The Mind of A Calculated Predicament

It was a lovely day, like any other day. Courtney Winston walked out from her suburban driveway. She had been living in her three-bedroom house for a year. Courtney didn't have a family of her own, so Courtney turned her spare bedrooms into a workout room and home office. She had a touch of OCD and friends told her she was wound so tight, she would snap one day. Having been a recent graduate from Columbia University School of Law, she was well on her way to becoming a top-notch lawyer.

Courtney was not a particularly beautiful girl, but she was always neat and organized. On this day, Courtney wore a gray-blue skirt suit with blank pumps. She had just enough lift off the heel of her shoe to give her style, but it bordered on being practical. Courtney was headed down the driveway to pick up her garbage bin when she noticed a little black book. It was strange to her that someone would accidentally drop the book on her driveway. She walked over to it, looked around then bend to pick it up.

She looked around once again, and with no one in sight, she opened the book. The first three pages were blank, but the fourth page had what looked like coordinates. It read, 58°25'18.2 "N 12°8'21.5 "E. Underneath it said, come alone tonight if you want a $20,000 prize.

Courtney grabbed the bin and quickly deposited it into its place, then went inside her home. She placed the small black book on her kitchen counter and went to finish dressing. She was intrigued by this find but thought maybe this is a hoax. As she was heading out the door, she stopped, turned back, and grabbed the small black book. She thought maybe someone at work could figure out the coordinates.

Courtney worked for a small law firm in Manhatten - Berman, Lock, and Goodall. She was at the tail end of a class-action lawsuit for which she was the lead attorney. The suit was a Manhatten based company that illegally dumped chemicals near a Fort Lauderdale landfill, which seeped into their water system. The contaminated water caused various physical ailments and even death. It was the people vs. Wellington Pharmaceutical. This company was so aggressive and fierce that were it not for an employee who had the foresight to obtain video evidence of the company in action along with two internal memos from the CEO; there would be no way to win.

The case was coming to an end the next day. The other side had already given their closing argument; hers would occur tomorrow. The jurors all seem to be with her except two. Courtney felt it was difficult to read them, so tomorrow, she would close her argument and more than likely win.

At lunch, Courtney popped into James Statham's office. He was her best friend and resident know-it-all on the job. She took the small black book to James and showed him the coordinates. He expressed to her that $20,000 is a lot of money, so there has to be a catch. She told him she realizes that it's likely to be a hoax, but she was curious. It feels like a scavenger hunt; she went on. He told her from the coordinates; it appears to be the old abandoned fire station downtown as he searched on Google Earth. She asked James if he thinks she should go? He looked at her as if she were mad. Then told her plainly that the book is quite obviously a hoax. He did, however, go on to say to her it's worth checking out. She asked him if he would be willing to go with her? There was no specific time, so he told her maybe, after work.

The rest of the day went as planned. Courtney put the final touches on the closing argument for her case tomorrow. It was about 8 PM. She went to James' office and found him slumped over the chair. He looked dead, but maybe he fell asleep, she thought to herself. Courtney walked over and put her finger on his neck. She screamed for help, but no one came. It was late in the evening, and the only people still there were the cleaning crew. She called 911. James was dead.

When the police arrived, they questioned her as though she was a suspect. Two men walked into the conference room where they had told her to wait on the detectives. When they walked in, one appeared cold and uninterested, and the other had a more relaxed demeanor. As the questions began, the warm, friendly one, Detective Turner, was devious. He almost had an evil edge to him. How wrong she was about Detective Erickson, the cold, uncaring one, was rather kind.

Detective Turner kept asking her why she had gone in to see James. Were they planning to meet later? Where were they going? She finally broke down and told them everything, including the little black book and the $20,000. The one question that bothered her was when Detective Turner asked if she would still go to the place. Detective Turner went on to say would you like someone to go with you. She wondered if he were volunteering? Detective Erickson dismissed what was being said and asked if Courtney thought the black book had anything to do with his death. She told them that she didn't believe that it did. She was there for two minutes more then they told her she could go home.

Courtney looked at the black book and threw it in the garbage.

She turned out the lights to her office and walked out. Courtney walked down the hall, but curiosity got the better of her. It wasn't that she needed the money; she just wanted to know if the twenty thousand was there and the mystery behind it.

Courtney took the train downtown and got off four blocks from the old fire station. She knew where the old station was. It was not in the best part of town, and there she was dressed for success. The streets seem deserted that late at night. It was about half-past ten. She walked a few more blocks, and the only face she was a bum laying by a corner store. She looked around asked herself what the hell she was doing there. This situation was what she thought of as morbid curiosity. No one in their right mind would be in this area at this hour of the night. Something compelled her on; she went to the old fire station. She walked to the back and opened the door. There was a table with broken chairs. There was a shadow in the corner. Courtney took out a pepper spray her mother had given her two years ago. She squinted her eyes to adjust to the darker space.

Detective Turner stood there.

"Well, you showed up after all. I didn't think you would come."

"What is this about, she inquired? Why are you here?"

"The company you are sewing would like to present you with an offer."

"What do you mean?" Why meet me in this place to put a deal on the table?"

"You are not understanding," he said. "We want you to throw the case."

"Why would I do that?" She said, "We are winning."

She thought to herself, what did he mean by "we." Doesn't he work for the police department as a detective? She went on to tell him she would do no such thing. He threw a briefcase in front of her. She stooped to open it, and inside, she saw the $20,000 the little black book said would be there.

"Listen, lady, these people aren't playing with you. You either take the money and throw the case, or something terrible will happen to you as it did to your friend. You see how far they can go by killing the one person you told about the money. You are not getting it; it's not an option. They are telling you to do it or else. The money is just an incentive."

Detective Turner walked away. He left her there, confused and alone. Courtney didn't know what to make of this predicament. She took the briefcase with the $20,000 and left. When she got home, she sat at her table and began to think of all the possible options she had.

Morning came, and Courtney was exhausted from the lack of sleep. She didn't dare include anyone else in this debacle, for surely they would end up dead. No! No!, this was something Courtney had to do on her own. She had to decide what was most important. Was being alive more essential or having integrity?

Courtney walked into the courtroom that morning. She still had not decided what she would do. Should she present a weak and ambiguous closing argument? That would imply the company did nothing wrong. Should she offer a strong opinion and be damned? As Courtney sat in the chair, she chuckled to herself a nervous chuckle. She had remembered part of Hamlet's soliloquy, "To die, to sleep. To sleep, perchance to dream—ay, there's the rub..."

The judge called her name. "Ms. Winston." He repeated,

"Ms. Winston, do you hear me."

She stared at him with a blank look. This situation is crazy, she thought. She thought about all those people; some had lost their lives in the process, leaving children with no money to care for them. What would happen to the spouses left in debt because of the illness? This company had carelessly destroyed lives. These lives will never be the same again. Shouldn't someone pay for this? She became angry now; how dare they try to bribe and threaten her all at the same time. She felt, like any bully, the only solution is to face them head-on.

Courtney stood up and presented the best argument against the corporation that she could. She felt that if she were going to die, it would be for something right.

"I would never be able to live with myself if I let those people down, she muttered to herself."

After the argument was over, she told the judge she would like to approach the bench as the jurors went off to deliberate. She told the judge what happened. The opposing counsel denied any knowledge. They called the police and turned over the money to the authorities. She told them about Detective Turner, who she suspected murdered her friend James.

The jurors came back in less than an hour with a verdict of guilty.

Courtney walked out of the courtroom, overjoyed at what she had accomplished. She thought to herself, I stood up to a bully today and won. With a feeling of joy, she crossed the street to get to the train station. A car careening out of nowhere slammed right into her, killing her instantly.