Life Support (2 page)

Alexia was representing Marilyn Simpson, the estranged wife of Gregory Lamar Simpson, a real-estate developer who was seated in the witness chair. Alexia's shoes tapped lightly on the polished wooden floor of the courtroom as she walked slowly to a spot in front of the jury box.

“Thank you, Your Honor,” she said in a high-pitched voice that was a shade girlish. She then focused her attention on her adversary.

“Mr. Simpson, how old were you when you met your wife?”

“Seventeen or eighteen.”

“Had you graduated from high school?”

“No, we started dating during our senior year. ”

“And you testified on direct examination that you were married in August a few months after high-school graduation. Is that correct?”

“Yes.”

“Where did you spend the first four years of your married life?”

“In Chapel Hill, North Carolina.”

“Why were you living in North Carolina?”

“I was a student at the University of North Carolina.”

“Was your wife also in school?”

“No. She worked.”

“What type of work?”

“Uh, she had several different jobs. Mostly clerical.”

Alexia retrieved a stack of papers from the corner of the table where Marilyn Simpson sat watching.

“Did she work more than one job at a time?”

“Occasionally. She liked to stay busy.”

“Were you also working?”

“No, I was concentrating on my education.”

Alexia looked down at the top sheet of paper. “Was one of her employers a law firm in Chapel Hill—Little, Goodman, & Greer?”

“I think so. I don't remember the exact name.”

“Did she also work three nights a week as a convenience store clerk?”

“Uh, yes, for a while.”

Alexia's eyes flashed with a hint of green fire. “Would it surprise you to know that I have employment records showing your wife worked a combined average of fifty-seven hours a week at the law firm and the convenience store for more than two years?”

The witness shifted in the chair. “That sounds like too much, but I remember we bought a new car and needed to make the payments.”

Alexia took a step forward. “Would you like to review the employment records for yourself ?”

“No,” he responded quickly. “If the records are accurate, the math should be simple. But she didn't work as much when we started our family.”

“When was your first child born?”

“My junior year in college.”

“And was she pregnant toward the end of your senior year?”

“Yes, with our second child.”

“Did she continue working?”

“Only at the law firm.”

“Forty hours a week?”

Simpson looked toward his lawyer, an older attorney named Byron Smith. Smith didn't offer any help, and the witness ran his finger along the inside of his collar.

“Whatever the records show. I don't remember if it was a full-time job or not.”

“Did she work outside the home after you graduated from college?”

“Some. It took a while to get my business off the ground, and then she stopped working. Even though I've had a few tough years recently, she hasn't worked in years. I wanted her at home with our kids.”

“How long has she been completely dependent on your income?”

He looked up and mentally calculated the passage of time. “About ten years.”

“Have you had another child during that time?”

“Yes.”

Alexia put the employment records on the table and slid a thick folder to a place where it would be handy.

“Mr. Simpson, you testified that for the past three years you've received all of your income from Simpco, a real-estate development company. Is that correct?”

“Yes.”

“What does Simpco do?”

“We identify locations for gas stations, obtain options on the land, and market the properties to major oil companies.”

“How many parcels of land have you sold in the past three years?”

“Eight. That's why my income has only been around $40,000 a year. I gave Marilyn copies of my business tax returns and asked her to provide them to you.”

Alexia gave the witness a slight smile. “Thank you for your cooperation, Mr. Simpson. I have carefully reviewed each one.”

Alexia opened the folder and took out a single sheet of paper.

“Are you familiar with a company called Nesbitt Enterprises?”

“Sure, they are a competitor of ours. They do the same thing we do except on a much bigger scale all over the country. They also develop shopping malls.”

“Do you have any ownership interest in Nesbitt?”

“No.”

Alexia handed the sheet of paper to the court reporter who marked it as an exhibit. She then showed it to Greg Simpson's lawyer, who put on his glasses, made a few notes, and passed it back to her. Alexia moved a few steps closer to Simpson but did not show him the sheet of paper.

“Are you the same G. L. Simpson who is listed as a partner with Nesbitt in an LLC developing a 200,000-square-feet shopping mall in Phoenix, Arizona?”

“That's not directly with Nesbitt.”

“Is it part of Simpco?”

“Uh, no.”

“What do Nesbitt's records show as the value of your interest in the LLC?”

Simpson squirmed in his seat and stared at the sheet of paper in Alexia's hand before answering. “I'm not sure.”

Without showing him the document, Alexia returned to the folder and took out another document, which was marked as an exhibit. After showing it to Simpson's lawyer, she handed it directly to the witness.

“What does this page from the minutes of a corporate meeting of Nesbitt's directors indicate as your contribution to the Phoenix project?”

Simpson looked down at the paper and didn't answer.

“Take your time, Mr. Simpson,” Alexia interjected. “I want you to be sure about your answer.”

Simpson cleared his throat. “Two parcels of land worth $450,000.”

Alexia picked up the first sheet of paper and handed it to the witness. “And what is the estimated value of your share at the beginning of this fiscal year?”

“$925,000. But that's highly speculative.”

“Would you be willing to transfer your interest in the LLC to your wife as part of the property division in this case and let her bear the risk of loss?”

Simpson's face grew red. “Who told you—,” he sputtered.

Byron Smith stood to his feet. “Objection, Your Honor.”

“On what grounds?” the judge asked.

“May we approach the bench?” Smith requested.

“Yes.”

Alexia joined Smith in front of the judge.

In an intense whisper, the older lawyer began, “I didn't know about this—”

“Because his client didn't tell him,” Alexia responded dryly. “He probably didn't tell him how he was able to buy two pieces of real estate worth $450,000 on a $40,000 a year income.”

“Can we take a break so I can talk to my client?” Smith asked.

The judge frowned. “Ms. Lindale has him on cross-examination.”

“Then can we have a session with the court in chambers?” Smith asked.

“That's fine with me,” Alexia said.

The judge raised his head. “Very well. Court will be in recess for fifteen minutes while I consult with the attorneys. Mr. Simpson, you may leave the witness stand but may not consult with anyone.”

Alexia gathered the files from her table. Marilyn Simpson leaned forward. “What's happening?” she asked.

“They're on the run and want the judge to help them out of it. I'll be back in a few minutes.”

The two lawyers followed Judge Garland from the courtroom to his chambers. The judge took off his robe and hung it on a hook behind the door.

“Alright,” the judge said. “What do you want to discuss?”

Smith began, “Your Honor, Ms. Lindale's allegations regarding my client's financial status were not revealed in pretrial discovery. I need a continuance to review the records she is using to cross-examine Mr. Simpson.”

“Did you ask her to provide this information?” the judge asked.

“Yes, I requested all documents supporting her client's claims for child support and alimony.”

The judge looked at Alexia. “Your response?”

Alexia opened one of her folders. “The request for production of documents states ‘all financial, personal, or business records of the party which in any way support her claims for child support and alimony.' The request is for Mrs. Simpson's records, not those of her husband. I furnished her records to Mr. Smith within the time required by the rules; Mr. Simpson's decision not to provide his attorney with his records was not my responsibility.”

“Let me see,” the judge responded.

Alexia handed him the information. Both lawyers waited while the judge quickly read the filings.

“Very well,” he said. “I'm going to allow Ms. Lindale to proceed with her questioning.”

Smith hesitated and then looked at Alexia.

“What do you want?” the lawyer asked.

Alexia was ready. “One-half of his interest in the LLC together with another $250,000 in cash. Child support of $2,000 a month per child through college with comprehensive health insurance and payment of four years' tuition at the South Carolina average for private institutions at the time each child begins matriculation. Alimony of another $7,500 a month for five years or until my client remarries, whichever comes first, and total indemnification for any unpaid taxes on returns through the current tax year.”

The older lawyer's face flushed. “My client doesn't have that kind of cash or income flow. There had better be plenty of room for negotiation.”

“Not at this point.” Alexia patted the folder in her lap. “Tell him I know about KalGo and see if he agrees.”

Forty-five minutes later the judge dismissed the jury and put the terms of the agreement on the record with the court reporter. There had been no further negotiation. Greg Simpson had raised a white surrender flag rather than face further dissection of his secret business dealings. When Simpson capitulated, Alexia agreed that the court reporter need not prepare a transcript of anything except the terms of the settlement. There would be no hot trail for the IRS to follow. Alexia walked triumphantly from the courtroom. Marilyn Simpson joined her.

Alexia turned to her client. “I'll prepare a property settlement, alimony, and child support agreement consistent with what was stated in court and send it to your husband's lawyer by the first of next week.”

“Can he back out of it?”

“Not without risking jail for contempt of court. The basic terms of the agreement are on the record in front of the judge. It's all out in the open now.”

Greg Simpson and his attorney exited the courtroom and brushed past Alexia and Marilyn without speaking. Her face sad, Marilyn watched her soon-to-be ex-husband as he retreated in defeat.

Alexia noticed and asked, “What is it?”

“Did I do the right thing?” Marilyn asked.

“Of course,” Alexia responded curtly. “You're getting a good settlement for yourself and your children. Your husband made his choice when he filed for the divorce.”

“I know, but it doesn't feel as satisfying as I thought it would.”

Alexia softened. “It's impossible to put a price tag on a broken relationship, but it will feel better when you get the checks every month and don't have to go back to work at a convenience store. I've seen too many women who didn't seize the opportunity to get what they deserved and lived to regret it.”

“I'm sure you're right.” Marilyn sighed. “I'm just hurt. Knowing he intended to hide all that money even when he was under oath made me wonder what else wasn't right in our marriage.”

Alexia didn't answer. Her private investigator was sure Greg Simpson had a mistress in Savannah but couldn't connect the dots before the case was called for trial. Without proof, Alexia didn't burden Marilyn Simpson with rumors of adultery. Clients who suspected their husbands of infidelity often told Alexia that not knowing the truth was worse than having their suspicions confirmed; however, when incriminating photographs left no doubt of unfaithfulness, the women's reactions to the stark reality of betrayal always exceeded their previous concerns. When fully exposed, the face of evil is always worse than imagined. In Marilyn Simpson's case, adultery wouldn't have made a difference. Alexia knew modern-day divorce proceedings focused on money, not morality.

Lawyer and client parted in front of the courthouse. Marilyn walked toward a blue minivan. Alexia unlocked the door of her silver BMW and put the thick folder that contained the Simpson file in the passenger seat.

The afternoon weather in Santee was the type natives loved and tourists avoided. It was cold enough that the summer's insect horde was no longer poised to feast on every inch of exposed human flesh and too cool for visitors to splash in the ocean that lay five miles to the east. Alexia had a native's perspective. The death of the insects grown fat on the flesh of hundreds of thousands of people who flocked to the Grand Strand every year was a welcome event. The cooler weather also didn't keep Alexia out of the water; it beckoned her to spend more time on the marsh and in the ocean.

Growing up, Alexia had lived in four states and two foreign countries, but her favorite place on earth was the South Carolina coast. The five years her family lived in Charleston had been the happiest of her life. So during her second year of law school at the University of Florida, she spread out a map on the kitchen table in her tiny apartment and drew a line fifty miles up and down the East Coast with Charleston in the middle. The line became the area where she focused her job search.

Because her grades were not good enough to open the door to a prestigious Charleston law firm, she began exploring opportunities in smaller communities where female lawyers would have been an anomaly thirty years before but now occupied a recognized niche in the legal field, especially in domestic relations practice. Many women embroiled in a divorce were fed up with men in general and wanted a female attorney to represent them when litigating with deadbeat husbands. With her strong sense of justice and willingness to represent the underdog, Alexia quickly developed a reputation as a divorce specialist who had a knack for ferreting out information that obtained a better result for her clients. When Marilyn Simpson's pain subsided, she would tell her friends about her lawyer's exploits, and the steady flow of clients into Alexia's office would continue.