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He huffs, reminding me of Jonah and Ellie. “A Cargill employee, by the name of Brad Garrison, slipped and fell at the site of our new ski lodge’s development. According to the affidavit, a zone was incorrectly marked, so he did not see the change in gradation between flooring. When he slipped and fell, he struck his head—
“Was he wearing a hardhat?”
“No. He is saying the signage for hardhats only was not in place, either.”
“Continue.”
“Garrison struck his head, becoming unconscious. Because of the change in the flooring’s gradation, there were some chemicals on the floor which caused him to suffer chemical burns on his arms and neck as well, and since he was unconscious—
“They were on his skin longer.”
He nods. “Honestly, Rowan, I think this is all just a ploy. The Cargill name means money, and everyone knows it. He’s just looking to bleed us dry.”
“Us?”
“You know what I mean.”
I did. On more than one occasion, Dixon had lamented the fact my parents didn’t have any daughters. He wanted to join the family in a bad way, so much so that he had cornered one of my cousins at a function once.
“And what does our site foreman have to say about any of this? The signage and all that?”
Dixon shrugs. “It’s not that different from Garrison’s affidavit. But our foreman says the signage was up, just not quite where it should have been.”
“So why do you object to the settlement amount his lawyer asked for?”
He frowns. “I just…they are looking for money, Rowan. I just explained this.”
“Yes, well, we have money. The man was injured on our property, and it sounds like our foreman onsite is not doing his job to the best of his ability.”
The center console phone beeps at us. “Mr. Cargill, Mr. Maynard, Mr. Garrison and his counsel are here.”
“Send them in,” I tell her.
Dixon scoffs. “You can’t be serious. If you settle with this guy, everyone who gets a splinter on Cargill property will come looking for a payout.”
“Then our properties shouldn’t be so splintery.”
He snorts his disapproval, but doesn’t say anything else.
I smirk and shrug as the guests arrive. After the handshaking is done and the coffees arrive, I ask for their version of events. Brad Garrison is a quiet young man. Composed. Monosyllabic. I wonder how much of that is brain damage and how much is just him normally.
His lawyer, Andre Hightower, has a small practice on his own. He had left a firm in New York City a few years back, and, by all accounts, it was not going well. He kept trying to help too many small clients, people whose cases had no meat, but they needed help. Andre is too good of a soul for this kind of work.
His cheap suit and demeanor don’t match. He’s trying, but we scared him to death. Still, he makes a wonderful effort. He’s even obtained the security footage. Good for him.
“…which is why, if this goes to court, we will win. It’s obvious from the video that the signage was not in the right place. I am sure none of us wants a lengthy court case—
Dixon scoffs a laugh. “Bynone of us, you mean you.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“You don’t want a lengthy court case, Andre. You want a settlement so you can keep the lights on at your rented office.”
“I want what all lawyers want, Dixon. The best possible outcome for my client. As I was saying, since none of us wants a lengthy court case, we are willing to settle for the amount here.” He passes a folded slip of paper.
But after Dixon and I look at it, Dixon laughs loudly, and I smile. He is so damned full of himself. “You think we would give you that kind of cash for what looks like a rash and unsubstantiated memory loss?”
“I cannot remember what my father’s face looked like before he died, Mr. Maynard,” Garrison says. “I had wanted more than that. But my lawyer said that was not realistic. He says this settlement is more than fair.”
