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“Should we go to the police?”
“Turn him in? Yourbrother, my son?” My mother’s eyes filled with tears. “Honestly, I don’t know if I can do that.”
“What if he can make a deal?”
“Still, if Stan’s involved, they’ll charge him…” My mother’s voice trailed off, and she wiped her eyes. “I mean, how long do you think a law firm lasts, when they start turning in their clients?”
“If the clients have done wrong—”
“It would be a scandal, and the press would be terrible. It could ruin us, everything we’ve done, all our hard work—it would be wasted. It would kill your father. Oh no.” My mother covered her face, and I put an arm around her. Her back felt frail, and I had a horrible sense she was breaking.
“Everything’s going to be okay.”
“How?” My mother lifted her face from her hands. Emotion mottled the skin on her face and neck. “I don’t know what to do for you.”
“You don’t have to do anything for me. You shouldn’t do anything.”
“Of course I should. I’m your mother, and John’s. I can’t let him get away with this. I’ll have to figure this out. Get things back in order.” My mother kept shaking her head, looking away. “I want to have a talk with John, but he’ll deny it, and your father will believe him. The family will split in two.”
I came to the same realization, and the notion left me unmoored, tethered to nothing. “Listen, don’t do anything yet. Sleep on it. Remember you always used to say that?”
“Yes.” My mother nodded slowly.
I glanced at my watch. “I have to get changed to meet Gabby. She has a big meeting in her pro bono case. She told me not to be late.”
“Right, that’s important,” my mother said vacantly. “Go get dressed.”
“You all right?” I stood up, my hand on her shoulder.
“Do I have a choice?” my mother answered matter-of-factly.
Chapter Thirty-Five
The conference room held more lawyers than I’d seen in my lifetime, attorneys for the City of Philadelphia, the College of Physicians of Philadelphia, the University of Pennsylvania, Johnson & Johnson, Bausch Health, Rhone Pharma, and Fournette Laboratories, with a few counterparts listening on Zoom.
Gabby was holding the meeting in a space-for-rent in Hessian Post Plaza, a corporate park off Route 202, since Devlin & Devlin was a shambles. The requisite prints of city hall, Eakins Oval, and Boathouse Row covered three walls, and the fourth was smoked glass overlooking the parking lot. A long conference table dominated the room, and everyone found their swivel chair.
Gabby and I sat on one side, facing a corporate wall of lawyers behind laptops. She looked professional in a trim blue dress, and I had on the suit I’d worn for my guilty plea, which looked better without the handcuffs.
I kept an eye on the window for anything suspicious. I had to be on the lookout, but I didn’t know what I was on the lookout for. With Rigel dead, it wouldn’t be a Hyundai, but I didn’t know which car it would be. I didn’t have a face, either. It made me tense, on edge.
“Let’s get started, shall we?” Gabby motioned to me, so I reached into our boxy trial bag, extracted a bunch of thick Complaints, and handed them out before returning to my seat.
Gabby cleared her throat. “Thank you all for coming. I’ve already emailed you the Complaint I intend to file in this matter, and my colleague has just distributed hard copies. I’ll begin with the facts, explain why I think I’ll prevail, and end with the rationale for our damages claim of fifteen million dollars. I’ll take this case to trial if need be, but I’m hoping that we can settle as soon as possible.”
I watched the lawyers skim the Complaint, their expressions varying between professional interest and boredom, then returned my attention to the parking lot.
“The facts in this lawsuit are undisputed. The late Dr. Albert Kligman was a professor of dermatology at Penn’s medical school, and in the 1950s through the early seventies, he used thousands of inmates at Holmesburg as human subjects in medical experimentation, specifically in tests for hundreds of cosmetics, drugs, and other commercial products.”
Suddenly my gaze was drawn to something outside. A group of three women was leaving the building, and one of them looked familiar.
Gabby continued, “Our Complaint concerns the skin-patch tests and other dermatological testing that Dr. Kligman conducted on inmates at Holmesburg. I represent seven former inmates who now have melanoma and have experienced untold pain, suffering, and financial losses over decades as a result of the testing. As you know, among other drugs, the testing supported the research and development of Retin-A and Renova, which have proven incredibly lucrative for your corporate defendants. Simply put, it’s time to pay my clients for the heinous damage your clients caused them.”
I realized I recognized one of the women outside. It was Patrick’s niece Maya, whom I’d stood up the other night. She and her friends stopped to talk between the cars in the parking lot.
Meanwhile the young female assistant general counsel for the University of Pennsylvania was speaking up. “Gabby, I hope you’re aware that the current dean of Penn’s medical school issued a formal apology for what Dr. Kligman did, in August 2021.”
The assistant city solicitor chimed in, “Yes, the City apologized, too, in October 2022, via Mayor Kenney himself.”
