Chapter 22

CHAPTER 22

Ellis

The next day at the deposition, you'd never know Jordan had stressed long and hard over the case.

Last night, he'd worked himself to exhaustion at the gym. I'd had to stop him more than once to ensure he didn't injure himself. And when he'd wrung out all the frustration he could on the gym machinery, I'd taken him into the showers and let him pour it into me.

I'd gotten to my knees on the tile and encouraged him to fuck my mouth. Jordan had been hesitant at first, but once he let go of his restraint, he went hard.

My voice had been so hoarse this morning that Maggie had teased me about it over our workout. But I didn't mind. Because now Jordan was settled in his skin. Poised and confident.

I liked to think it had at least a little to do with me.

Jordan's suit was a respectable navy blue, his tie a powerful red. His hair was better combed than usual. He looked every inch the professional.

I almost did a double-take when I first saw him. As good as he looked, I preferred my messy-haired, rumpled Jordan. This man was almost too polished.

He wasn't my Jordan.

Clay, Vic, and I flanked him at the conference table, while the plaintiff, Robert McIntyre, sat across from us with his own attorney, Gerald Horn. A court reporter was also present to record the testimony.

Jordan tapped the open file folder in front of him.

"How long were you a member of Flex Gym, Mr. McIntyre?"

McIntyre glanced at his lawyer, who nodded for him to answer.

"Almost two years."

"You used their equipment regularly?"

"Yes."

"So you know how to safely operate the equipment?"

"Yes."

"The leading cause of accidents in a gym is operator error." Jordan leaned in, as if he was sharing a friendly secret. "Without proving negligence, you don't have much of a case."

"Are you going to testify or let my client do it?" Gerald asked from across the table.

Jordan cleared his throat. "I'll move on. What makes you think Flex Gym is at fault for your accident?"

"I told them the bench on the machine?—"

"Please be more specific. What machine exactly are you naming in your complaint? Make and model, please."

"The FitnessMaster Pro-1 at Flex Gym," he rattled off without pause. "The bench had slipped before. I told them, but they didn't listen."

Wait, what…?

Jordan continued rapid-firing questions, probably hoping to trip up McIntyre when his story had remained frustratingly consistent.

"Why would you continue to use it if you knew it was faulty?"

"I assumed they'd fix it."

"But you didn't ask if it had been fixed before using the machine again? If it were me, I'd think twice if I knew for a certainty that a machine had been unsafe in the past. I'd definitely check twice if?—"

Gerald interjected again, pointing out that the liability of the machine was not his client's responsibility. But I was still hung up what he'd said several questions back.

Pieces were sliding into place in my brain.

The two different machine models. The injuries listed in the plaintiff's claim.

I put my hand on Jordan's arm to stop him. He glanced at me in question. I tried to communicate with a single look that I had something to say. He nodded, seeming to understand.

I jumped in. "Mr. McIntyre, how many times had you used the FitnessMaster at Flex?"

"I don't know. I went to the gym every week for almost two years. You do the math."

"So over a hundred times then?"

"I guess so."

"Enough times that you were very familiar with this machine."

"I knew how to use it, if that's what you mean. I didn't cause the accident."

"Counsel—" Gerald started to object.

"I'm simply verifying facts. Stay with me." On the file between me and Jordan, I picked up a pen and wrote, Pro!!! "You said a few minutes ago that the bench had slipped on the FitnessMaster Pro-1 before. Isn't that right?"

"Yeah, I did. I reported it more than once."

"For the FitnessMaster Pro-1?"

"Yeah, like I said several times already."

"So you used the FitnessMaster Pro-1 all those weeks that you exercised at Flex Gym. Nearly two years?"

" Yes ," McIntyre said, clearly getting impatient with me.

I glanced at Jordan, but he nodded for me to continue. My heart skipped.

"Would it surprise you, then, to learn there's no such machine at Flex Gym?"

"What? Yes, there is."

His attorney shifted forward. "We have verified the machine in question is there."

"The lawsuit names the FitnessMaster, but not the specific model," I said carefully.

"The claim lists the serial number of the machine. And there's only one FitnessMaster at Flex, so there's hardly grounds to claim confusion here," Gerald said.

"But your client must be confused, because he just contradicted his claim. He stated he was injured on a Pro-1, but Flex Gym does not own a FitnessMaster Pro-1. In fact, I'd guess no gyms do since it was recalled over two years ago."

There was a beat as everyone processed the ramifications. Victor sucked in a sharp breath. The opposing attorney grimaced.

McIntyre swallowed hard. "They must have one because I used it!"

"The Flex Gym owns a different model of the machine," I corrected. "You could not have used a Pro-1."

"Well, I meant that one then," he said quickly. "I just mixed up the models."

Too quickly. He was trying to squirm out of the lie he'd just spoken.

"But why would you?" I asked. "You stated you'd been going to Flex almost two years. They've never owned a Pro-1 in the entire time you've been a member."

"I don't know. It was just a slip of the tongue."

I hesitated, unsure where to take the questioning, but Jordan was on the same page, ready to strike.

"It is odd, though, that your explanation of your injuries lines up exactly with the reason the FitnessMaster Pro-1 was recalled for safety reasons."

"They do?" McIntyre averted his gaze. "That must be coincidence."

"They do," Jordan confirmed. "Which raises the question: Did you want to sue Flex Gym for your injuries so badly that you had to make up a story?"

"I've got the medical bills to prove my injury!"

"To prove an injury, yes," Jordan said. "But not necessarily one that was the fault of Flex Gym."

"Well, it was. It was the FitnessMaster. The model that's at Flex, whatever it is. It was faulty."

The man was sticking to his story, but I could see resignation creeping over his attorney's face. Even if we couldn't prove that McIntyre's claim was fraudulent, we'd cast some serious doubt on the matter.

"Do you know the model name of the FitnessMaster that is at Flex Gym?" Jordan asked. "The one you claim to have used a hundred times."

"I don't remember," he said. "It's not like they put the model names in a prominent place."

That was true. The name FitnessMaster was emblazoned across the side of the machine, but the model was written in relatively small type in a more discreet location. You had to look for it. Which Jordan and I had. But a regular gym visitor might not, even if they used it regularly.

"So why would you even know the name of the Pro-1 model?" Jordan pressed. "Unless you went home to research the FitnessMaster in hopes of finding information to help you fabricate a story."

"No—"

"And you found that the FitnessMaster Pro-1 had been recalled due to safety issues, and you assumed it was the same machine. That you could sue Flex Gym to cover your medical expenses?—"

"You're badgering the witness," Gerald tried, though he seemed halfhearted about his protest.

Jordan rolled right over him.

"How did you really get injured, Mr. McIntyre?"

"I..I-I—the machine?—"

"It didn't happen at the gym at all, did it?" Victor chimed in suddenly, eyes narrowed. "That's why gym management didn't see it happen. Why the only witness is a man you've been friends with for years. Why there was a lag of two hours before you went to the ER. You claimed in the suit you didn't realize the significance of your injuries until then, but really, they happened later , didn't they?"

"No! It was that damn gym!" McIntyre yelled, sounding flustered. "It was! You can't prove it wasn't! You can't prove the FitnessMaster didn't hurt me. I just said the wrong model name, and it's not even named in the lawsuit?—"

"Robert!" his lawyer snapped. "Be quiet."

"They've got no evidence that I lied about anything!"

Gerald Horn winced as his client admitted to lying by insisting we couldn't prove it. And he might be right about that. But we could introduce enough doubt to significantly impact the outcome of the case.

And his attorney knew it.

"You're under oath, Mr. McIntyre," Jordan said. "Are you sure you don't want to change your testimony?"

"I…uh…" McIntyre looked at his lawyer helplessly, transmitting his obvious guilt.

"We're done here," his lawyer said, pushing his chair back. "If you want to revisit a settlement offer…"

"I'm afraid it's too late for that," Jordan said. "We'll be filing for dismissal."

"I figured you'd say that." Horn extended his hand to shake. "Sorry for wasting your time and mine with this."

"Why are you acting like it's over?" McIntyre asked angrily. "We need to win!"

"Let's talk about it outside," he said, casting us an exasperated look, as if to say, do you see what I have to deal with?

"But Pamela will be furious," McIntyre said, anger giving way to cajoling. "She wanted me to sue. I wanted to just take that first offer from the gym, but no. Nothing is ever good enough for her. I can't walk away with nothing. She'll never let me hear the end of it!"

Gerald Horn led the still-protesting man out of the conference room.

I exhaled in a rush. "Is it really over?"

"We caught him in a lie," Clay said, "of course it's over!"

Jordan's lips twitched. "Let's not count our eggs before they're hatched. When we win our motion to dismiss and it's official, then we'll celebrate."

"What do you think really happened?" I wondered.

"My money is still on the fling he's having with his co-worker," Clay said. "If you'd let me pull that out, we really could have put the screws to him."

Jordan rolled his eyes, but a smile was tugging at his lips.

"His case was so flimsy," Victor said. "How did he get this far?"

"There have been lawsuits built on less," Jordan said. "He had legitimate injuries and medical bills. He produced a witness. He lied in his claim. He got further than he should have, but it never would have stood up in court." He grasped my hand and squeezed it. "We couldn't have done this without you, El. You caught the inconsistency when he referred to the model name."

"I knew there was something odd about this case being based on the same brand that had been recalled. I just couldn't figure it out until he was saying the wrong model. He planned it all along."

"Yeah. Once you pointed it out, all my research on the recalled model came flooding back. I realized his explanation of injuries lined up exactly."

"Now what?" I asked.

"Now, I go give Callahan the news."

"Should I call Mary Ann?"

He reached for the door. "Let's wait until it's official."

"Okay."

Jordan pulled the door open just as a woman screeched, "What? You lied ?!"

"Shhh!" McIntyre exclaimed. "I didn't!"

We all crowded out of the door behind Jordan. In the hallway, just steps from the conference room, Mr. McIntyre faced off with the woman I presumed to be his wife.

"What really happened?" she demanded.

"It was the gym…" He sounded even less sure under her withering gaze than he had in the deposition.

"It's something to do with her, isn't it?"

He spluttered. "Wh-what? No. That's over. I wouldn't?—"

"You would!" She slapped him, making several people gasp in shock. "You've got no other reason to lie about what happened. Tell me the truth!"

He lifted a hand to his face, wilting under her anger. "Fine, but it was just a silly accident. I wasn't having sex with that woman."

"Oh, are you going to quibble over the definition of sex now?" she asked dryly.

"N-no."

"So you did have sex with her again?"

"I didn't say that…"

She turned to a wide-eyed Gerald Horn. "Mr. Horn, if you're not too attached to representing my husband, I need a lawyer." She eyed Robert McIntyre. "For divorce!"

"Hell yes, girl," Vic murmured beside me. "You take his ass for everything."

I glanced over, catching a glimpse of the pain in his gaze before he noticed me and guarded his expression. I nudged him. "Amen, brother."

Vic's lips twitched in an almost smile, which was good enough for me.

" Now you can call Mary Ann," Jordan said before excusing himself to report to Callahan.

If there had been any doubt about the dismissal, there certainly wasn't now. Half the law firm had witnessed the altercation between McIntyre and his wife.

Jordan gave Gerald Horn a sympathetic look as he passed.

His kindness, rather than gloating, just reaffirmed what kind of man he was.

He'd taken charge in that room. He'd led the questioning, yet let me step up when I realized a new line of inquiry. And when I'd floundered, he'd been right there to pick up the slack again.

Jordan would make a brilliant lawyer.

And even more importantly, a compassionate one.

I couldn't think of a better mentor to have guided me through my first year of school—or a better man to call my boyfriend.

McIntyre's wife stormed off. He turned a helpless look on his lawyer.

"I didn't mean for all this to happen. Pamela was suspicious about the injury, and I came up with a plausible explanation. She wanted to sue, and I didn't know how to get out of it. It just kinda snowballed…"

"You should have been honest with me. I was your counsel."

"And now? Are you still?"

Gerald Horn shook his head. "Sorry, Robert. You're on your own this time."