The Prosecution of General Hastings

PROLOGUE

Just after midnight, the American walked into the shabby motel that was located two blocks off of Pueblo Nuevo on the north side of Hermosillo in the northern Mexican state of Sonora. The man sitting in the dusty ’72 Chevrolet Impala had been waiting and saw him arrive. Not being Mexican himself, he watched closely to ensure that his prey was the American. He was good, this man in the motel; he seemed to fit in. If the observer in the Chevrolet had not seen him earlier, he might not have identified the man to be the American. But it was him. He was sure of it.

He watched as the American chatted with the man at the desk. The American handed the clerk something and the clerk handed him something in return. Then the clerk handed the American two bottles of beer from the fridge behind the desk. The American pushed his hat far back on his head, turned away from the desk and walked down a hallway carrying the two beers in one hand and his brief case in the other. Now the man in the Chevrolet would wait again, but his plan was in motion. He would wait a couple of hours. There was no hurry. Why rush a man’s last night on earth?

With the windows rolled down, there was a pleasant breeze that passed across the front seat of the Chevrolet. It was a star filled night with no moon and the motel was far enough away from the lights of Pueblo Nuevo for the man to enjoy them in the dark Mexican sky. He played the radio softly, continually watching the doors of the motel. From the time that he began his vigil earlier in the evening, no one, save the American had entered or left.

At five minutes to three o’clock in the morning, the man got out of the Chevrolet. He reached into the backseat and retrieved the heavy glass bottle. It smelled of the gasoline that it contained. He was careful not to touch the wet rag that hung from the neck of the bottle. The man walked behind the motel and identified the glass window of the room where the American now lay sleeping. It was an old motel and the thin glass window panes would break easily. This would not take long.

The man reached into his pocket and withdrew the plastic cigarette lighter that he had purchased at the gasoline station. He turned the small striking wheel with his thumb and held the flame to the gas soaked rag hanging from the bottle. With all his might, he then threw the heavy glass bottle. It crashed through the window and loudly exploded into a massive ball of fire. The man could see the fire covering the interior of the motel room, the door, the walls, the bed clothes. It raced up the inside door leading to the hallway blocking any chance of escape. It happened in seconds. The room was completely engulfed in flames. The man thought he saw slight movement of the bed clothes. But they were completely aflame.

The firelight danced across the man’s face revealing an evil grin. He stood watching for a moment. He was certain the American had not survived this.

Allahu Akbar, he said. He turned and walked back to his car.

CHAPTER ONE

By ten o’clock that morning she had been at her desk for over three hours. Outside the glass wall of her office at the law firm of Henson & Byars she could see that the business day in downtown Oklahoma City was well underway. It was warm for this Friday in January, but a snow storm was dumping on the Rockies and promised to move across the plains over the weekend. She wondered what the same scene she was viewing now would look like when she returned on Monday morning.

At 37, Sally Stillwell had done well in her profession, though it took her a while to find it. Always a bright student it was not until her senior year at the University of Oklahoma that she made the decision to pursue law as a career. With a perfect 4.0 GPA, a stratospheric score on the LSAT, and excellent recommendations, she was admitted to the Law School at Stanford. She excelled there and was named Editor of the Law Review. Upon graduation, the newly minted juris doctor was pursued by high profile firms from all over the country. But, she had been an Army Brat, living many places in her early years and she had fallen in love with Oklahoma City while at O.U. She now considered it home. She accepted an offer from Henson & Byars, a firm with fifty attorneys, when founders Jack Henson and Russell Byars hinted at a fast track to partnership. She paid her dues as a young associate, working the long hours expected. Her case preparation was impeccable and as her courtroom talents became more and more apparent, she was assigned cases of higher visibility. She more than satisfied the firm’s long standing clients whom she represented and through her burgeoning reputation, brought in significant additional clients and revenue. As hinted at her hiring, partnership came in record time with a unanimous vote from the partnership committee.

Excuse me, Sally? Jeanine Spence, Sally’s administrative assistant asked from the door.

Yes, Jeanine? What’s up?

There is a General Hastings on line 2 for you. Can you take the call?

The name sounded alarms within Sally’s memory. She had been acquainted with a Jack Hastings before leaving Oklahoma for Stanford. The memory was not at all pleasant. Could it be him?

Sure. I’ll take it. Sally looked down at the blinking light on the telephone set. Could it be?

Hello, this is Sally Stillwell, may I help you? she answered.

The smooth voice on the other end of the line was all too familiar. Well, Sally Wilcox. It is good to hear your voice again after all these years. Jack Hastings, here. How are you?

Sally really didn’t want to step onto the thin ice that she saw in a conversation with the Jack Hastings she had known. Her reply was tentative. Yes, it has been a while. My name is Stillwell now, and it has been for several years. Did I hear that you are now ‘General’ Hastings?

Yes, major general. I got my second star a year before retiring, he said. He paused a moment, then asked, How long has it been now, for us?

She knew exactly. Our last contact was fifteen years ago in August. I was leaving for Stanford the next day. The memory of their last encounter was not something Sally wanted to relive. She continued, I’m sure you didn’t call to reminisce, General. How may I be of service to you? What she really wanted to do was hang up the phone. She couldn’t think of any reason that a conversation between Sally Wilcox Stillwell and John Jackson Hastings should take place.

I need to have some legal work done… fortunately, the good kind. Just after retiring I bought a small arms manufacturer up in Stillwater. It was a little family business that had a proprietary design for a pistol they were building. I saw some possibilities and was able to buy the company. We’ve done well since I took it over and I’m ready to expand. That’s going to require a sizable cash infusion and I want you to handle the securities documentation for a private placement.

That’s really not my area, General. I head up our litigation department here and would be of little use to you. She took delight in her clear explanation that eliminated her from the work he wanted done. We have an excellent corporate law group here. I’ll be happy to refer you.

Please, Sally. Call me ‘Jack.’ I think we are well past formalities, aren’t we? And, while I appreciate your willingness to pass me off, it is really you that I’d like handling this project, he said. She hated the smugness in his tone.

I can’t imagine why, General. I’m not a corporate attorney…

Oh, come now, he interrupted. No need for modesty. You’ve built a fine reputation in corporate dealings, he said.

Not really. Let me see who I might…

Cutting her off again, he took another tack. I’ve spoken to Russell Byars. I met him just last year when I accepted a seat on the Board at OklaPetrol. Your managing partner seems to think you might be able to squeeze me in. When can we get together?

Sally could feel her teeth grinding. OklaPetrol was one of the three largest clients that kept Henson & Byars on retainer. Her partners would not want anything to disturb that relationship. But, she wasn’t about to allow General Hastings to call the shots.

Let me speak to Russell about it, General, she said. Perhaps I’ll be able to set up a meeting and bring in one of our corporate guys. Do we have your contact information?

Oh, yes. Russell knows how to get in touch with me. Again, smugness.

Good. I’ll do some checking and someone will get back to you with arrangements. Is there anything else?

I’m sure your corporate guys are top notch. But this isn’t a big deal…yet. It’s you that I want, Sally. I’m sure you can work something out.

That was a very poor choice of words, Jack. Time to end this call. Be sure and give my regards to Jana.

Oh, sorry. You are right, he responded. I’d prefer our meeting be early in the week. Thank you, Sally. Good to talk with you.

Sally was on her feet as soon as she had put the phone down. Up and moving, she turned left out of her office and walked the short distance down to the large corner space that was the workplace of Russell Byars, managing partner of the firm. She could see through the glass wall that he was alone at his desk so she didn’t bother speaking to Molly, Byars’ assistant, who watched as she walked directly into his office. Byars looked up as she approached.

I just got a call from Jack Hastings. He claims that he has spoken to you and wants me to handle some securities work for him, she announced.

Good morning to you, too, Sally, said Russell Byars.

He was an odd looking fellow, particularly when in the company of Jack Henson, the other founding partner of the firm. Henson could have stepped right out of a Marlboro man commercial, well over six feet with the ruddy looks of a genuine cowboy, which of course he was. Even in the law practice he capitalized on those looks. Cowboy boots, hat, and western cut suits with a string tie were Henson’s daily attire. He even had a black western cut tuxedo and snakeskin boots for formal occasions. Byars, on the other hand, was a studious ‘Mister Peepers,’ complete with bow ties and thick horn rimmed glasses that looked straight out of the fifties. His diminutive size made for quite a sight when he and Henson were together. But every member of Henson & Byars knew that looks were deceiving and that Russell Byars ruled the firm with an iron hand. Reasonable, yes, but his authority was never in doubt and never questioned.

Yeah, Jack Hastings. A major general and as far as I have seen, a hell of a nice guy, said Byars. He also seems to be a real mover and shaker. He owns a couple of companies himself and sits on the Board at OklaPetrol. He runs a company called the Talon Group, an international security and operational consulting company, and he’s got this Mesquite Manufacturing outfit that he took over a while back. Told me he’s ready to grow Mesquite and needs some funding. He asked specifically for you to handle the securities documentation.

Well you know that’s not my bailiwick, she said. Feeling railroaded, she asked, Don’t I get a say in this?

Byars was clearly surprised at her demeanor. She seemed angry and he didn’t know why. Well, of course you do. Is there some problem?

Sally started to feel as though she was not handling this very well. Actually, there is. Jack Hastings and I… we, uh, have a… history.

What kind of history? he asked.

Sally hesitated. Well, I’d really rather not go into it. It was a long time ago. He caught me off guard just now when I took his call.

What she had just revealed, and the fact that she was clearly irritated piqued his interest. Byars watched her carefully. There could be real potential for the firm here, Sally. He told me that he’s trying to put together somewhere between $15 and $25 million. And that’s just the first round. This company of his could go public within a year or two and that could mean big things for us.

Still, if it’s all the same to you, this project should be passed on to Flynn or Murphy. I’m already neck deep in a medical malpractice case and it’s going to be a doozie. Paddy or Mike would be much better suited for the general’s work. She looked hopefully at Byars.

Again, Sally… Hastings particularly asked for you. You can turn it down, of course. But we don’t want to rock the boat with OklaPetrol. Would you mind holding the meeting that he is requesting? We can invite Flynn and Murphy in if you’d like. I’ll be there as well. It could be an easy thing to pass the work over to one of them. But I do think it reasonable to have you set up the meeting. The look in his eyes as they drilled into hers offered only one answer.

A smile crossed her face. She realized that she had come in second in the discussion. Sure. I’ll set it up. Does the first of next week work for you? That’s what Hastings has requested.

I’m sure it will. Just run it by Molly out there he motioned to his assistant. She’s got my calendar.

Moments later Sally was back at her desk arranging a meeting she didn’t want to take place. Her first call was to Padraig Flynn, who, like herself, was a Stanford grad and an excellent corporate attorney.

Paddy, she said when he answered, I’d like to invite you to take a look at a new filing that seems to be coming our way. Are you free for a meeting next Monday afternoon?

Ah, Sally, tell me more, he answered. The last time I agreed to something that open-ended I found myself paying the bar tab for the office softball team. What’s it all about? And what does a litigator like you have to do with a corporate matter like this?

That’s just it. I’m trying to have nothing to do with it but I kind of got roped in. That’s why I’m calling you. A retired Army major general and member of the board of directors at OklaPetrol wants to expand his manufacturing company. He’s growing rapidly and is seeking a round of funding in the $15 to $25 million range. This isn’t my cup of tea, but I’m sure it could be yours. She saw no reason to mention that she had known the client in a previous life.

Sure. I’ll take a look. Let’s see, he said, checking his calendar. I am in court that morning but should be available after, say, two o’clock?

That’s perfect, she said. She wanted to go ahead and get this done and out of her way. The sooner, the better. Two o’clock it is, then. The conference room on thirty, she said, referring to the conference room on her floor. See you then.

She then placed a call to Molly, Russell Byars’ secretary to see if he was available at that hour. He was. Next was a call to Mike Murphy, another staff attorney whom Sally thought might fit the bill. She had noticed that Mike’s caseload seemed to have dropped when it was discussed at recent partner meetings and there was no apparent reason for it. She felt sure he would have the time and would do a fine job of it if called on.

This is Mike Murphy, he answered on the second ring.

Mike, if you are available, I’d like for you to sit in on a meeting I’ve got scheduled for next Monday at two, she said. We have some securities work pending with a retired Army general. He’s a high roller. Sits on the board of OklaPetrol and a friend of Byars. Can you squeeze it in?

Well, I should be able to. I’m taking the wife to Chicago for the weekend and coming back early on Monday. So, yeah, that should work. What’s it all about?

He wants to get a round of funding and needs the filings put together. It could lead to bigger things when he takes it public in a year or two. It’s not my gig so I’m just trying to get it to the right folks in the firm. I’ve got Paddy Flynn sitting in as well.

Fine. I’ll be there, said Murphy.

Good, Mike. I’ll see you then, she said, and hung up the phone.

Sally called Byars secretary back. Molly, would you mind contacting General Hastings and inviting him to a meeting here on Monday at two? Please let Russell know that he’s scheduled to be there as well. Tell him that I will be there, along with Flynn and Murphy.

CHAPTER TWO

Friday afternoon, and to Sally’s thinking it had come none too soon. Sally and Tom Stillwell had come to regard Friday evenings as ‘date night.’ Meeting for a drink at the Cattlemen’s Club had become a weekly ritual that the couple looked forward to, some weeks more than others. Located on the top floor of the bank building in which Henson & Byars was located, the Club, as it was simply known to its members, was a convenient and elegant watering hole and restaurant. On any given night one would find there a cross section of Oklahoma City’s upper crust. Oil men, cattle barons, land owners, politicians and businessmen all had a place at the Club. All partners at Henson & Byars held memberships to and used it routinely for entertaining or meeting with clients.

Sally had arrived first and found an out-of-the-way table in the spacious oak paneled bar near the window. Tom would be driving up from Fort Sill and was expected sometime around six-thirty. The bar was only moderately busy and Sally took the time to review a brief written by one of her paralegals as she sipped a glass of Oak Valley Chardonnay. She had expressed her appreciation of its buttery dryness to the club’s wine steward the first time he offered it to her and he had made sure that he kept some on hand ever since.

Far across the room, Sally observed a distinguished looking man who appeared to be in his early fifties. He was sitting with an attractive woman, who looked to be younger. Something about the man looked familiar but she was more taken with their conversation which had become more and more animated from the moment that she had arrived and noticed them. Though she could not hear what was being said, the conversation between the two was becoming intense and quite animated. As if on cue, with others in the bar taking notice, the woman abruptly stood. She picked up her drink and threw it forcefully in the man’s face. And then in a voice heard by