From Florida With Love

The first day, during Jury selection, we got our asses handed to us. I protested when Mr. Cruz began filling up the Jury with women, since female Jurors tend to be quite sympathetic to the prosecution in cases involving female crime victims, especially murder or rape. Judge Randall agreed with Mr. Cruz, and I was only able to get three guys, a black man, a Hispanic guy and a white guy, on the Jury. Everyone else was female and white. We got an unexpected break in the case, though. And I owe it to my wife Jenna, for pointing it out.

A long time ago, before donning his Judge's robes and shortly after he left the District Attorney's Office, Harold Randall taught at the University of Miami School of Law. Guess who was one of his favorite students? None other than my darling wife Jenna Qabbani, who is still nominally a member of our firm. The very same firm representing Antonio Villanueva, the filthy rich client whom Judge Randall obviously had a simmering dislike of.

We've got him babe, Jenna said, grinning after dropping this bomb on me. I was sitting in the living room, reading papers when her revelation completely changed everything. I took my wife's beautiful face in my hands and kissed her. Women, what would us men do without them? Let's go to bed sweetie, I said, taking her hand. For the first time in ages, I felt like I had a leg to stand on....or three. Bad pun. Alright.

The next court date, I brought a motion asking the good Judge to recuse himself. You should have seen the prosecutors and bailiffs faces when I spoke. Judge Randall ordered me to his chambers, and the District Attorney followed suit. I stood my ground, and in spite of the D.A.'s venomous objections, Judge Harold Randall recused himself. Another judge was brought in. Judge Carlos Montoya, an Afro-Cuban former defense attorney and one of the most liberal Jurists in the Sunshine State. He made a fortune defending rich scumbags accused of horrible deeds before a friendly Governor nominated him to the Judgeship. I'd appeared before Judge Randall before. We golf together, in fact. Of course, District Attorney Cruz and his team knew nothing about this.

The removal of Judge Randall was serious boon for our side, and Judge Montoya was definitely friendlier. The case rolled on, and so did the money. Our firm was charging Villanueva four hundred dollars an hour. Some firms in New York or Los Angeles would charge more but for Miami, this was more than decent...it was damn good. The case didn't bode well for our client. All we could do was try to throw dirt on someone else. Antonio Villanueva has a history of smacking women around. Does that make him a murderer? We the defense think not.

Cruz and the prosecuting team, tore up our best arguments. His dream team was made of up assistant district attorney Elisabeth Roman, a tall, thirty-something, mildly attractive blonde in a sharp suit and Eddie Brockton, a short, well-dressed black guy with a New England accent who has a reputation as a pugilistic prosecutor. Between them, they had more legal experience than our entire squad. Masayoshi and Walker were getting hammered, and so was I. The Jurors looked bored half the time and our client wasn't helping matters by behaving more like a Rock Star than a criminal defendant.

I had to give it to Antonio Villanueva, the guy was facing either life in prison or the death penalty if we lost and he was cool as ice. Either he had nerves of steel or he really did it. I didn't care either way, I just wanted to know his secret for remaining so calm. Octavio helped our team by introducing us to Liam Kingsbury, an ex-pro boxer-turned private investigator. If you want dirt on anyone in Miami, alive or dead, Liam Kingsbury is the man you call. He dug up dirt not only on our client, but also our opponents.

Thanks to Kingsbury, we found out all kinds of interesting things about all the involved parties. Did I need to know that District Attorney Cruz, Mr. Tough On Crime has a fascination for young Asian women? Hmmm. This explains the odd way he stares at Masayoshi whenever she speaks. Mr. Cruz is married to a lovely Latina, Esther Castillo, and has a daughter with her, little Angelica. I wonder what his wife would think if she discovered he sexed up Asian female escorts at a loft in Dade County whenever she was out of town.

The really juicy stuff concerned Elisabeth Roman, the second chair at the prosecutors table and one of the most ruthless people in the District Attorney's Office. Outwardly, the lady was the picture of professionalism and respectability. The daughter of renowned lawyer Clovis Roman, Miss Elisabeth attended Cornell Law School. What's a legal mind like hers doing earning peanuts as an assistant district attorney is beyond me. She lives in a fancy condo in Miami South, no husband and no offspring. Has a black female roommate, though, accountant Karen Franks, formerly of Ithaca, New York. I thought nothing of their association until certain pictures from Kingsbury caught my interest. Let's just say that Karen Franks and Elisabeth Roman are much more than just friends.

A District Attorney who's cheating on his wife of twenty years with high-end exotic escorts, a closeted lesbian prosecutor, and a black lawyer who does cannabis in his spare time, that's who's after my client. I had the dirt, but did I have the ruthlessness necessary to use it? That's what I debated, not just with my associates and my wife, but myself. The trial was halfway over, and our firm had already collected one hundred thousand dollars from Villanueva's vast coffers, and closing arguments were weeks away. The old man was counting on us to keep his son out of jail, and he was sparing no expense. With the odds against us, I had to decide whether to break my own personal ethics and fight fire with fire. Thus, I weighed the decision of whether to instruct private investigator Kingsbury to drop some truly damaging info about our opponents in the Miami Herald.

The night I made the decision, I couldn't sleep. I lay in bed, in Jenna's loving arms. We stayed up late, talking about our lives, our growing sons, and of course, the case. Jenna showed a lot of interest in the case and told me she looked forward to returning to the practice of law someday, once the twins were five. Sounds good to me, I told her, then I kissed her forehead. Jenna fell asleep within minutes. The busy life of a stay-at-home mom isn't fun and games. I love my wife, I do, but it's nice to know that the sharp-minded, fiercely independent woman I married is still in there. I looked forward to the day when she rejoined our legal practice.

Jenna and I were together when our firm was founded. In many ways, it's our baby, besides Armando and Christopher, of course. Raul Walker and Trinity Masayoshi have been indispensable and stalwart colleagues, and Octavio is our point man and enforcer, a wonderful associate and a friend. Yet, before any of them came into my life, I was just a young man with a dream. Jenna helped me fulfill that dream, and more. Without her, I wouldn't have the firm, or this tumultuous yet often amazing life I lead. I'm a father, a husband, and a citizen of good standing in the community. I'm not even thirty and I'm the senior partner at a successful and growing law firm. Many men my age, black or white, can't say the same. I'm really lucky and thank God for His blessings.

I decided not to sink so low as to go after my opponents private lives. I thought of their families, and the impact it would have on them if their seedy secrets were exposed. Kingsbury was disappointed, as was Octavio. Jenna told me she was proud of me. You're a good man, the ex-boxer told me, and shook my hand. I smiled wistfully. Yeah, I'm a good man who might have just thrown the case of a lifetime but hey, maybe the Big Guy upstairs will save me from perdition, eh?

We made our final speeches to the Jury, and as far as closing arguments went, our was dreadfully simple. I tried to drive home ( to the Jury ) certain facts. Antonio Villanueva was the one who called the cops after discovering Catherine's body. A man as wealthy as he is could have disposed of it without attracting suspicion. He could have fled the country or played dumb after his girlfriend went missing, but instead he cooperated with law enforcement. And now, they were trying to pin the murder on him. The fact that his prints were all over Catherine Trey's body could be explained. They had a relationship. In the past, he hasn't always been a good boyfriend, to put it mildly, but he's no murderer. I reiterated to the Jury that my client was innocent, and that it was their sworn duty to set him free. Then I thanked them for their service.

Shooting me a snide look, District Attorney Cruz got up, and thanked me for my fine oration. Then he looked at the Jury, and tore apart my argument, right in front of them. He called my client Antonio Villanueva a violent criminal, a woman-beater and a monster using his family wealth to hide from justice. Find him guilty ladies and gentlemen, Cruz's final words to the Jury. I looked at the Jury, then at my client. For the first time, Antonio Villanueva looked rattled. I looked at him and nodded gravely. We got this, I said quietly.

The Jury was deadlocked for three days, and when they finally reached a verdict, I don't know who was more surprised, District Attorney Cruz and his dream team or me and my flabbergasted associates. We the Jury find the defendant Antonio Villanueva not guilty, that's what the foreman, the sole white guy on the Jury, said one bright Friday morning inside the Miami-Dade Criminal Court. I looked at Raul Walker, then at Trinity Masayoshi. Damn, Trinity said, grinning. Walker was dead silent for a moment. Shit boss we won, he laughed. I looked at the Jury, then at Antonio Villanueva. Cool as a cucumber, he smiled and shook my hand. Gracias my friend, he said. I nodded and smiled.

You should have seen the look on our opponents faces, though. District Attorney Cruz, Mr. Tough On Crime, looked deflated. Elisabeth Roman collected her files, and Brockton, the black assistant prosecutor, shot us an angry look. This isn't over, he said. I smiled benignly, taunting him. Maybe if he had done more than just warming his seat throughout the trial his team might have won. I shook hands with my colleagues, then rose as a very satisfied-looking Judge Carlos Montoya thanked the Jury for their service. We were dismissed, and happy about it. I immediately called Jenna with the good news. We won sweetie, I shouted in the court's hallway, and a stern-looking old bailiff asked me to tone it down. I shrugged and walked away. Whatever, dude can't steal my thunder. I had won my first major case, let the good times roll.

I went home, and the first thing I did was hold my wife Jenna and our sons Armando and Christopher in my arms. The case had taken me away from them, and I swore that nothing in this world would ever separate us again. The Villanueva family was very generous in victory, and our firm pocketed just one a million for the case. I took excellent care of my stalwart associates Raul Walker and Trinity Masayoshi, and gave a special bonus to our old friends Octavio Sanchez and Liam Kingsbury. We couldn't have done it without them.

We had a celebratory dinner at our home and invited Octavio and his family, along with Raul Walker and Trinity Masayoshi. None of this would have been possible without you, I said, looking at my family, friends and business associates, while raising my glass. You tell them babe, Jenna chimed in. As we ate some delicious Shawarma sandwiches along with rice and potatoes ( one of Jenna's culinary specialties, from her father's region of the world ) I looked at these people who meant so much to me, and thanked God for His blessings.

Little did I know that interesting times awaited our family, our firm, and the world. The 1990s were a turbulent time in America. I remember where I was when I watched OJ Simpson getting chased by the police all over the highway in Los Angeles. I remember the Rodney King beatings, and the acquittal of the bigoted cops, followed by the L.A. Riots. Jenna and I watched in horror as the politics of race and later, gender and identity, divided our nation. As an interracial couple raising a family in the South, we had to be careful. As our sons Armando and Christopher grew older, we taught them how to be careful. How to behave around racist white guys, especially the ones in police uniforms. We taught them to stand up for their rights when they had to, and to make it a general rule to avoid conflict. You don't have to win every battle to win a war, nor are you obligated to attend every argument you're invited to.

In 1994, Jenna rejoined our firm, but not as a criminal defense attorney. Although we bill ourselves as top criminal law experts, we had to make room for one immigration attorney, Jenna Qabbani-LaRoche, my darling wife. I can't tell you how happy I was to see her get back to work. Jenna has one of the most gifted legal minds I know, and I really missed having her at the office. A five-year hiatus from practicing law hadn't rusted her skills, and she quickly began generating enough revenue and wowing clients that Masayoshi and Walker had no objections when I nominated her as our second senior partner. Yes I'm the boss and she's my wife, but I play fair.

Life went on, and our sons grew. The twins continue to amaze me day by day. Armando and Christopher are visually identical, both are six-foot-two and well-built, but inside they couldn't be more different. Christopher is athletic, outgoing and kind of a control freak. I think he gets it from Jenna because he sure as hell didn't get it from me. Armando is easygoing, friendly and flexible. Just like his dad. He once told me he wants to be a lawyer. I can't tell you how happy that makes me. Speaking of lawyers, our firm expanded...and shrank. Octavio Sanchez fulfilled a lifelong dream when he got accepted at Saint Thomas University's Law School in 1996. I'm happy for him and his family. Raul Walker left us in 1999 to join a firm in Orlando, and Masayoshi returned to California in 2002. While in Miami, Trinity ran into a guy named Jeffrey Fujimoto, an architect she knew from her days as a wide-eyed law student. It was love at second sight, I guess. They got married in 2003 and have a daughter, Mira. I'm very happy for them.

For a while, the firm consisted of Jenna and I, just like the old days. Once more we were LaRoche and Qabbani, Attorneys At Law. I got to admit, I liked it like that. I can't tell you how much fun it is to have office sex sometimes, whenever Jenna and I pull a late night at work. One time we got caught by the cleaner, an old lady named Ines. I still laugh whenever I remember the look on her face. I had Jenna bent over the conference room table and my pants were at my ankles. Don't you ever knock? a furious Jenna shouted, while I giggled. Ines promptly shut the door, and left. We never saw her again.

One fine day in June 2007, our sons Armando and Christopher LaRoche graduated from Miami's Powell High School. The same place where I once worked as a substitute teacher back when I was a rookie black male lawyer whom none of the rich white firms in Miami would even entertain the idea of hiring. On that beautiful day, my darling wife Jenna Qabbani-LaRoche and I watched our sons graduate, along with hundreds of their peers. I promised myself that I wouldn't cry, but I did. Hand in hand, Jenna proudly watched our boys shine.

Our identical twins were headed to very different career paths. Christopher was headed to Ohio State University on a football scholarship, where he would study business administration and Armando had an academic scholarship to Texas Southern University. My son picked the historically black university with a built-in law school even though he had offers from Princeton and Boston University, among others. According to Christopher's research, the criminal justice program at Texas Southern University is extremely rigorous, and the Thurgood Marshall School of Law is even more intensive than the vaulted Ivy League law schools. Makes sense, now that I think about it. Black folks don't have it easy, so why wouldn't our institutions be tough?

With our sons in college, Jenna and I had an empty nest to ourselves. We got ourselves a condo and rented the house to students and young families for half of the year. Life continued, what else could it do? Business was good at the firm. We hired three young attorneys fresh out of law school and two paralegals. Things were stable to the point of being boring. At least until the twins first year in the higher education system. They returned home at Christmas time...changed. At least, that's how it looked to me.

What do I mean by that? Um, see for yourselves. Christopher introduced us to a towering young black man named Omar Tyrone Henderson, his, um, boyfriend and teammate on Ohio State University's football team. Armando brought home a tall, pretty blonde-haired and green-eyed young woman named Yelda Bahceli, an exchange student from Malatya, Turkey, who happens to be pregnant. With his brat. Well, our macho and athletic son is gay and our nerdy son got a chick pregnant. I was flabbergasted by these unforeseen developments but Jenna warmly welcomed Omar and Yelda into the family. Welcome home, she said, and hugged them both, to the relief of Christopher and Armando.

In November 2008, as the United States of America elected Barack Obama as its first Black president, my wife Jenna Qabbani-LaRoche and I became grandparents. Armando's new wife Yelda Bahceli delivered our lovely granddaughter, Aisha Bahceli LaRoche. I became a grandfather at the age of forty six. Damn. My wife Jenna is only forty four, she doesn't look like anybody's grandma! Oh, well. Got to roll with the punches. We can't complain, especially since the Lord has blessed our family in a myriad ways.

I want to make it perfectly clear that although I was surprised by Christopher and Armando's life choices, I love my sons equally. Armando and Yelda are back in university, and hope to finish their degree. As my own parents helped Jenna and I when the twins were born, it's our turn to help Armando and Yelda. They transferred from Texas Southern University to FAMU here in Miami in order to be closer to us. Taking care of little Aisha while Yelda and Armando are in school has brought new joy into our lives. Jenna and I love being the youngest grandparents on the block! Christopher and Omar care deeply for each other but can't come out publicly because they both hope to make it into the NFL someday. I wish them the best with their dreams and goals. I was quite touched when they shared with me the story of how they met, their bond, and how they were forced to hide by a homophobic sports world. I told my son Christopher that I love him no matter what, and thanked Omar for being there for him.

There you have it, ladies and gentlemen. The story of how a young lad left the island of Haiti with his mother and father, moved to America, grew up, went to university and found the love of his life. The tale of how our law firm got off the ground, how our family came to be, and those we loved, and fought against. And what a magnificent family we have. I mean, we've got Haitian, Lebanese, Irish, Turkish and African-American in our bloodline. We could represent the United Nations with such diversity! Could a story like ours take place anywhere other than America, the land of diversity and opportunity? I think not. And now, if you'll excuse me, I've got to get going. I hear Jenna hollering for me downstairs. My turn to change Aisha's wipes. Ah, the perks of being a fifty-two-year-old grandfather in the Dirty South! Pray for me, y'all!