Page 19 of Demo
LYZBETH
Theelevatorattheattorney’s office dings and Cherice, Carl “Mr. Fancy Lawyer” Phillips and I reach the third floor. We are greeted by a young woman in a pantsuit, not too unlike Cherice’s, who escorts us to an office with a large, dark-oak table that looks like it sits twelve. Carl undoes the button on his suit jacket as he takes a seat, while I shrug out of my blazer and hang it over the back of the chair next to him. I decided earlier my black pencil skirt looked classy enough for our meeting with the King family.
Cherice sits to my right, and the three of us are facing the open door, waiting for Mrs. King and her oldest son, Anthony, to join us with their legal representatives.
As the moments tick on, I suspect they are trying to make us sweat. We are offered bottled water and coffee by the pleasant staff of Langley & Partners as we wait patiently.
Just as I am about to stand up and exercise my legs, a tall, thin man sweeps into the room carrying a briefcase, followed by a leggy blonde in a knee-length sheath dress, who motions for their clients to take a seat as Mrs. King and Anthony file in.
“Kendrick Langley,” the tall fellow announces cordially as he extends his hand across the table, first to Carl, then me, and lastly, Cherice. “This is my assistant, Annette Allen.” We repeat the handshakes with Ms. Legs.
Mr. Langley smooths his tie as he removes a pen from behind his ear and smiles at the three of us. “A bit chilly out today, isn’t it?” He’s trying to be cute, since it’s like 95 degrees out—even though it’s practically fall.
“Definitely too cold for my blood, but then again I’m a Georgia native, Mr. Langley,” Carl quips.
“Please, call me Ken.”
As the pleasantries continue, I steal a few glances at the Kings. Anthony is tugging on his tie while his mother clasps and unclasps her hands in her lap. At one point she looks up and we lock eyes, before we both look away.
“Alright, I guess we should get down to business,” Ken opens his briefcase and pulls out a piece of paper. “Now, the Kings are seeking corrective action against a number of different individuals and groups involved in Jerome’s death and the events surrounding it. When it comes to ROC Record, specifically, the Kings are not seeking damages. Rather, the family hopes you’ll divulge information that was gathered from sources during the research for the articles written about Jerome’s death.”
Cherice starts to shift in her chair, but Carl shoots her adon’t say a wordlook and chimes in. “That’s not the protocol we typically follow for a situation such as this,” he says.
“And we absolutely understand that, but considering the unique nature of this case, we were hoping some sort of alliance could be worked out.”
Cherice shifts again. “Are you referring to the suit filed against the police department?” she asks.
My eyes widen as I stare at her.What?
“Actually, Mrs. Armstrong, so far all that’s been filed is an intent to file,” Ken responds. “And, let me also remind you that this is all off the record, of course.” He shoots a glance my way, and I close my gaping mouth.
“What kind of alliance are you talking about, Ken?” Carl interjects.
Ken glances at his clients, then dives into his briefcase and pulls out photographed copies of our newspaper, specifically articles I have written on the case. “Well, there are some differences between what the police have told the family and what has been printed in your newspaper.” He slides one paper across the table and points to a highlighted part.
“Here, where it states that drugs and paraphernalia were found in Jerome’s possession, that’s not what the Kings were told when they first arrived on the scene.”
I glance at Mrs. King, who is following along closely.
“You see, the commanding officer at the scene told Mrs. King there were drugs found in the building, and a substantial amount was later found in his vehicle, but none of the first responders who treated Jermone, nor the police who did the initial investigation, reported finding drugs on his body.”
Ken looks up at me. “Did you get that information from a report?”
“Please direct your questions at me, Ken,” Carl snaps.
“He told me that, himself,” I answer.
Carl snaps at me, “Lyzbeth!”
“Who?” Ken asks.
“Chief Scott.”
“Not another word,” Carl spits out at me. “Mr. Langley, this is highly unprofessional.”
Ken exchanges a glance with the Kings and pulls out another article. “Here,” he points to another highlighted part. “You quoted a neighbor named Celia Stewart.” He looks back up at me, and I nod.
“That’s it!” Carl slams his hands on the table. “This meeting is done.” He stands up.
