“Sure.”
“Thanks, man!I appreciate you.I’ll email you the deets.Oh, and by the way, your girl Aya was looking for you earlier.In case you wanna get on that.”Collin winked and, after pointing a ridiculous finger gun at him, left.
If Aya heard him or anyone refer to her asBaz’s girl, she would verbally eviscerate them until they were nothing but a pile of ash.She had not been made equity partner at the young age of thirty-nine—four years ago now—to be considered a senior associate’sgirl.Especially not the way Collin meant it.
No one in their right mind would ever think something romantic was going on between Baz and Aya, which said a lot about Collin.Actually, Baz suspected Aya was queer too, not that she discussed her dating life in the office.Neither did Baz.Only Aya knew he was gay, and he hadn’t exactly told her either.
A few months into their partnership, when working for an exceptionally handsome client, she had asked if he was Baz’s type because why else was he drooling—and met his surprised “You know?”with a dry “You really think I’d let you into my house when I’m by myself if I thought you were straight?”
And sure, that made sense.All but the part where she had figured him out when no one else did.Such an impeccable gaydar required membership to the community, he was sure of it.
Admittedly, keeping his sexuality under wraps was a decision he questioned more with every one of Collin’s ‘jokes’ whenever Baz so much as talked to a woman.He still wouldn’t come out, obviously, before that became the talk of the town too and held him back in his career.Still, why anyone cared to make assumptions about Baz’s sex life—or current lack thereof—he would never understand.
With a sigh, Baz focused back on the screen.The download still had seventeen minutes and thirty seconds to go.Screw this.There had to be physical copies in Grash’s office.
A paralegal was already in there, stacking folders.Short, copper hair in a messy bun.What was it, Catherine?Caitlin?
“Oh, hi.I was about to drop them off at your office,” she—Karen?—said.
“Might as well save you a trip,” Baz said, looking around Grash’s old office.
Nice, big space, this.An appropriate amount of storage, unlike his office.There’d even be room for a couch in front of the low windows, offering a great view over Michigan Avenue.If this case proved to be his golden ticket, why should the work be the only thing he took over from Grash?
With that goal in mind, Baz dove right into his freshly uncovered treasure.
Forty-two plaintiffs, all diagnosed with some form of cancer, mostly with non-Hodgkin’s lymphoma.They had all been members of a youth sports club out in Dixmoor six years ago, one that used Captain Green’s herbicide to keep the multi-purpose pitch in shape.Throughout the summer season, a lot of the then-teenagers as well as some members of the staff had complained about skin lesions.By Christmas time, the first person received the damning diagnosis.Different schools, different neighborhoods, different sports, even—all they had in common was the club.That seemed pretty cut and dry.
Baz flicked through the pages, and, oh boy.Grash had clearly consulted an expert for the chemistry of it all.
The illustrations of molecules had the gates guarding Baz’s brain slam shut with a heartyno thank you.Dreaming about how he would furnish Grash’s office was much nicer—Focus.Something legible must be hidden between the insanely long names of chemicals and paragraphs explaining their reactions… Oh, screw this.
He skipped ahead to the conclusion: extremely high levels of Tetrachlorodibenzodioxin—TCDD for short—had been found in the ground.A toxic dioxin that the International Agency for Research on Cancer labeled a known human carcinogen.
Low-level exposure was considered harmless, unavoidable even, but the contamination was so bad, the local groundwater was deemed unsafe for consumption.Baz vaguely remembered hearing that on the news a few years ago.
He skipped to the next page, to the part that explained that TCDD could emerge as a byproduct if too much heat was applied during the herbicide’s manufacturing process.And only then.Meaning, there was zero room for the opposition to argue the club was at fault for improper storage.
Why, hello, smoking gun, how nice to meet you.
No wonder Captain Green was intent on settling; the mere accusation of such an oversight must have cost them millions in business already.They must be willing to pay a pretty penny to absolve themselves from responsibility—
No way.
He frowned at the unsigned settlement agreement.Five hundred thousand dollars per plaintiff?That was nothing, considering Captain Green’s negligence had given a bunch of kids cancer, the youngest having been twelve at the time of diagnosis.Of course Captain Green would agree to this!
Grash had dropped the ball, massively.A company owned by Breme, the biggest bio-industry complex on the planet, could easily afford to hand out more than mere peanuts.
Well.Erika had only said to settle the case—she hadn’t said anything about settling forthis.Baz could get a better deal.He would.
For the sake of the clients, of course.
Chapter three
Wavesoflukewarmcoffeecrashed against the insides of the mug in Baz’s jittery grip.At some point, his phone had stopped buzzing with messages from Eevee asking when—if—he was coming, and the rising sun had swallowed the artificial white light in his office.He ignored the pounding in his head as he reread the last note on his steadily growing list; the one about the average cost of cancer treatments.
After going through forty-two claims—the plaintiffs’ individual grievances, their diagnoses, their exposure—two things were obvious.
One, they needed to demand at least a million dollars per person.
