Despite having ownership of two bags of Tiger's Teeth weed killer and a list of twenty-eight people willing to join a class action suit against Trollamex, Brenna advises against it. She explains that we would need to file a whistleblower lawsuit under seal with the appropriate federal district court. The government would then conduct its investigation before Trollamex even knows they're being sued. The investigation could go on for months, maybe even years. During this period, word of the lawsuit may leak out to Trollamex and once their legal team gets involved, blah, blah, blah, blah boring legal blah. Bottom line, Jillian may graduate college before we ever see the inside of a courtroom.

How depressing.

But what if we baited Trollamex into suing me? That would likely fast-track us into the courtroom. Their fire-breathing, bloody-eyed demon, Douglas Glerk, has probably already been contemplating a defamation lawsuit. It wouldn't take much to provoke him. Brenna likes my idea of setting up Trollamex for an ambush. She almost smiles.

                                                                                        #######

The next morning, I take my place on the sidewalk in front of the Trollamex building where I encounter the weather-beaten man in his wrinkled dress shirt. He holds his sign that has been updated. The 28 is crossed out. It now says: PLEASE HELP. OUT OF WORK FOR 29 MONTHS. 

"Hey, how's it going?" I ask.

"Told you it was rough out here on the streets," he replies. "I may go to work for my ex-brother-in-law selling goat-based products online."

"Goat milk-based products?"

"No. The whole goat." He shrugs. "It's the best offer on the table. Just about the only one."

"Good luck with that," I respond as I remove a cardboard sign from my backpack and unfold it. It reads: TROLLAMEX POISONS THE WORLD.

When my fellow sign-holder sees it, he panics. "No, you shouldn't. Just don't." He hustles away down the sidewalk with a look of terror in his bulging eyes.

I notice the security cameras atop poles in the Trollamex courtyard. In unison, they turn, all pointing at me. Within moments, the enormous security guard charges out the front door and shoos me away from the property.

"Move it! Move it!" he growls.

"Trollamex poisons the world!" I shout as I pace the sidewalk across the street from Trollamex headquarters. He cusses me out then plods across the concrete courtyard into the building. Because of the tinted, non-glare glass, it's nearly impossible to see into the structure. But up there on the ninth floor, I swear that there is someone glaring down at me through the miniblinds.

                                                                                   #######

Two days later, a sheriff rings my doorbell to serve me with a summons to appear in court. Trollamex is suing me for defamation. Courtroom here we come!

Brenna advises, "Four things, Phil. One, pick six or seven representatives from your twenty-eight plaintiffs. We're going for sympathetic. We want widows, orphans, church ladies not cat ladies. We want veterans who walk with the aid of a cane or guys in wheelchairs. If they can still squeeze into their military uniforms, even better. Two, don't buy a new suit. Get one of your suits cleaned but don't wear a designer or expensive-looking suit. You need to look like a professional, but a professional who's out of work. Three, lockdown your evidence then stay far away from it. Assume you're always being surveilled. And last, and this is most important, use your ghost phone for everything! Don't give them the slightest whiff of what we're up to. See you in court."

                                                                                      #######

This courtroom scene is surreal. It's like watching a low-budget movie with poorly-rendered computer-generated characters that lack the normal fluidity of human movement. 

At the bench for the plaintiffs, a team of four starched, no-nonsense Trollamex attorneys wear dour, monstrous expressions. Behind them, Vern Tattersal is wedged within a contingent of corporate blue coats like books on a legal library shelf. These guys fall into the half-dead humanoid category. For them, this isn't exciting courtroom drama, it's just another soul-crushing day at the office.

Trollamex's lead attorney, Douglas Glerk, squeezes a few eyedrops from a bottle then dabs his scarlet eyes with a folded handkerchief. Glerk's thinning hair is combed forward in an attempt to conceal his burgeoning forehead horns. Despite his hand-made custom-tailored suit, Glerk looks like an enlarged version of one of Bernie's Candimals gone grotesquely wrong.

Brenna and I sit across the aisle. We are a meager two-person defense team. On our table, several manila folders and legal pads are stacked neatly. Seated behind me is Megan, my rock. 

Kellen and Meem are in the gallery. Dozens of fellow plaintiffs fill the seats surrounding them including Zach Palmer and Levi's widow, the elderly woman I met at Zach's hardware store. It took some digging but I managed to find a veteran eager to join our suit against Trollamex. Victor Bennett, a Sergeant First Class saw action in the Korean War. He cuts a striking figure with his rugged features and dressed in his belted Army greens dress uniform.

 Across the aisle is the argyle-sweatered, Doctor Lindbrutten. I catch him peeking at me out of the corner of his eye.

Glerk rises and growls, "The prosecution calls Carl Dunning to the stand."

He drums his spidery fingers on the wooden railing, his yellow fingernails tapping an unsettling rhythm as Carl makes his way to the witness stand. Beside the stand, an easel supports an enlarged photo of me holding my TROLLAMEX POISONS THE WORLD sign.

Glerk gestures to the photo then bellows, "Mister Dunning. Were there any indications that Mister Robiski was having issues? Trouble at work?"

"Well, at the end of the day, Mr. Robiski was driving negative growth." 

"Can you be more specific?"

Yeah, like say something people actually understand. For once in your life.

Carl shifts nervously in his seat. "He was becoming increasingly hostile to one of our clients."

"Hostile to Trollamex?" He wipes his eyes with the folded handkerchief leaving splotches of blood.

"Yes, that's right."

In unison, the heads of the Trollamex team turn toward Brenna, expecting her to voice an objection to leading the witness. But she remains seated, hands folded serenely, watching Carl and Glerk dig their own graves.

"So did you fire Mr. Robiski?" Glerk leans forward.

Carl continues, "No. No. Not at that time. Mister Robiski asked to be removed from the project team. He forced my hand when he used some vulgar, rather unprofessional language during a verbal attack against one of my Trollamex clients. Mister Vern Tattersal."

Vern pushes his glasses against his forehead when he stands and takes a nervous bow as though he is being recognized for an award. Glerk's brow furrows as he waves Vern back into his seat.

Glerk continues. "So, in your opinion, Mister Robiski is a troubled man."

"I could tell something was wrong." Carl glances at the photo. "You don't need to be a psychiatrist to diagnose it. He became very aggressive. Angry."

Carl cranes his neck to see around Glerk, finding my therapist in the audience.

Doctor Lindrutten concurs by nodding his head and muttering, "Yes. Angry. Very angry."

Glerk dabs his left eye with his handkerchief. "Were there any other incidents you can recall leading up to his outburst?"

"Well, for some reason, Mister Robiski seemed to be fixated on the evacuation of Utah."

"Oh?" Glerk rubs his waxy chin and glares at me. "That sounds very anti-American."

"Your Honor." Brenna finally pipes up.

Glerk receives a stern glare from the judge.

Carl continues, "Several of our employees described Phil becoming extremely agitated and ranting about that particular situation. Shortly thereafter, he began to miss meetings, and then one afternoon, for no apparent reason, he abandoned ship. No request for time off. I think he went missing for three days."

"That's not normal behavior," Glerk states the obvious.

A quiet murmur builds in the courtroom.

"So, Mister Dunning, given Mr. Robiski's deteriorating mental state at the time, it is not difficult to see how he could begin fabricating things in his mind. Making unfounded allegations against Trollamex and its employees. Wild rumors and distortions. Hurtful claims and accusations."

I facepalm so loudly, it turns everyone's head in my direction.

He points toward the sign I'm holding in the photo and asks, "Hurtful claims and accusations such as this one?"

"Yes, I'd say that's a fair assessment."

"No further questions." Glerk stares me down en route to his seat. 

The judge addresses Brenna. "Ms. McSorley, you may cross-examine the witness."

"Thank you, your Honor," Brenna replies. "We are currently in the process of preparing a  case against Mr. Dunning and his firm. I will have multiple questions for him. But none at this time. I think we're done here."

Carl's expression wilts. His wooden chair squeaks as he squirms.

I divert my eyes from Carl to a folder that I've taken from the stack in front of me. When I open the folder, a familiar folded piece of paper slips out and makes a soft landing on the table. I know what it is before opening it.

I look over my shoulder at my wife who mouths, "You got this."