"Now we have the issue of standing," said the judge. "Your entire case, Mr. Marks, is predicated on the allegation that the Note and Deed of Trust are void because they were not transferred to the Trust Pool by the closing of the Pooling Service Agreement."

"That's right, Your Honor. Under Glaski v. Bank of America, the lack of assignment in conformance with the terms of the PSA renders the Note and Deed of Trust void."

"According to Mr. Stein's motion, your clients have no standing to enforce the terms of the PSA, and all the cases in this district agree with him. They are not parties to the PSA, nor are they third-party beneficiaries."

"That's true Your Honor, but the Serrato case recognizes that there are other ways to claim standing."

"I object, your Honor, Serrato is an unpublished case and Mr. Marks is citing non-binding dictum in the case."

"You'll get your chance on rebuttal, Mr. Stein, now please take your seat and let Mr. Marks finish."

"If the Note and Deed of Trust were left outstanding," said Brent, "it would subject Plaintiff to collection and foreclosure activities from multiple parties, thus causing injury to the Plaintiff, which gives rise to his standing to raise the issue, as a party injured by the contract, pursuant to Civil Code section 3412."

"That's a very clever argument, Mr. Marks. Mr. Stein, now it's your turn."

Brent left the podium feeling good. All through Stein's rebuttal, nothing had been said that could topple the strength of Brent's argument. That was the good news. The bad news was that, if he won the motion to dismiss, he would have to prove that an agent or employee of the bank murdered April's mother and tried to murder her father.

And, Brent could not assume he was out of the woods yet. The Judge took both the motion to dismiss and the motion for preliminary injunction under submission. She would render a written opinion on it in the week to come.

Brent could see from April's expression that she was very pleased. Stein did not appear so happy. He and his junior counsel walked out of the courtroom without saying good-bye and waded through the bevy of reporters outside the courthouse, treating them with a rapid-fire of "no comments."

Brent, on the other hand, could not wait to "bathe" in the sea of reporters. Before they exited, he said to April, "Now remember what I told you. Just let your expressions reveal your emotions, but let me do all the talking."

"Okay," she said, teary-eyed.

"Crying is okay, but let me talk about the case. We don't want Stein to claim we tainted the jury pool."

The jury pool was to be drawn from downtown Los Angeles and Brent could not be happier about that. He would try to pack the jury with people whose lives had been touched by foreclosure. All they had to do now was wait for the judge's decision and then the game was on.

20.

Judge Masters rendered her decision on Friday, and it was a grand slam. She denied the motion to dismiss the complaint and granted an injunction to stay the foreclosure until trial. She also set a scheduling conference, which would mark the beginning of the parties' discovery. Brent had already prepared written requests for documents with the help of his new investigator, and a set of written questions, but the most sought after discovery tool was the deposition of Steven Bernstein. In the deposition, Brent could grill him under oath and find out what it would be like to have him on the witness stand at trial.

Brent met with Jack Ruder to plan a strategy for discovery of what essentially would be a murder case. April, at about the same time as Jack, was happy to have heard the good news that her case had not been thrown out. Brent introduced her to Jack as his new investigator.

"April, I have to tell you that what we've been through so far is nothing compared to what we will have to go through to complete this case," said Brent.

"I understand."

"Now, essentially what we have to do is to prove a murder case. And we have nothing to go on, so we're starting from square one. Jack, this is your case. Where do we begin?"

"Ms. Marsh, does your father ever communicate with you?"

"Never."

"Is he conscious, does he appear to be alert?"

"You know, he appears to be alert, but I just talk and talk, and he doesn't even seem to react to my presence."

"Well, if you're up for it, I want to bring in a friend of mine from my bureau days to talk to your father. She's a psychologist and has already reviewed your father's records."

"I suppose that would be alright, but I don't know what you're going to get out of it."

"We'd like to interview your father as soon as possible. Say, tomorrow afternoon?"

"Sure, that's fine."

Brent had convinced Angela to meet him for lunch at The Gallery Cafe right across from the Santa Barbara Art Museum. The Gallery Cafe was a small art gallery with a nice collection of paintings by local artists, but its finest attraction was not the art, but its beautiful stone paved courtyard, which was like a little grotto with vines and orchids climbing the rock walls. The chairs and tables were positioned around a three-tiered fountain, whose cascading water added another dimension to the dining experience. Angela was already seated at one when Brent walked in, and waved to her.

"Hello Angela," he said, smiling, as he took the seat opposite her.

"Hello Brent."

"I thought this would be a nicer way of meeting me than me always barging in on you, demanding information about Rick."

"I'm actually very glad that you did it," she said. "It's very pleasant."

"Me too, and since it's your lunch hour, I'm going to refrain from talking business so you can have a real lunch break. Just a little update before you go back to the office is all I ask."

"Well, we..."

"Angela, I do want to hear it, believe me I do, but I also mean what I said. What would you like for lunch?"

Angela was flattered and relaxed. Flattered because of the attention she was receiving from Brent and relaxed because it wasn't a "date." They tended to be too stressful; kind of like a job interview.

Brent watched Angela daintily sip her avocado cucumber gazpacho, as he tried his best not to make slurping sounds with his. Nothing was more unnerving to him than someone who ate with sound effects, like a Hollywood Foley artist.

"So what makes a nice girl like you join the FBI?" he asked, then suddenly realized that, in his eagerness to impress, he had come up with a cliche that sounded like a pick-up line. Angela graciously allowed him to sidestep it. She liked this rogue lawyer who showed no fear in facing down the "too big to fail" banks.

"Actually, I was going to be an attorney."

"Really?"

"Yes, really. Went to law school and everything. The guys at Quantico used to call me Amicus Curiae.

"You never tried the law? Never took the Bar?"

"No. I just got tired of seeing it being broken. So I decided to go after the bad guys."

Their conversation was interrupted by the Waiter, who set before them two fresh sea bass with potato puree and a French ratatouille.

"What about you Brent? What made you decide to go into law?"

"Instead of law enforcement? A healthy distrust for the police."

Brent was just kidding, of course, but he instantly worried that he may have offended her.

"All kidding aside, my dad recommended it. He said you can be your own boss, work anywhere you want, see the world."

"Sounds good."

"It has been, so far. Dad said he got up to the top stair of the law school, then changed his mind. Went into business school. Said it was the biggest mistake of his life."

Time passes by quickly, especially enjoyable time. Finally, it was Brent who looked at his watch. He had the afternoon interview of April's father at the convalescent home. As much as he wanted to stay, it was time to go back to work.

"Angela, I'm glad we did this, but I'm afraid it's time for me to get to work."

"Me too, actually."

"Just let me ask you, is there any hope for a break in Rick's investigation?"

"Nothing earthshattering yet, unfortunately."

"Anything; something miniscule maybe?"

"Well, we did find something strange. We never found Rick, or any of his personal effects. But we did search the hard drive on his Mac and we found that it had been accessed from a remote location and all the data wiped clean."

"Rick would never erase his hard drive."

"That's what I thought. We're trying to recover anything we can from it now."

On the way to the convalescent home, Brent's mind was occupied. Then he saw them. The same two goons in the white Mustang that had followed him from the Sheriff's Office were again on his tail. This time, he turned around immediately, made his way back to Angela's office, and parked in front of the building. Luckily, Angela was just coming in. Brent got out and waved to her. The goons sat tight in their car.

"Those are the same two guys who followed me right before Rick went missing," he told her.

"They could have something to do with the case. Wait in your car until I call you. I'll get my car and follow behind them."

"I'm headed to the rest home to interview April's father, and I really don't want them following me there."

"Okay, I'll get SBPD to pull them over for a traffic offense or something, and then interrogate them. I just want to get behind them long enough to establish that they really are following you."

Brent did as he was told, pulling out after he received Angela's call. The goons pulled out after him, as expected, but he didn't see Angela's car anywhere. Obviously, she was better at her job than they were.

As Brent passed La Cumbre Road, about halfway to the Oakview Extended Care Home, he saw a pair of red lights pop on behind the goons' car. They pulled to the side almost immediately.

21.

George Marsh was a shadow of his former self. Once a tall, strong, rock of a man, he was now broken and frail. With a thin veil of skin stretched over his skull, it looked like the Angel of Death had already come to call on him. April was sitting next to his bed, holding his hand, as if she were sitting a vigil.

Jack Ruder, dressed in a two piece gray suit as always, and looking very FBI-like, had brought Dr. Beverly Senlon, a middle aged woman, with light brown hair, eyes the brown of fine cognac, and a pleasant plump face with rosy cheeks. She looked very calm and friendly, and was wearing a two piece mustard yellow skirt suit. She had, apparently, formulated her personal style in the 90's and her fashion remained stuck in time.

"Talk to your father, dear introduce him to us," said Senlon to April.

April hesitated. "Go ahead, dear," said Senlon.

"Dad, I've brought some people here who are going to help us," said April. "This is our lawyer, Brent Marks. He's taking our case against the bank. And this is Jack Ruder, our investigator, and Dr. Senlon, who is going to help you talk to us."

George Marsh's face remained fixed, his mouth drooped open, and his eyes stared into a point in time that nobody else knew. Maybe not even him.

"Now, dear, your father is still very much with us. We know that because there is plenty of brain activity showing up on his CAT scans. We just have to figure out how to get through to him wherever he is."

"What do you mean?" she asked.

"Because of the brain damage, he may not be perceiving his environment the same way we do. We've hooked up to this machine to measure his vital signs, which could help us know if he's trying to communicate with us, so we're going to try to get through, okay?"

"Okay."

Dr. Senlon shined a small penlight into each of George Marsh's eyes. His pupils reacted to the light.

"Now, Mr. Marsh, I know you can see me because your eyes are working just fine," said Senlon. She clipped her penlight onto her pocket. "Can you hear me?" She clapped her hands loudly and Marsh blinked.

"Very good, Mr. Marsh. It looks like you can hear me too. Blink your eyes if you can hear me."

George Marsh did not blink, and just kept staring into space.

"It's hopeless," said April. "I told you, I've tried so many times to talk to him."

"Now, now, dear. We don't give up that easily. Mr. Marsh, this is my friend, Jack Ruder. He's going to talk to you about Prudent Bank."

"Mr. Marsh," said Jack, "Do you remember Steven Bernstein from Prudent Bank?"

Marsh showed no reaction at all. Jack held up an 8x10 photograph of Bernstein. "Do you know this man?" he asked.

Just then, Marsh's monitor began beeping, as his heart rate increased from 80 bpm to 130 bpm, and his breath came in pants.

"I think we have something," said Senlon. "Mr. Marsh, do you know who this man is in the picture?"

Marsh's heart rate continued to rise, as did his blood pressure.

"We have a reaction," said Senlon. Don't worry, Mr. Marsh, your daughter is safe. Mr. Ruder here used to work for the FBI. She's in very good hands. But we need your help."

A single tear streaked down George Marsh's left cheek.