal rarely makes a point of it. The scowl on Rosenthal's face leaves little doubt that this will be the second unpleasant interaction Aaron's had in the last hour.

"I heard about what happened in court today," Rosenthal says. "She really put the hammer to you."

Aaron settles into Rosenthal's guest chair. "At least I get to spend the evening in my own bed," he says.

It's an oft-repeated lawyer joke. So much so that Rosenthal doesn't even smile.

Instead, he sighs before saying, "I always tell people that this firm is my only family . . . but the only part isn't right. You're my family too, Aaron. And just as I would do anything for this firm, you should know that I would do the same for you."

Aaron didn't have the kind of relationship with his father that permitted heart-to-heart talks. He was too young when his parents separated to even remember their ever being together. Thereafter, his father moved around a bit, remarried, and had a second family in a Chicago suburb. They apparently took up all of his time, because Aaron heard from his father only on his birthday via a telephone call, which didn't even come every year.

Aaron last saw his old man at his mother's funeral. She died of cancer a week after Aaron's high school graduation, which his father hadn't seen fit to attend. Nor did he visit his ex-wife during the last months of her life. In fact, it had been nearly ten years since he'd even seen the man. And yet, his father decided that showing up unannounced at his ex-wife's funeral was a good idea. It took all of Aaron's willpower to not deck the son of a b.i.t.c.h, but he decided then and there that his father would forever be as dead to him as his mother.

In many ways, Aaron had ended up replacing his father with Sam Rosenthal. He was really the one who taught Aaron how to be a man. In the early years, when the firm was smaller and billable hours were not the Holy Grail they are now, he and Rosenthal would share long lunches at top restaurants discussing everything-politics, literature, and, of course, the law. Aaron learned more during those lunches than he had in college and law school combined, and certainly more than he ever had from his real father.

After Aaron made partner, the lessons continued, as Rosenthal went out of his way to groom Aaron as his successor. When Rosenthal's accident caused that day to come much earlier than either of them had antic.i.p.ated, their sessions morphed to address more philosophical concerns, with Rosenthal imparting what his brush with death had taught him and focusing Aaron on the things that comprise a well-lived life.

Right now, Aaron is sincerely moved by Rosenthal's sentiment. And truth be told, he loves Rosenthal too, and wants to say something equally moving . . . but like many a son, perhaps, he has difficulty saying it aloud.

"Thank you, Sam," is the best he can manage at first. Then, seeing that he should go on, he adds, "I hope you know I feel the same way about you too."

"You know that line from The G.o.dfather?" Rosenthal says. "When Vito Corleone tells the Turk that he spoils his children by allowing them to speak when they should listen? Well, I think I'm guilty of the same thing, because I let you off the hook too easily before. But now I've given you some time to handle it on your own so you could preserve my-what did you call it? Plausible deniability? But that didn't seem to work out too well for you, and so it's time for you to tell me exactly what the h.e.l.l went on between you and Judge Nichols, and how much of that Nicolai Garkov knows."

It doesn't surprise Aaron that Rosenthal has figured it all out. Rosenthal wouldn't be half the lawyer he is if he hadn't. Part of Aaron feels relief that his secret is finally revealed. The other part, however, feels shame.

"Okay," Aaron says with a heavy voice. As much as he wants to maintain eye contact, though, Aaron can't help himself and he turns away. His eyes fall to the floor, which at least will not offer any judgment about his sins.

"I had an affair with her, Sam. It started before the Eric Matthews case. Remember the George Vanderlyn dinner? When she was at our table? That night. When she got the Matthews case, we both figured it was going to plead out, and so she didn't recuse herself, and I stayed on as counsel. There really wasn't anything remarkable about the trial. She was fair, or at least no more unfair than anybody else might have been. But the sentence . . . That was certainly a shock. Maybe Faith really thought the crime merited that type of prison term. I don't know . . . I also don't know just how the h.e.l.l Garkov found out about me and Faith, but he did. Somehow. Now he thinks I can blackmail Faith into acquitting him."

Rosenthal doesn't look horrified at the disclosure, which Aaron finds even more disconcerting in a way. Aaron's heard more than his fair share of confessions, and he knows the importance of not letting on that what you're hearing is incomprehensible to you. It's likely the reason that priests are shielded from their parishioners in the confessional.

"Is it over?" Rosenthal asks.

"Yeah. Right after the Matthews verdict, she cut off all communication. No explanation, she just stopped cold turkey. I guess it all just caught up with her. I mean, I kind of felt relieved, to be honest. Glad all that deception was finally over."

As Aaron's words hang in the air, he braces for the condemnation that he deserves. Instead, Rosenthal places his hand over Aaron's, patting it gently.

"You should have told me about this sooner," Rosenthal says. "I could have told you about some things you might not know about. For starters, why she likely ended it. She was told that she was on the short list for the Supreme Court."

Aaron's heard that Faith's name has appeared on such lists, but he never put any stock in such rumors. Those short lists are never so short anyway, and even his own name, and Rosenthal's too, in his day, were bandied about as potential high-court nominees.

"Right. And so are a few dozen others," Aaron says, "not to mention that there aren't any vacancies."

"No, it's for real. Justice Velasquez is going to step down at the end of the term. The president wants a law-and-order judge, and nothing says that like the longest insider-trading sentence in history. On top of which, I guess I don't have to tell you, but Judge Nichols won't exactly look bad on television for her confirmation hearings."

Aaron a.s.sumed all along that Faith ended their relationship and suddenly broke off all ties because she thought better of the double life of adultery. But now it seems that it wasn't her husband she was concerned about, as much as her career.

"Why didn't you tell me?" Aaron asks.

"Why would I tell you, Aaron? Senator Kheel told me in confidence. Besides, I didn't have any reason to believe there was anything going on between you and the judge before whom you were appearing. But if it's full-disclosure time, you should know that I had a few meetings with Judge Nichols and did some of the preliminary vetting of her background. Kheel's thank-you for the campaign contributions I bundle for him. At least one good thing in all of this is she didn't breathe a word about having a relationship with you. And I asked her point-blank whether there was any infidelity in her background."

"So tell the senator that there are such problems, and make the Supreme Court go away."

Rosenthal gives a bitter chuckle. "If it were only that simple, Aaron. He'll want to know what I know, and how I came to know it. I don't think now is the time to be sharing your ethical issues with a U.S. senator, do you?"

The question answers itself, and so an uneasy quiet settles in between them. Finally, Rosenthal says, "Were you in love with her?"

"No," Aaron says reflexively. "At least, not enough that I ever considered leaving Cynthia," he adds, correcting himself.

Rosenthal nods, but Aaron knows his mentor has no frame of reference for what happens in the long middle of a marriage. In all the years they've known each other, Rosenthal has never mentioned a woman.

"Who else knows about the affair?" Rosenthal asks. "Besides Garkov, obviously."

"No one, Sam. Not even Cynthia." He shakes his head. "Although I didn't think you knew either, so perhaps I overestimate my ability to be clandestine in such matters."

"I take it, then, that you haven't told Judge Nichols about Garkov's threat?"

"No. I thought maybe she would figure it out by my appearance today and just decide to recuse herself."

Rosenthal rejects the suggestion with a shrug. "You're giving her too much credit. Clients retain you at the last minute all the time to take over the trial work. Why would she think this one is any different? And even though the Matthews case didn't end well, everyone gave you high marks for the defense. There's no reason for Judge Nichols to think that anyone who hires you in a case before her has blackmail on their mind."

"And yet you figured it out."

"That's because I know you have reasons not to take the case. You have no idea about the earful I've gotten from the other members of the COC, and none of them has suggested anything nefarious." Rosenthal smirks. "They just think you're a self-centered egomaniac, putting your interests above theirs. But they don't think for a minute you're being blackmailed by your client."