Page 3 of Maddy's Justice

After crossing into Calexico, the girls were taken roughly fifty miles into the desert. From there they were quickly flown to a very private, heavily guarded estate near Palm Springs, California. They were kept lightly drugged with a morphine derivative anesthesia. This was done to make them more compliant and it was a pleasant experience on top of it.

The staff, all very disposable “undocumented female workers” ––young women working as slaves––took care of the girls. They were supervised by a woman who once had been sold to a Mexican drug lord at age thirteen by her junkie father. Her name was Consuelo Hart and at her age, forty, she was still a beauty. It was also her job to prepare the girls and conduct the auction.

The auction took place over a two-day period and lasted more than ten hours. It was “attended” by over a hundred buyers. Most of the actual buyers were represented by a trusted individual or firm. Attendance for most was by a secure, untraceable, one-way video. There were, however, several who enjoyed the hospitality of the estate’s owner and took advantage to attend in person.

For the auction itself, the girls were dressed in lace lingerie and posed in a seductively decorated room. Not all the bidders were watching on the closed-circuit TV. There were twenty special rooms encircling the stage. Each girl was paraded in front of those rooms while the men and women inside watched through one-way mirrors.

The bidding for each girl, once started, lasted precisely twenty minutes. The winner then had ten minutes to wire the winning bid into an account in the Caymans. If he or she failed to comply, the second-place bidder would be declared the winner.

When the thirty-first girl had been sold, the Cartel and their host had collected a total of eighteen-million, six-hundred thousand dollars. Much better than expected.

It had been decided by the auctioneers that the last two girls would be auctioned together. The bidders were only given the option of bidding for both as one item. This had never been done before, but it was believed these two would bring a better price if done together.

Of course, the last two were the Iranian twin sisters. Their first names were Abia and Salma. When they were led out, they each wore black lace lingerie and a matching veil.

The bidding started and within minutes it had climbed to two million dollars for both. It stayed there for several more minutes while Consuelo slowly led the girls around the circular room. When they finished their first complete traverse, Consuelo seductively removed their veils. Finally, seeing how flawlessly beautiful each girl was, a feeding frenzy began. Seconds before the time was up, a bid came in over a million dollars higher than the next highest; seven and a half million dollars for both. Caught by surprise, the clock ran out before anyone else could respond.

“Are you nuts?” the American lawyer said to his client. “Seven and a half million for teenage pussy?”

“They’re beautiful. Priceless. Look at those eyes. Besides, it’s not a lot of money to me. Sometimes you just have to pay what you have to pay to get something you want,” the client replied.

“What are you going to do with them?” the lawyer asked.

“I’ll have Evan get them to the island and make sure no one touches them.”

“Enjoy,” his guest said holding up his drink as a salute.

TWO

Melanie Stewart was at her desk reading through a Summons and Complaint for the third time. Melanie’s ears were hot from the blood that had rushed into them after the first reading. When she saw the lawyer’s signature on the Summons, Melanie immediately knew what the lawsuit’s cause of action was. The celebration in the partner’s conference room gave her an excuse to set it aside without reading it. Instead, she knew her anger would cool if she took the time to go through it at least two more times.

Melanie Stewart was the Deputy Managing Partner of the law firm Stafford, Hughes, Alton, Biggins, Connelly and Weems, LLC. The home office was in the Wells Fargo Center in downtown Minneapolis. There were satellite offices in Washington, Los Angeles, Chicago and San Antonio, Texas.

The firm, commonly known as Stafford, Hughes, was a two hundred lawyer money machine with sticky tentacles in every aspect of the law. Founded in the 1930s by Harold Stafford and Ezekial Hughes––R. I. P––the original office had been in downtown St. Paul.

Harold Stafford had been the Ramsey County Attorney and Ezekial Hughes, a high-ranking deputy sheriff. These two, as much as anyone, were responsible for making St. Paul a sanctuary city for Midwest gangsters during the 1930s. People such as John Dillinger, Ma Barker, Baby Face Nelson and just about every other notorious outlaw were allowed to use St. Paul as a safe haven. They paid local officials for protection and agreed not to ply their criminal trade while hiding out.

Not surprisingly, Stafford, Hughes became known as a gangster firm. A first-rate criminal defense firm who, literally, had a list of what judges, politicians, and civic leaders to bribe and with how much money. Even after the 1930s gangster era ended, Stafford, Hughes thrived. They lured first-rate, quality lawyers from prestigious law schools. Something neither Stafford nor Hughes were. Harold Stafford was a first-rate politician and fixer. Ezekial Hughes was a natural business manager. Stafford scored the clients and Hughes kept the firm running smoothly. Others did the legal work.

During the mid-60’s they decided to become more respectable. This was not so Stafford and Hughes could assuage their eternally tarnished reputations. No, they were simply missing out on the enormous growth in corporate legal fees. In fact, in the legal profession, that is where the real money is and most of the very successful crooks.

The firm, by now thirty-five lawyers, packed up and moved to downtown Minneapolis. A small office was kept in St. Paul for Stafford’s use. The state capitol was there from which the firm’s bread and butter still flowed. Harold Stafford’s connections would also steer corporate work to Stafford, Hughes. Also, and not incidentally, a bedroom was kept at the St. Paul office for Harold’s extra-marital sexual activity,

A few years earlier, before the Minneapolis move, Harold’s only son, Finn, was elected to Congress. The apple falling close to the tree, Finn was even better at schmoozing his fellow politicos then Dad. With the Vietnam War came enormous amounts of military spending. With that came enormous amounts of legal work. Thus, the expansion to Washington, Los Angeles and eventually San Antonio.

Melanie Stewart had a corner office on the senior partner’s floor, the 44th, of the Wells Fargo Center. She was a fifty-four-year-old, once divorced and never remarried graduate of the University of Michigan Law School. Melanie kept herself in shape by four to five hours a week of workouts with a female personal trainer. She also made a weekly salon visit for a full make-over.

Melanie was also smart, tough, an accomplished trial lawyer and capable manager. She had not slept with anyone to help make her way up the firm’s ladder. Behind her back she was known, none-too-affectionately, as the Ice Queen of the North. Of course, she knew this and was ambivalent about it. At times it served her well. She could melt men with a fierce look. Mostly though, she hated it.

Her ex-husband turned out to be gay, which helped him secure a seat on the bench in Ramsey County. Divorced for fifteen years, they were at least friendly if not friends. The marriage had produced two daughters, now both married with three grandchildren between them. Melanie rarely had any interaction with any of them. With her schedule, who had time?

A normal work week to run the ship of Stafford, Hughes was eighty hours. Her boss, the official managing partner, Gavin Blake, rarely worked more than thirty. With her salary and bonuses, her income was headed toward seven figures and she was completely exhausted.

Gavin Blake was seventy-two and had talked of retirement for years. Privately, Melanie decided if he was not gone by her fifty-fifth birthday, eleven months, she was leaving. With eighty-hour weeks and no time to spend money, she could go today and live comfortably without working again. Plus, she could score a job in under an hour, not work nearly as hard and probably make more money, but at least as much.

Melanie had calmed down about the lawsuit sufficiently to join the celebration. Instead, her phone rang startling her in the quiet office.

She answered it, listened for about twenty seconds then tersely said, “No comment,” and abruptly hung up. “Vile little toad,” she quietly said about the caller.

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