Debts Unsettled, page 23
“Hauler’s venue was only minutes away from the Moda Center. So last, but not least—” a photo of Hauler’s promo-CD came up on the screen, “we will bring in the owner/engineer of the recording studio where Hauler recorded this promotional CD. I’ll ask him to give testimony as to the date he recorded this CD, which was well before Jimi’s Daze released it.” Michael paused, allowing that to sink in.
“I believe you noticed the label on the promo-CD lists, Beaten Path.
“Ms. Frank, our research brought an interesting discovery. Two years ago, Jimi’s Daze grossed over $75,000,000 touring to support their previous album. Not a bad annual income, even when divided between members.” Michael again hesitated for a moment.
“Now let’s move to Jimi’s Daze current tour, which promotes the release of their latest album. But more so, to capitalize on the success of the release of ‘Beaten Path,’ the first single from that album, which, as I stated before, became a world-wide hit.”
“So far, in their current tour, Jimi’s Daze has grossed over $125,000,000.” Again, Michael paused to allow that number to marinate.
“What do you suppose a jury will attribute to that incredible jump in gross concert ticket sales when I show them this?” Michael brought up a YouTube video of Cailen, standing near the front of the stage, thanking the crowd for liking the song.
Cailen described feedback from people around the world. He swept his arm out in front of him. “The song is touching people, like you. They’re sending us messages via our website, telling us how it has inspired them. How it has made them more aware of the abuse women face at the hands of boyfriends, husbands and others. Even inspiring them to support and work toward ending that pattern of abuse.” Michael paused the video.
“Noble cause, yes?” No one could, or dared, answer.
“Mr. Cailen, you made the song the central theme of your concert tour… right? Cailen avoided eye contact with Michael.
“And, Mr. Cailen, we’re not even considering your earnings from songwriter royalties.
“When we go into the courtroom, I will remind the jury of the settlement we’re requesting.” Michael scanned the eyes of Cailen and his team. Then I will compare that to the money Mr. Cailen is making from songwriter royalties associated with the song, and current tour revenue. A tour where ‘Beaten Path’ is the central theme. Mr. Cailen, isn’t the name of your band’s current tour, ‘The Beaten Path Tour’?
There was no response.
“Then, I will finish by telling them they can award to Hauler, punitive damages commensurate with the crime Mr. Cailen committed.”
Michael looked at Kassidy and her team. “So, here’s the question I have for the big-city attorneys. I believe you to be smart, experienced, and knowledgeable. How much do you think a jury will award, Hauler?”
Again, no response.
“After seeing and hearing our testimony, you know the jury will award Hauler a significant—if not a phenomenal—amount in punitive damages.”
Michael stood, pulled out his phone, and touched the screen. “I’m setting my timer for ten minutes. We’ll step out and come back when the phone’s alarm sounds. We will consider your proposal. If it’s not far more than what we originally requested… we’ll see you in court.”
Michael jabbed the timer's start button and walked out.
42
The phone’s alarm sounded. Michael and the members of Hauler walked back into the conference room. He removed two copies of a document from his folder and slid them over to Kassidy.
“Ms. Frank, during your first caucus, I asked my assistant Trevor to draw up a settlement agreement and attend this meeting to notarize it.
“The agreement stipulates we accept your offer of settlement. It includes a non-disclosure agreement and a withdrawal of our lawsuit.
“The agreement requires Mr. Cailen to cease claiming he wrote the song Beaten Path, and to remove it from his BMI Works Catalog, both as Songwriter/Composer and Publisher.
“Also, Mr. Cailen will pay in full within 30 days of the date we sign this document… which will be today. Failure on any point will negate our agreement. Please notice that Trevor left a space for you to write your offer. He made the space large. We will not be negotiating, so make your offer one that will motivate us to withdraw from our suit.
“Today being Halloween, I suggest you choose to treat rather than a trick.”
Kassidy looked at Cailen, then to her associates, then back to Michael, who didn’t flinch. She picked up her pen, wrote a number, and signed and dated both copies. She slid them over to Cailen.
While looking at her in astonishment, Cailen slammed back into the chair. He made a threatening move against Kassidy. He turned toward her and spread his hands, as if aimed for her neck. Through clamped teeth, he hissed, “That’s over three times what we discussed minutes ago.”
She nodded and shrugged her shoulders. She handed him her pen. He hesitated, took a deep breath, leaned forward, and signed and dated both copies. He flicked them back to Michael and tossed the pen on the table.
Michael considered the offer. “I believe we have a deal.” He signed and dated both copies, then handed them to Ian.
Wide-eyed, Ian looked at Michael. Michael nodded; Ian signed. Trevor notarized while Michael thanked everyone.
“Mr. Cailen, Ms. Frank, you’ve made a wise decision. Ms. Frank, Trevor will make copies of the document for your associates, and he’ll give you one of the original signed copies. Good day.”
Back in Michael’s office, Ian sat stunned. The two band mates asked what happened and what they agreed to pay?
Ian took a deep breath. “Twenty… million… dollars.”
“Plus 25% legal fees,” Michael added.
As the three bandmates stood and did a group-hug, Ian reached and pulled in Michael. “The money is both shocking and great,” Ian said, “but, we got our song back.”
Trevor came in with the band member’s copies of the agreement.
Ian looked at his copy and looked up at Michael. “Not in our wildest dreams did we expect this. Is this the norm?”
“No,” Michael said, “this case is so egregious that Cailen’s attorney wanted the suit to go away.
“This isn’t a typical plagiarism case where someone sues because someone else used parts of their song. Our suit would have proved Cailen stole your song verbatim. We have a video proving it. It’s astounding that Cailen imagined he could get away with it.”
“Well,” Ian said, “thanks to you, he didn’t. And we appreciate you believing in us and helping us through this.”
“To be candid,” Michael said, “he got away with the millions of dollars he’s making on this tour, which he wouldn’t have made if it weren’t for your song. But $20,000,000 in hand beats the risk of leaving it to a jury. Plus, you will get future royalties.
“As I came to know you guys, you were easy to trust; it was my pleasure. Thank you for entrusting me with your case.”
After the band members left, Trevor stepped into Michael’s office. “Mr. Mays, Kassidy Frank wants to meet with you.”
“Sure, send her in.”
As Kassidy walked in, Michael stood and extended his hand.
“How may I help you, Ms. Frank?”
“Please, call me Kassidy. May I sit?”
“Of course,” Michael said, as he too sat.
“Michael, I can call you, Michael… right?”
“Yes.”
“Michael, I’m impressed with you and your abilities. Have you ever consider leaving Portland?”
“What are you asking, Kassidy?”
“I’m asking you to come to work for our firm in Los Angeles; I’d have to propose it to the other partners, but I can sell it.”
“Are you asking me to become a partner in your firm or to come in as an associate?”
“An associate to start—”
“Kassidy, what sense does it make for me to leave here, as a partner, to become an associate in Los Angeles? I practiced in LA for three years and didn’t care for it.”
“I can convince them to promise, via contract, that you’d be a partner within two years.”
“Very flattering, Kassidy, but I don’t see myself leaving Portland. You and I both know your firm will not bring me in as an equity partner.”
“Yes, but the annual income of a non-equity partner is much higher there than an equity partner is here. And the range of your practice will increase and be far more interesting. You could use your skills and abilities in—”
“I apologize for cutting you off again, Kassidy. I appreciate your offer, but I must decline.”
“Well,” Kassidy said, “I knew ‘no’ was the answer if I didn’t ask. As the old saying goes: ‘Nothing ventured, nothing gained.’”
She wrote her personal cell phone number on her business card. “But, next time you’re in LA, call me. I’ll buy you dinner.”
“Now that’s an offer I can accept,” he said, as he stood and walked her to the door of his office. As he shook her hand, she put her left hand on top of his right arm, looked him in the eyes and smiled that smile. “I hope you do, Michael.” She lingered in his eyes for a few seconds, turned and walked away.
When she was out the front door, Trevor walked into Michael’s office. “I have two wows for you.”
“Okay, let’s hear them.”
“Wow, on the settlement, that was incredible. And, wow, she is a beautiful woman.”
“Yes, she is, Trevor, and smart. She knows when to fold and cut her losses.’”
“Well, you had the high hand, Mr. Mays.”
“Thank you, Trevor. You did a stellar job assisting me.” He removed his overcoat from its hanger. “I’m done for the day. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
On the way home, Michael rehashed the day’s events. His mind landed on his conversation with Carrie Hindler that morning. Which led to the promise he had made to Russell Curt of finding the person who killed Linda’s sister.
At home, he fell back onto the sofa. Fifteen minutes later, he jolted awake, surprised he had slept. After showering and putting on a change of clothes, he returned to the living room. While drinking a lemon-lime soda water, he opened his phone’s photos to the photo of Linda’s sister Liz.
How do I play this?
Several scenarios played out in his mind. The one most intriguing:
Can I stop the murder, and if I do, how will it impact Linda and Jacob?
Tough questions, but he could not imagine himself not intervening. What if it’s a setup? Michael considered the possibility that Russell expects him to intervene, hoping he dies in the past.
I’ll take that chance.
Michael remembered Russell claiming he carried back things he stole. He got up from the sofa, walked to the ceramic butter churn, and grabbed his baseball bat.
Maybe I can take protection with me.
He realized he hadn’t made a conscious decision to go back in time. It’s becoming second-nature.
He removed a small tactical flashlight and a Leatherman tool from a kitchen drawer and stuffed them in the pockets of his Levi’s.
In his office, he removed the book from his briefcase, set his phone’s timer for one hour, and returned to Liz’s photo. Just prior to looking at Liz’s photo, he realized he’ll be visiting a murder crime scene. He went to the kitchen, grabbed a couple of vinyl gloves, and returned to his office.
He opened the book to page 60.
43
The warm Omni-directional wind took him to a corner of Linda’s parents’ living room. Linda was taking the photo of Liz she had shown him.
He crouched behind an over-stuffed recliner, leaned against the wall, and peeked around the back of the chair while slipping on the vinyl gloves. Liz said something which caused Linda to lift her camera and take another photo.
The one they used as evidence and didn’t return to her.
They exchanged goodnights and hugged. He watched Linda walk out and close the front door.
He shook his head.
This is crazy.
Liz’s cell phone rang. The voice on the other end caused her to giggle and become giddy.
She ran up the stairs.
When she came to her room’s door, she squealed with delight. Michael assumed it was Russell. Shoes thumped to the floor as they were kicked from their feet. The only other sounds were the voices of Russell cheating on his wife and Liz betraying her sister.
After about 10 minutes and without success, Michael tried making his 6’4” body comfortable as he crouched behind the chair. He had no choice but to tolerate the momentary discomfort.
The door to Liz’s bedroom was open and, judging from the soft light coming through the doorway, Michael guessed they had left on a small lamp.
Out of the corner of his eye, Michael thought he saw movement on the stairs landing.
He tried to refocus by blinking his eyes and squinting.
Nothing.
He pushed it aside.
Maybe my excellent peripheral vision can even pick up my imagination’s thoughts.
He heard Liz laugh.
Michael kept his eyes on her door.
A shadow drifted at the corner of his vision.
Something moved.
He tried refocusing again.
Still nothing.
Liz said, “No, don’t leave me alone.”
“I have to get going. I’m sorry, but I’ll be back soon.”
“Is that a promise, Russell?”
Okay, it’s Russell, and he’s lying.
Russell came hopping out of the bedroom, one leg in his pants, pulling up the second pant leg. He leaned against the bedroom’s doorway and put on his shoes. “Yes, that’s a promise.”
Still lying.
He buttoned his shirt as he hurried down the stairs.
Halfway down, he disappeared. Michael shuddered.
Done that—but haven’t seen it done—creepy.
Michael stood to tuck the book in the back of his waistband. He tightened his belt.
That should hold it. I need to get a backpack.
He resumed crouching. With his baseball bat in his right hand, he waited.
His thoughts wandered back to the Hauler case that afternoon.
Liz’s scream burst into Michael’s thoughts. She calmed and said in frustration, “Oh, it’s only you. What are you doing here?”
A man said, “It’s ONLY me?”
He was both frustrated and angry.
“What am I doing here? What are you are doing here, Liz? Couldn’t you have at least closed the blinds, so I didn’t have to watch you cheat on me?”
“Cheat on you? You don’t have to watch me, Eric. But you always do. You’ve never had the guts to come over. You’ve cheated yourself, Eric.”
Eric yelled back, now furious.
“And you’ve always enjoyed putting on your show for me, haven’t you? But this was too much, Liz. You knew I’d watch. And you did this?”
“No, Eric don’t—” a fist hit flesh, hard.
Michael sprang and ran up the stairs yelling, “Stop.”
As he made the stair landing, Eric yelled something unintelligible.
Michael looked up and saw him charging.
Big boy, was Michael’s first thought.
He moved too fast for Michael to bring the bat into position.
Eric had the look of a madman. The sound coming from him was that of a wounded, trapped animal.
Michael anticipated the hit.
He dropped the bat and squatted while putting his hands behind his head.
The bat clattered on the wooden stairs as it tumbled toward the floor.
Eric stopped his momentum by grabbing the handrails on each side of him.
He kicked Michael.
Michael fell back while tucking his knees into his chest and rolled down the stairs.
At the bottom, Michael spread his arms, trying to lessen his collision with the floor.
His head slammed against the wall, breaking through the lath and plaster.
Michael lay unconscious.
Eric returned to the bedroom.
When Michael came to, his head was four inches into the wall and Eric was walking past him.
Eric stopped and kicked Michael in the side.
Michael grunted as his breath rushed out.
“You’re lucky I don’t kill you too,” Eric said, and walked through the front door, slamming it behind him.
Michael laid there, struggling. When he caught his breath, he reached up and pushed in the broken lath that was holding the sides of his head like a Chinese finger trap. He stood, but was lightheaded, and pinpoints of light floated in his vision.
His limbs functioned, but not without pain.
Tomorrow will be a different story.
He picked up his bat and put it to use as a walking stick. There was no reason to go upstairs. Liz was dead. Strangled and neck broken.
Just as Linda described… but she believes Russ is the killer.
Before walking out through the front door, he checked to make sure the book was still in his waistband. It was there, but needed to be pushed down a few inches.
He closed the door, staggered across the front porch, and down the stairs. He removed the flashlight from his pocket, turned it on, and limped to the back of the house.
Michael put together a mental image of where the stairway to Liz’s room was located. He looked up. Light shone from only one window on the second floor. It was the same soft light he’d seen come through her bedroom door.
He stood below the window and faced the direction Liz looked out. A second-floor window—in the house he faced—looked right into her room.
Making his way back to the front of Liz’s house, he felt his body stiffening. It needed movement. He shoved the flashlight into his pants pocket and felt to make sure the Leatherman tool was still there. He pulled out his cell phone.
Under the light from the streetlamps, he followed the sidewalk.
