Baby Vs. The Bar. M.J. Rodgers

Sato continued. “However, we are only interested in getting at the truth here. And as upsetting as this intrusion into your private life must be, I cannot believe that you would deny your son’s right to even know about his father and his father’s family.”

      Marc rose to his feet. “I object. Counsel is making argumentative speeches, not asking questions.”

      “Sustained,” the judge ruled.

      “Dr. Westbrook,” Sato began again. “Do you love your son?”

      “Yes.”

      “Do you want the best for him?”

      “Yes.”

      “Then how can you even think of withholding the circumstances of his birth from him?”

      “He’ll be told the truth, Mr. Sato. His genetics come from me and from an anonymous sperm donor.”

      “But you know David Demerchant was his father. Bio-Sperm’s records clearly show—”

      “I know nothing of the sort,” Remy interrupted. “And I don’t care what Bio-Sperm’s records show. With all the mistakes it has made in this matter, who knows who the sperm donor was?”

      “Bio-Sperm knows, Dr. Westbrook. Your record clearly shows David Demerchant’s code and no code is ever reused even if—”

      “Your Honor, I object,” Marc interrupted. “Defense attorney is making argumentative speeches again.”

      “Sustained. Watch it, Mr. Sato.”

      “My apologies,” Sato said, creasing his short, compact body with a small bow toward the bench. He returned his attention to the witness box. “Dr. Westbrook, how will you answer your son’s understandable curiosity about his father?”

      “While he is very young, Counselor, I will teach him that it isn’t who his father is, but who he is that will give meaning to his life.”

      “But aren’t you concerned that his sense of identity will suffer from not knowing his roots?”

      “Roots? Haven’t we gone past that foolishness? We are not our parents, Counselor. Emotionally stigmatizing a child with the blame or fame of his ancestors only retards his real self from emerging.”

      “And how do you intend to let your son’s real self emerge?”

      “By teaching him that his sense of identity will come from his beliefs, his skills, his actions—no one else’s. The responsibility for who he becomes will be totally up to him. The only thing I or any parent can and should supply to a child is a nurturing environment filled with opportunities for growth and love.”

      “Assuming all that to be true, Dr. Westbrook, what harm could come from your son learning of and becoming a part of the Demerchants’ nurturing environment filled with family love?”

      “How do I know that the Demerchants are a loving family? Or that they share my ideas about how a child should be nurtured?”

      “How do you know they’re not and do not?” Sato countered.

      “I don’t intend to take chances with my son, Mr. Sato. I want him brought up right. I’m the only one who can ensure that will happen. These people have no role or business in his life.”

      Sato smiled patiently at his contrary witness. “In time, Dr. Westbrook, I think you will change your mind. In time, when the shock you have been forced to endure wears off, I think you will want to share the love and joy you have in your heart for your son with his father’s side of the family.”

      “Your Honor, I object,” Marc said. “Once again defense counsel is making speeches.”

      “Sustained,” the judge said. “Gentlemen of the jury, Mr. Sato’s thoughts are not evidence. You will disregard them. Mr. Sato, you may continue only if you have a legitimate question for Dr. Westbrook.”

      “I am finished with this witness,” Mr. Sato said politely, and sat down.

      “Mr. Truesdale, do you have anything on redirect?”

      “Yes, Your Honor,” Marc said as he stood at the plaintiff’s table. “Dr. Westbrook, do you think you will have a change of heart and at some time in the future wish to have your son meet the Demerchants?”

      “Absolutely not.”

      “Why?”

      “As I have said before, even if I inadvertently received David Demerchant’s sperm—and I’ve seen no real proof of that—I have no intention of sharing my son with the family of some stranger. And that, Mr. Truesdale, is all the Demerchants are to me and my son—strangers.”

      “Thank you, Dr. Westbrook. That’s all I have.” Marc sat down once again.

      “You’re excused, Dr. Westbrook,” the judge said.

      “I’d like to resume my examination of Stanley Binick now,” Marc said.

      The judge glanced at her watch. “You may resume your examination after the lunch break. Court is adjourned until two o’clock.”

      As Remy vacated the witness chair, Louie Demerchant grabbed hold of Marc’s suit sleeve.

      “Go after her, Truesdale. I want to see that boy.”

      Marc mentally took back everything he had previously thought about Remy Westbrook helping their case. In his eagerness to win this suit and see Binick pay, he’d forgotten about the emotional impact of this woman’s testimony on his client. That damaging impact wasn’t worth another million or another hundred million.

      “Mr. Demerchant, please don’t put yourself through this,” he said. “Binick is just trying to give you false hope.”

      “I don’t know that for certain. Neither do you, Truesdale. And you must admit, the woman seems to be telling the truth.”

      “Still, it’s only Binick’s records that tie her to David. Even she doesn’t believe—”

      “I don’t care what she believes. I have to know. Go after her, Truesdale.”

      “You heard what she said. She’s not going to let you see him.”

      “Offer her what you have to. Do what you have to, but get her to change her mind! I must see that boy!”

      “You can’t know if he’s David’s just by seeing him.”

      “I’ll know,” Louie Demerchant said with all the proud illogic of a hopeful great-grandparent, grasping at the smallest straw.

      Marc shook his head, face-to-face with the futility of arguing with a man who was currently fully tanked up with emotion and running absolutely empty on reason. “All right. I’ll go after her and see what I can do.”

      “Good man,” Demerchant said as he clapped Marc on the back.

      Marc silently cursed himself for being a sap as he headed toward the back of the courtroom.

      Nothing about this errand was going to be easy. Even getting close to Remy Westbrook was a monumental task. The hallway outside the courtroom was a mob scene of reporters pushing cameras and microphones at the lady as she tried to weave her way out. Marc watched and listened and waited for his chance.

      “Dr. Westbrook, won’t you take a moment to talk to us?”

      “No. I’ve been drawn into this spotlight against my will and I refuse to remain in it a second longer.”

      “What name did you give David Demerchant’s son?”

      “I didn’t have David Demerchant’s son.”

      “What is your son’s name?”

      “Westbrook.”

      “You’re going to throw away a billion dollars?”

      “Please,