Brent Marks Legal Thriller Series: Box Set One - Brent Marks Legal Thriller Series: Box Set One Part 18
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Brent Marks Legal Thriller Series: Box Set One Part 18

The door opened a crack. The fat meathead from the biker bar looked out at Jack.

"Kevin Suskind?" Jack smiled again, holding out an electronic clipboard for a signature.

"Yeah, it's me."

As Suskind signed the clipboard, Jack handed him the envelope and said, "Kevin Suskind, you are served."

Suskind threw the envelope and the clipboard back at Jack and slammed the door.

"Your failure to appear as a witness will result in a warrant for your arrest," Jack said, through the door.

"Eat me," said Suskind.

"Well, that went well," Brent said, as Jack relayed the details of the service. "But don't worry, the FBI is picking him up tomorrow morning. Make sure they have the subpoena and we'll have our sneaky little scumbag on deck for tomorrow."

Brent worked that evening on restructuring his trial strategy. He had one and only one shot at making RICO stick in the minds of the jury, and that was to prove that it was more likely than not that Bernstein was responsible for the attack on April's parents.

True to the character of the paranoid crack head that he was, Suskind spent his evening getting high and looking out his window for more process servers, or, in the case of every drug addict's obsession, the cops. The pent up adrenaline in his blood was urging him to action and he could not sit still.

As he got more and more stoked up, supercharged by the increase in his heartbeat, Suskind reached that point where he felt driven by a mystical dark energy that took control over his mind and body. Like Mr. Hyde, he was transformed.

48.

Four government issued Crown Victorias pulled up to the small house of Kevin Suskind, in the "Mexican" area of Santa Barbara. Eight agents, including Angela Wollard, all dressed in "Ninja" gear body armor under windbreakers which bore the insignia "FBI" in yellow letters on the back exited the cars in almost a synchronized motion, and each agent took up a strategic position at certain points in front, on the side and in back of the house.

Angela, with her weapon drawn, approached the front door with a fellow agent, Dave Edwards. Each of them moved to each side of the door as Angela rapped on it.

"FBI!" she called out.

Not a sound could be heard from inside the run down bungalow.

"FBI!" Angela shouted again, knocking loudly on the door.

Suddenly, a loud crack the sound of a car breaking through the aluminum garage door gave way to the smoking, screeching tires of Suskind's white 2006 Ford Mustang GT, which flew backwards out the garage, and smashed the back of one Crown Victoria as it turned, spinning like a top. The Mustang accelerated down San Andres Street, leaving a cloud of rubber seared smoke behind it.

"Suspect fleeing arrest scene in a 2006 white Ford Mustang, California license plate BGB FN3," yelled Angela into her shoulder radio, as she jumped behind the wheel of one of the Crown Victorias. Edwards jumped in the passenger side to ride shotgun as the car sped off.

"Agent Wollard, suspect vehicle spotted by SBPD heading north on Highway 101 at Las Positas Road at high speed," a voice crackled over the government frequency.

"Copy that, we are in pursuit," said Angela, as she flew the Crown Vic up the freeway onramp.

"There he is!" exclaimed Edwards.

Just ahead, they saw the white Mustang weaving in and out of traffic. It was pursued by a black and white SBPD patrol car.

"Call CHP and advise that we are in a high speed pursuit northbound 101; ask them to clear the freeway at Patterson Road," Angela advised.

The Mustang swerved left on the left shoulder to get around a white Toyota Corolla in the number one lane, and bounced off the concrete barrier, and back into the Toyota, sending it spinning. Angela continued pursuit, avoiding the Toyota, which hit the divider, and came to an abrupt stop. Two CHP black and whites charged up the onramp ahead at Patterson, lights blazing like the Las Vegas strip.

As the Mustang accelerated, Angela passed the pursuing SBPD squad car. "What are you doing?" asked Edwards.

"As soon as he drops his speed, I'm going to PIT him," she replied.

"What if he doesn't?"

Angela pushed the Victoria even further, slamming her foot down on the gas pedal and wiping beads of nervous sweat from her forehead. If the PIT maneuver was successful, it would disable the Mustang. If not, it could result in disaster, killing not only Suskind, but her and Edwards as well.

"CHP, this is Agent Wollard. I am going to attempt to PIT the suspect vehicle; request assistance."

"Angela, let CHP do it. They have the experience."

The two CHP units began a controlled weave ahead, slowing methodically as the speeding pack approached.

Angela gained on the Mustang as its speed decreased a bit, and pulled alongside the rear of it. Suskind swung his head back to look and panicked, swerving to the right just as Angela pushed right into the rear of the Mustang, forcing the back of it to the right as well, sending it into a skid. The searing sound of screeching metal and burning rubber was all she could hear as the tarred smoke filled the interior of the Victoria, which flew into an uncontrolled spin itself.

As Suskind struggled to recover from the skid, the two CHP units attempted to box him in. Suskind, in his drug induced panic, turned against the spin and the Mustang began doing 360's, finally landing in some bushes on the right shoulder.

In the Victoria, time seemed to go in slow motion. Angela steered in the direction of the spin at first, eased off, then straightened out, and eased off again until they came to a soft landing next to the Mustang.

Suskind jumped out the passenger side and ran into the brush, with two CHP officers and Angela in hot pursuit.

49.

"The Plaintiff calls Steven Bernstein as an adverse witness," Brent said, with his eyes on the jury.

Bernstein took a seat in the witness box to begin his ordeal. It was a "winner take all" match. In order to have a chance to win the RICO case, Brent had two impossible tasks; he had to prove that it was more likely than not that Bernstein had committed or aided and abetted a murder; and, even more difficult, that he had done it within the scope of his employment at Prudent Bank as part of the fraud cover-up. It may have been easier for Brent to produce a diamond from a lump of coal before the jury's eyes, but he was going to give it his best shot. And, if the moon and the stars lined up properly, he had a secret weapon.

"Mr. Bernstein, you are the current Vice President in charge of the real estate loan department at Prudent Bank since September 26, 2008, is that correct?"

"Yes, I am."

"And immediately before taking that position, you were the executive manager of Tentane Mutual Bank in Santa Barbara, is that correct?"

"Yes."

Brent could see that the jury was already making their shoulder pillows ready for a long nap during his preliminary questioning, so he threw in a wake-up bomb.

"Mr. Bernstein, shortly after your appointment as Vice President of Prudent Bank, you were served with a subpoena in a Grand Jury investigation of alleged bank fraud involving Prudent Bank and Tentane Mutual, is that correct?"

"Objection!" said Stein.

At the bench, the judge ruled in Brent's favor, giving Brent the opportunity to repeat the question for emphasis.

"Mr. Bernstein, you are aware, are you not, that you have a privilege against self-incrimination..."

"Objection!" yelled Stein.

"....And that you are not compelled to answer any questions that may tend to incriminate you..."

"Objection!" said Black.

"Counsel, approach the bench!" said the judge.

"Mr. Marks, I will not have you turn my courtroom into a cheap theater, is that understood?"

"Yes, Your Honor."

"I hope so, now let us continue the questioning without any more theatrics, shall we?"

The judge sustained the objection, and cautioned the jury to disregard it, which, of course, was impossible. Brent continued.

"Mr. Bernstein, shortly after your appointment as Vice President of Prudent Bank, you were served with a subpoena in a Grand Jury investigation of an alleged bank fraud involving Prudent Bank and Tentane Mutual, is that correct?"

"You may answer the question, Mr. Bernstein," said the judge.

"Yes, I was."

"And you came to understand that the principal witness against your employer in this Grand Jury investigation was George Marsh, isn't that correct?"

"Objection!" said Stein and Black, simultaneously.

"Overruled, the witness may answer if that was his understanding or not," said the judge.

"I understood that he was a witness," said Bernstein.

"You had a meeting with Marsh, where he asked for a refinance of the loan on his property, is that correct?"

"We discussed that, yes."

"And you told Mr. Marsh at that time that a refinance was impossible, did you not?"

"I did."

Every teacher of cross-examination points out that you never ask a question that you do not know the answer to, and you never ask the question "why" because that gives the witness the opportunity to answer in a narrative, but Brent wanted the jury to hear the answer to the next question in Bernstein's own words, so he took the calculated risk.

"Why was it impossible?"

"Because Mr. Marsh was delinquent in his loan payments."

"But Mr. Bernstein, didn't you tell Mr. Marsh about six months earlier that, in order to qualify for a loan modification, he had to be delinquent in his loan payments?"

"That's for a modification, not a refinance, and that was Tentane's policy..."

"Object and move to strike," said Stein, "argumentative."

"Overruled. Please finish your answer, Mr. Bernstein," said the judge.

"Tentane Mutual's policy was not to consider any loan modification unless the borrower was delinquent in their payments. I told Mr. Marsh at the time that it may be easier for him to qualify for a loan modification than a refinance, because the qualification criteria was relaxed. But it was his decision."

"But you didn't tell Mr. Marsh at that time that falling behind in his mortgage payments would disqualify him from refinancing his home equity loan, isn't that correct?"

"It was a different company and a different criteria..."

"Move to strike as non-responsive, Your Honor," said Brent.

"Granted. Answer the question, Mr. Bernstein."

"No, I didn't."

When he left the courtroom, Brent grabbed Jack by the elbow.

"Any word on Suskind yet?"

"Nothing."

"Get on it, man, this is the last day I've got."

Brent left for the morning break with the bases loaded and plenty of innings left to go in the game. But he was still a long way from getting enough evidence in front of the jury, and still holding out for a miracle.

50.

Angela Wollard was not only the top of her class at Quantico during her 20 weeks of FBI training, she was also the top sprinter, which topped off a long series of trophies beginning in her childhood and finishing in college. As Kevin Suskind's cocaine powered frantic getaway run propelled his fat body across the urban obstacle course over walls, in backyards and through the brush, she was, at times, so close to him she could hear him pant as she held the lead in the chase.

Suskind ran for his life. Escape was his only option, and he had nothing to lose. He had no idea what the FBI had on him, but he was certain that it was enough to put him behind bars for life. As he ran, he thought of nothing but running faster and finding a place to hole out until he could be whisked out of the country to safety.

As Suskind reached the fenced end of a dead end alley, Angela knew she had him. Suskind leaped onto the fence like a tree frog, scrambling up the mesh as Angela flew at him, missing his legs by inches. He scrambled over the top of the fence and jumped down and Angela hopped down after him, almost landing on him. Suskind regained his balance and ran through the vacant field, as the two CHP officers scurried over the fence, taking up the rear of the pursuit.