Family Counsel (The Samuel Collins Series Book 2) by Debra Trueman Read Free Book Online Page A

I’ll do some checking and get back
with you, but don’t get your hopes up.”
    “Too late. They’re already up.” Now she was chewing something
in my ear.  That’s where I drew the line.
    “I’ve got to go.  I’ll talk to you later in the week,” I said
hurriedly, and I hung up before she could argue. Russ was standing in my
doorway. 
    “We’re on for the 16th” he informed me.
    “Good.  Put in on my calendar.”
    “It’s already done, sir.” 
    He handed me some documents and I looked them over, signed
them, and handed them back to him. 
    “Thanks, Russ.”
    “Not a problem.”
    He swiveled on his heel and headed back to his desk.  All that
was lacking was a salute.
    “Hey, Russ,” I called out.
    He came back and stood in the doorway waiting for further
instructions. “Sir!”
    “At ease.”
    His lips curled almost imperceptibly at the ends into the
closest thing I’d seen to a smile, then he turned his back to me and headed to
his desk.  The temptation must have been too much, because he called out, “Yes,
sir!”
    The phone was ringing before he got back to his desk so I
picked it up.
    “Samuel Collins.”
    “Mr. Collins, this here’s Earl Jefferson.”
    “My father is Mr. Collins. Call me Samuel.”
    “Okay.  Samuel.”
    I waited, but he didn’t continue.  “What can I do for you,
Earl?”
    “I was told to call you so that’s what I’m doin’.  A man from
your office called me – said he was your secretary.”  He pronounced it secatary .
    “That was Russ.  He was probably calling to confirm the date
we’ve set for mediation in your case.”
    “Wussup with you havin’ a dude for a secatary?”
    “Nothing’s up, and no, he’s not gay.”
    “No kiddin’?”
    “While I’ve got you on the phone, we need to get together for a
couple of hours so I can get some details from you.  I’m working on discovery.”
    “Wussat mean, discovery?”
    “Questions.  I’m working on questions that we’ll submit to
DIFCO.  We’ll also request that they give us copies of documents that we feel
are relevant to the case.”
    “No kiddin’?  Howsat work?” Earl asked.
    “Well let’s see . . .You ever play Go Fish ?”
    “Yeah.”
    “It’s kind of like that.”
    Earl was quiet while he mulled it over.  “I can come down today
if you want,” he offered. 
    I looked at my calendar.  “Can you make it here by 11:00.  I
have to be somewhere at 1:30.”
    “Ain’t no problem.”
    “Good.  We’ll make it a working lunch.  Bring anything you have
that relates to the case that I don’t already have.”
    *    *    *    *
    Earl arrived at my office at 11:00 on the dot, and he came armed
with a box of incriminating evidence against DIFCO.  I leafed through page
after page of offensive, racially-oriented material that had been taped to his
locker or left at his work station; some he had received in the mail; some had
been handed to him right to his face.  Some were even signed by the co-worker who
had given it to him, which in many cases was his immediate supervisor.  There
were cartoons, notes, memos, calendar pages, drawings, poems, stickers,
buttons.  I was floored. 
    When Earl had approached me about representation, he was
sitting on the deadline of his right to sue.  It was literally the eleventh
hour.  We’d had to make a mad dash to the courthouse to get the lawsuit filed
on time, and I’d prepared the complaint on the limited information that Earl
had brought with him, basically the Equal Employment Opportunity Commission (EEOC)
determination, the notice of right to sue, and copies of a couple of the
documents he’d brought as proof of the harassment he’d gone through at DIFCO. 
He had told me there were more documents, but he never mentioned that there
were 40 or 50, maybe even 60 more.  It was better than I’d ever imagined.  We’d
hit pay dirt.  
    I glanced over every document and when I got to the bottom of
the box I picked up the