CHAPTER SIX
“THE COURT rules in favor of Mrs. Sandra Kufre. And her marital name be given to her unless she otherwise wishes it. The deceased's family are hereby restricted from any form of contact with the defendant unless otherwise appealed to in a court of law by the defendant. The family is charged to return every pin, nail or hammer taken either forcefully or without the consent of the defense. And the will is honored.” The gavel sounded. “Next case in five minutes.”
As they all rose, Sandra grinned at her. “Told you I would win.”
Unable to help it, Samantha began to laugh, 'And I did say you didn't need my intellectual expertise in the courtroom. The pitch fork could have done the work very nicely.”
“Thank you, Sammy. I just wish you'd consider marriage.”
Samantha winced inwardly. The only time she did, she muddled it up.
“That cute guy has been staring at you since the sitting like his world revolves around you.”
Samantha turned about, “Who, Mark?”
“I don't know him, Sam but you obviously do. Give him a chance. He just might be the one.”
When Samantha frowned, she laughed, “And you're not getting any younger, Sam. Now, I have to go take care of my sweet-pie right here. We're almost due. And mother is coming the day after. I have to go look like I've been lazing in bed all along. Else, she'd pull my ears. You're the best, Sam.” And off she went.
Samantha frowned at Sandra's back and turned to search for Mark. All through the seating, she'd felt his eyes on her. In here, she couldn't risk betraying herself or her professionalism by petty indulgence.
After a futile search with her next client approaching, she got up to greet them, just in time to see Mark enter the judges chamber.
∞ ∞ ∞
“Tell me, boy. What would you rather be doing right now?”
Mark paused halfway into the room, considering the question from all angles and finally dredge up a smile and a response, “Dozing off on a beach in Aruba, with my personal assistant giving me update on the current state of my million-dollar multifaceted company.”
The judge’s brow rose “That's a big dream on a small body.”
“It helps me sleep with a smile, so, I try to keep it alive.”
He accepted the glass the Judge offered him but didn't dare take a sip. The content smelled strong enough to knock a strong person out if not minimally consumed. As sturdy as he was, getting to even halfway there, the state of drunkenness gave him the shivers.
The Judge was a very tall man. Huge more like, he had a permanent bitter scowl on his face that brought on wrinkles each time he laughed.
“I like you, boy. I'll leave an offer open to you, when you're ready to ditch the Chief Judge, I'd take you on as my assistant.”
Mark carefully put down the glass before his hand could give way. For nearly four years he'd been looking for a job, a good one that could help put him on the right track of a dream he'd nurtured since childhood and now that he had one, another offer was being thrown at him. But smart, he was. “Thank you, sir. I appreciate the offer.”
“You are a smart one to be careful, Mark Grinder. But my offer is a genuine one.”
Not certain how to respond to that, he simply nodded, glancing down at his feet.
Mark wasn't a strong Christian, but he recognizes a miracle when he saw one. He'd lost count how many places he'd sent in an application, but he could remember how many of them called back for an interview. Each time he'd called back, they told him they'd already taken the people they wanted. Giving up had never crossed his mind.
Oh, there were times he simply wanted to move out of the city to some other place where standard of living was minimal but the gleaming hope that it wouldn't matter where he went, grace always located you at the appropriate time. That and the knowledge that when your human abilities fail or aren't enough, grace kicks in, had cultured his mind into heeding the urge to remain. Besides, his two siblings were schooling here in Abuja. It didn't take much of a genius to make the decision.
“What’s on your mind, Mark Grinder?”
He wouldn't lie. Neither was he obligated to tell his thoughts to a stranger. “Just thinking.”
“Pleasant thoughts, I hope.”
Mark caught himself before the shrug sufficed. “It keeps me happy.”
The judge sighed, “Sit down, Mark and tell me what you think about the case of Credit Unit versus Onu Patrick.”
Mark sat but his mind was made up. After all the errors he'd had where Samantha was concerned, he was more than willing to call a truce. He wouldn't disintegrate what little friendship whose fragility bordered on a nickel of understanding. If not for himself then for her sake. Neither of them had been prepared for the upheaval their initial actions have resulted.
Mark's one thought was in ensuring he didn't let slip any word or phrase or suggestion that would place Samantha on the advantage. In the short time he'd encountered her, her person had clearly affirmed someone who took pride in her work, put in a lot to get to where she was and wouldn't appreciate an interference, any interference that might make any case she handled be compromised.
That, Mark thought, would be the worse he could do to her.
∞ ∞ ∞
It wasn't the Chief Judge she was angry at. No. The Chief Judge always got what he wanted and cared less who he trampled on along the way, no. It wasn't him. And to think she'd actually just considered a truce with him, Samantha fumed.
Meticulously and with a carefulness that made her ground her teeth and almost gnash them, she packed up her bag, offered a frozen smile at her client and left the courtroom.
On the outside, one would merely see a successful lawyer walking off with her victory but on the inside, the blood churned in her vein, she had to blink to clear her vision for the fiery heat in her eyes.
She won the case, of course. It was a good case to have won. The polite nod and half-inclined smile were a complete farce though. He had no idea who she was, obviously. Even that excuse did not mellow down the deep-sated fire of burning fury she never allowed herself.
Barrister Samantha did not get angry. No, sire. She never did. Except since meeting one Mark Grinder, a beast had been unlocked, and she never maintained enough measure of calm before he was pushing her into blinding claws of volcanic eruptions. Lucas would laugh at such cliché. He called her a sassy after an event she'd rather never remember again when she'd been fourteen.
The front of calm triumph suited the people who greeted and congratulated her as she made her way to her car. It was after all, a thing of great joy.
Winning a case was as satisfying as putting a guilty man behind bars. Right now, she wished a cell could be made for one special candidate, one that had lots of rodent infestation, all kinds of diseases and infections let loose and a maximum-security team mounting the doors as the culprit is chained hands and feet.
That culprit would be Mark Grinder. And the day he was released would be eternity too soon.
She slipped behind the wheel, not deterred by the sound of her name coming from the person who'd been racing to keep up with her. Calm, she was. Yes. That was why she sat in the car, waiting for the air condition system to cool up the car some and even spared a glance through the window at the person calling and looking at her in feigned innocent and puzzling expression. When she felt the heat evaporate to be taken over by the cool air, she wound up the glass and slowly pulled out of the space, not bothering to look back at the person staring perplexed after her.
∞ ∞ ∞
You never knew what to make of a woman. Mark thought. And you never knew what to do with one either. They always amazed him.
Well, his mother had. His sister, who knows? He wasn't exactly with her 24 hours of the day nor months on end. But he knew Deborah was too smart by half. He knew it was a weak thought but it helped not to think of his baby sister as anything but perfect.
He paused at the secretary's office, waving her to sit before she began with pleasantries and inquired softly if Samantha was on seat. Pausing outside her office, he allowed Stacy to inform her boss of his presence.
It was pretty appalling and quite amusing to see fumes of rage boil into volcanic calm while she maintained an air of outward peace. The desire to pull her out from under that factious malady to crumble had eased, giving way to complete perplexity at the complexity of the feminist race. A sad fact but only if it could be effectively maneuvered away from what could certainly result in a fix, Mark hoped the masculine sect would survive long enough to comprehend the dictates of the womanish essence.
On a note of complete innocence, Mark waited patiently for the secretary to excuse them, wondering why Samantha had gone from friend to foe in a space of two hours. She hadn't spoken to or with anyone who might have told her something that got her angry except of course her opposing colleague at the court. The case she'd won earlier was what could have been a catalyst for her sore, not the right term though, mood. Her second case had proved more fun with client aggravation compared to the previous one.
He felt a nagging fear cripple up his spine as he eased the door closed behind him.
Samantha was sitting straight-backed behind her table although outward appearance stated welcoming demeanor and yet, the shards of fire shooting at him through those honey beautifully-enraged eyes made him search his memory for anything that might have happened in the course of the hearing that could have engaged her innermost fury which was directed at him.
“Please have a seat, Mr. Grinder.”
Uh-uh, he thought. It took him long enough to finally figure she was really, uncharacteristically ticked off at him.
“Uh, do you have a minute, Ms. Barigha?” Deciding to play her game if that would appease her.
It didn't. But the mock gaze that roved him from top to bottom finally did get under his craw. “You are in my office, aren't you? Sit down, Mr. Grinder.”
His stomach waged a war between tug and tumble as he finally lowered himself into one of the seats facing her, trying to remember his last conversation with her and what could have set her off.
She folded her hands on the table and leaned forward, all businesslike.
“I'm going to say this once and hope we understand each other. I built everything I own out of hard work, perseverance and because I'm frigging good at what I do. No case I ever won came as a result of bribery or man’s definition of favor. I decided to give you the benefit of doubt.”
He felt the fear give way to flickers of dawning understanding. Or so he thought.
The phone rang, and she ignored it, didn't even glance at it. “You may think you've got some insight into what we do because you are around doing odd jobs for the Chief Judge but common sense should tell you that people like me do not like anything or anyone to interfere with the hard work, we put in making a case successfully won.”
It was like a slap, the insult. Especially coming from her. But he hid it well enough. Eruption would do them both no good. He would always be nothing to her but someone she'd fooled herself with, and she wouldn't allow herself to see he'd really wanted but friendship from her. From when he'd first met her.
“Tell me, Mark Grinder, why were you really sent by the Chief Judge? To spy on me not to mess up the case or you had your own agenda? Did you think it would win you brownie points after I'd told you I was no longer interested in the proposal?”
Hiding his feelings well, he asked in a voice he wouldn't believe was so calm and normal, “You've beat about the bush long enough, Ms. Barigha. And I really did come to find out why you were so angry after winning a case that big. So, tell me, Ms. Barigha, why are you mad at me?”
For someone who was so heated in his veins, his blood and hackles precariously high at the moment, his voice and the delivery of his speech was excellently stage-managed.
“I would, as soon as you tell me what you went to see Alhaji Muhammed for right before the case.”
Full, precise and exact comprehension had him jerking his head to confront her steady scrutiny and all he saw was the cold anger reflected there.
How could he explain to her that he'd thought about her all through his conversation with the Alhaji and his resolution not to betray her. Obviously, they were still a long way from trust.
He opened his mouth to explain but shrugged instead, seeing she had not thought him incapable of stooping to any level to get to her wealth. How wrong she was. Her success challenged him to be a man and work twice as hard as she did to comfortably call her a friend in any social gathering without speculative glances.
She nodded, “I thought so.” Taking his silence as guilt. “I thought after all, money wasn't what you were after. How wrong I'd been. I don't ever want to see you anywhere around this environment, Mr. Grinder. Have a good day.”
The dismissive words hurt more than the insults. Standing up slowly, he let his eyes poke holes into her. 'I let myself believe you weren't stupid after all by dismissing your earliest blunders when we first met. I see now the worms too thick that muddle your brain, too much to see what's right in front of you.”
“I did not apply for a position in your life, you asked. I did not seek out the judge, he called me. Into his chambers. The second time. He tried to get my opinion on the case but I thought I respected you too much to do that to you.”
His voice was cool but with an underlying layer of just angry mad. “My homework yielded better, more incriminating details about the prosecutor. This is not the first time he had tried to blackmail an institution into granting him a loan. That was proof alone to win the case hands down. But you didn't see that in my report, did you?”
Her eyes widened in shock as realization dawned on her.
“You were too distracted not to realize pages five through eight were missing from the report I gave you. Neither did you notice everything else I left for you to see, you already knew and had.' He leaned over at her huge, puzzled eyes. Good, he was hitting home.
“So, you see, Barrister Samantha Barigha, your wealth means absolutely nothing to me.” He straightened. “Thank you for reminding me never to over step my limit when it comes to people like you.” Then, smiled sadly and left her office before she could fully process all he'd said.
∞ ∞ ∞
She put down the phone and stared ahead into listlessness, a mirage of images and scenes flashing across her mind and turning her vision blurry. A little pride, that was all it took. One moment of misguided inarticulate assessment and you put yourself on the hanger.
He had not lied. Not at all. The evidence he'd kept from her was what could have the thrown down the entire case and that singular evidence he'd withheld from her. The Chief Judge was not particularly pleased with Mark for disobeying his instructions but it only meant he was someone willing to do the right thing despite the instruction from above. Here was a man whose heart warred and won over counter forces that didn't benefit others. Here was someone she could actually trust.
The call shed put through to Judge Muhammad had only proved worthwhile. While the judge had been aware of every detail of the case, he'd wondered why she had not used them.
This was the worst mess shed done since meeting Mark Grinder. He was but an unsuspecting victim in the drama shed started.
Yes, Samantha Barigha knew well enough not to blame anyone but herself. Gracie getting married didn't entail she had to also do the same. Gracie was simply being Gracie. So much for being too Barigha-ish to stoop so low.
Samantha knew fixing this particular mess wasn't going to be easy. She had misjudged Mark and, in the process, insulted him as well.
Having had to break off two engagements already, Samantha was just as fed up with men who always referred back to her money. So many would have been traumatized to have been engaged to money lovers like Luke and Osbourne, but they'd both taught her not to be weary of men but to know when his intentions were obviously misguidedly placed on her pocket.
She sighed and rested her head on the desk. What had she done?
If only getting the answer was that simple. So predictably simple. Every single evidence had pointed to him being right, and she had been too angry at him to have seen it. He had no reason to have lied to her. Why had it taken her so long to realize that?
If Mark had wanted to get into her good grace, he was too smart to do something so obvious like manipulating a case she was handling. Besides, he knew he didn't have to try too hard to get to her.
This was that moment to make it right between them. Mark was too nice a person to suffer for her mistakes.
She'd gone through all the files Mark had presented her. It didn't take a genius to see what he'd done. All he'd given to her bore the resemblance and screamed of the Chief Judge. She realized that Mark never lied to her. He'd been nothing if not completely honest with her.
It may take her sometime, but she had to come to terms with the fact that this was one person who didn't need to pretend or lie to her to get anything from her. She owed him for all the mess shed pulled on him. If he wanted to get even, he could threaten to go to the media. Even the call to Justice Muhammed had not placed him on the guilty plane shed assigned him to.
Mark Grinder, she'd discovered had never lied to her. Not once that she could claim. So, what to do and how to fix the mess.
Samantha Barigha wasn't judgmental, as a rule and also her job requirement. A slip was not permitted in the world where she lived, but since meeting Mark, all shed managed to do was make matters worse than their second encounter. He must think she was professionally inept and socially unstable.
She had to make it right. For him. He didn't deserve all that shed heaped on him. They barely knew each other! Who did such wicked things to someone they barely knew?
Her reality had always been men wanting to get a taste of the Barigha wealth. They never stopped to think that she made it on her own. Her father’s influence only helped her get the start-up capital she needed to open her own firm. She did not get any special favors from her father. Her family could testify to that.
And now the one person who had been honest with her, she'd messed it up. Big.
She was a believer, and she knew only good things happen to her. If Mark was supposed to be in her life, shed definitely find a way to make it right. And maybe it was time to stop letting her mother get to her. It had gone on too long-her mother always nagging her about marriage. It didn't bother her before. Gracie's engagement triggered her into thinking just maybe, her biological clock might be running a little too fast.
If she was going to get married, it would be the right way and it would be what she wanted, not because of pressure from her mother or her best friend.
Right at the moment, she had a friend to apologize to.
But an hour later, Stacy told her he wasn't taking her calls. After calling for the better part of twenty minutes.
Maybe she could give the Chief Judge a call to find out everything she could about this Mark Grinder in his employ.
∞ ∞ ∞
His neighbor was right behind him as he unlocked his door. And not wanting to be rude, Mark let him walk through before closing the door. Now wasn't the time he wanted company. His mind was back at that courthouse and his later encounter with Samantha, the object of his now depressing mood. No matter what he did, it always came back to their first encounter. She never saw past that day.
And it was all her fault!
Why was he the one suffering for it?
Mark hung his jacket despite the urge to fling it. The violent streak he felt towards the situation didn't sit well in his bowels. A gag. A throttling mucus clogged in his throat. An annoying buzz in his ears. An irritating itch on his skin. One he couldn't stop thinking about and wanting with a greedy longing not justified by reasons and excuses he'd given himself to stay away from her.
It always came back to him wanting to see her. That was where the problem lay.
“Na wetin dey do you?” Mr. Morris asked.
Really what he didn't need at the moment.
He loosened his tie and tossed it onto the bed. His mind was still on the conversation he'd had with Samantha at her office. An angry bile rose within him. He was tired of her insults. Every time he had a conversation with her, it always got his hackles up and ready to burst.
“Guy,” Mr. Morris halted his move to take off his shoes. “Wetin happen for work?”
Mark shook his head, which had a two-fold meaning. “Nothing from work. And I'm fine.” He quickly added. Then spoiled it by yanking off the shoes with more force than necessary.
“I see no problem.” Mr. Morris commented. “Tell me.”
Mark sighed. Morris was like an annoying brother who didn't care that you might not appreciate his nosing into your business. Although they weren't of the same age or background, Morris forged a bond of friendship with him. And he was the caretaker of the house they lived.
He undid the cuffs of his shirt and decided to tell after all.
“I met a lady.”
“Ah!”
“It's not what you think, alright?”
“I talk anything?”
Mark shook his head, “Anyway, it was five months ago. I was working and she showed up…”
It wasn't very hard recalling the details that had led to this day. And his temper was not much alleviated as he remembered Samantha's accusation. If he wanted her money, he sure wouldn't have had to meet her to steal it. And to think he'd considered starting afresh to get to know her. Why did he ever think someone like her would want to be friends with someone like him?
“So, na wetin you go do now?”
Mark laid back on the bed. “Nothing. I will do nothing.”
Morris leaned over him. “You sick? How you go say nothing?”
Mark looked closely at his friend. He could swear he saw wires working in that head. You never trusted people’s reaction. But Morris had proved as not only a friend but a trusted one.
He could be trusted to keep a secret. This is the closest to a friend he'd ever had. Besides, there was no chance that Morris would know who the 'lady' was, was there?