Irreparable Harm Read Free

Mickey Collins’ offices. Mickey’s one of the most successful plaintiff’s attorneys in town. The Aston Martin parked right under the security light in the lot next door is his. I’ve been working here eight years and I can count the number of times I’ve seen it in the lot after six p.m. He’s in there, working the phones, trying to find the widow of someone on that flight so he can head into court first thing in the morning and file with a named class representative. You can count on it.”
    Joe looked down, sheepish.
    “Hey, it was a good question, Joe.” Sasha valued someone who would speak up in a group. “Why don’t you work on putting together background information on whichever Western District judges are the most likely candidates to be assigned the next MDL case filed here?”
    “Will do.” Joe sat up straighter.
    “Good. Anyone want to volunteer for the conflict of laws analysis?”
    Kaitlyn Hart raised her pen. “I’ll do it.”
    “Great.” Sasha turned to Peterson. “Are you meeting with Metz tomorrow, Noah?”
     “Yes. He’s coming here for a lunch meeting. We’ll do it in the office. The press will be all over their offices tomorrow.”
    “Okay. That means I’ll need both memos by mid-morning, so I can review them before Noah and I meet with in-house counsel.”
    Joe and Kaitlyn both nodded, as they scribbled notes on their legal pads.
    “The rest of you will get your assignments at the morning meeting.”
    Sasha felt a smidgeon of guilt that the others had been pulled off their late-night document review tasks only to hurry up and wait, but that was just a fact of big firm life. It could be maddeningly inefficient.
    “Any other questions?”
    No one spoke. A few people shook their heads.
    It was nearly one in the morning. Time to cut people loose.
    “Then we’re done. See you in the morning.”
     

 
     
     
     
     
     
    Chapter 4
     
    Outside Blacksburg, Virginia
     
    As a weak autumn sun rose over the mountains, the recovery team combed through what was left of Flight 1667. It was only October, but a hard frost blanketed the ground.
    The men and women who had started out as a rescue team late the night before were chilled through and exhausted. Once they had wheeled out the bright work lights and seen the crash site, they’d known there’d be no rescuing, and the adrenaline that had propelled them out of their warm beds had drained away.
    Now—under the supervision of a cluster of glum and mostly silent TSA and NTSB officials—the volunteer firefighters, EMTs, and local police officers worked shoulder to shoulder, bagging and cataloguing charred body parts, twisted curls of metal, shards of cell phones and laptops, and scraps of rollerboard bags.
    Marty Kowalski spotted a piece of polka dotted fabric and bent, knees cracking, to inspect it. It was roughly the size of a sheet of loose-leaf paper and had once been a cream color, dotted gaily with light pink, mocha brown, and soft blue circles. It looked somehow familiar, but Marty couldn’t put his finger on why.
    Where had he seen fabric like this before? His tired brain searched his memory but came up empty. He turned the fabric over and it stuck; the backing was some kind of plastic that had partially melted into the ground. As Marty pulled it free, the plastic liner jarred something in his memory, and he realized he was looking at what remained of a diaper bag: a cheerful pastel pattern, lined with a protective plastic covering.
    A mother had carefully counted out the diapers she’d need for the flight, adding a few extras just in case. Then, she’d folded in a case of wipes and a travel-size tube of soothing diaper cream, tossed in a soft toy or board book to keep the baby entertained on the plane, and probably shoved a well-worn blanket or stuffed animal on top.
    Now, all that was left was this torn scrap of the bag, and mother and baby were scattered among the ashes blowing across the smoky field. Marty’s stomach