Russell Russo was gentle and kind and surprisingly good with children. He talked so quickly Nora’s ears ached trying to keep up. He informed her, deadly serious, that Belsum Chemical had wronged the citizens of Bourne. He broke this to her as if she didn’t know already, as if she wouldn’t believe it unless he explained it to her like a child or someone not from Bourne, someone unBourne, but she didn’t feel talked down to. She felt broken open with gratitude that it was just that simple, just that clear, and to someone from out there in the rest of the world. It wasn’t just in Nora’s head, the crimes done unto her, the crying-out sense that justice should be done, at least some, at least trying. He made it so she could put down the burden of being the only one who knew.
Russell Russo spoke of wrongful death, criminal negligence, perjury, failure of oversight, buried memos, biased reports, and attempted cover-ups. He had spoken already to many of her neighbors. He had a pledge from the senior partners at his firm that he could take the case on contingency. He had associates and paralegals and interns back at his office who were already wading through boxes and boxes of documents. He was certain that somewhere in them was the smoking gun, the damning evidence, the indisputable proof of what Belsum knew and when they knew it that would force them to hand out significant, much deserved, desperately needed, only fair cash settlements which, Russell admitted, would not make up for her losses, for nothing could, but which would make it easier to get on with her life, both financially and the part where she didn’t walk around all day long feeling like she’d been royally fucked and no one gave a shit. He was smart and passionate. And handsome, of course. Was there any chance she was not going to fall in love with him?
There was not. It was the knight-in-shining-armor stuff. It was that he was intelligent and kind and going to save her. It was that he eased her way and carried her load. It was that he had never seen her other than she was now. It was that her husband was well and truly gone. And though the same could not be said about Russell’s wife, that wasn’t Nora’s fault because she didn’t know he had one. At least not at first.
“Belsum has wronged you,” he told her, but of course she already knew that, “so they have to pay.”
“Why?”
“Why what?”
“Why do they have to pay? You’re saying otherwise it’s not fair?”
“It’s not fair.”
“It’s not, but things usually aren’t. You’re not a five-year-old, Mr. Russo.”
“Russell,” he corrected her.
“You’re not a five-year-old, Russell. ‘It’s not fair’ isn’t a reason for adults.”
“It’s the best reason there is.” Russell truly believed this.
She found his conviction touching, but she didn’t buy it. “This is really about money,” she guessed. “Not fairness.”
He kept his eyes on hers—would not allow them to wander over her meager home—when he said, “You’re going to need it.”
“I don’t want their money.”
“Sure you do. Besides, it’s not theirs. Money belongs to whoever has it. Don’t you think that should be you?”
“They can stick it up their ass.”
“You need it, Nora. These girls are going to need, well, many things. Three kids on a single mother’s salary would be hard no matter where you lived, but—”
“What’s wrong with here?”
“Not a lot of job prospects.”
“And whose fault is that?” said Nora.
“Belsum’s! That’s what I keep telling you.”
“So you’re doing this to make up for my dead husband, my wronged children, and my poisoned town?”
“No.”
“No?”
“No. Nothing can make up for that. No one’s talking ‘making up for.’ I’m talking money.”
“As compensation?”
“To meet your significant, egregious needs. Significant, egregious needs for which they are at fault.”
“And you get a cut?”
“If we win, yes, I would get a cut.”
“For your pain and suffering?”
He shrugged. “This is my job, Nora. You get paid for yours, don’t you?”
“This is why people are slamming the door in your face, Russell.”
“Why?”
She laughed at his earnest confusion, real laughter. “It sounds an awful lot like the deal we started with.”
“The deal you…?”
“The one we’re still getting fucked by.”
“How? I’m on your side! I’m making you money.”
“So was Belsum.”
“No they weren’t. Belsum was never on anyone’s side but Belsum’s.”
“They pitched us exactly what you’re selling. We’d all be rich. Sure, they’d make money too, of course, but that just made it win-win. Without them we’d get nothing. With them, there’d be jobs, growth, opportunity. There’d be infrastructure improvement, increased services, a bolstered local economy.”
“That’s completely different.”
“How?”
“They’re a giant corporation. Of course they don’t have your interests at heart.” He looked at her, considered. “Okay. It is about the money, but not the way you think. If we fought, if we won, you’d make some, and your neighbors would make some, and my firm would make some, enough to continue to do this kind of work. It wouldn’t make up for what’s happened to you, but it would make things easier.” Maybe he took her hand while he said it. Maybe their eyes met and sparked. “But none of that’s the reason to do it. The reason to do it is to prevent it from happening ever again. And the only way to do that is to punish them severely enough for what they did. And the only way to do that is to make them pay. Literally.”
She smiled then. “You should have led with that.”
“Prevention?”
“Revenge.”
He laughed. But then he was serious. “It’s the only thing that works. Legislation doesn’t. Corporations like Belsum just ignore it, knowing enforcement is years away, if ever, or they buy politicians and, with them, favorable policy. Citizen pressure doesn’t work. These issues are impossibly complicated, way too complex for the public to understand, and besides, Belsum can spin it and sound bite it into anything they like. Public shaming doesn’t even do it. People’s memories are too short. Corporations just wait for everyone to get over it, and we do, quickly. What works, the only thing that works, is simple math. It has to cost them more to ruin your life than it costs them not to. That is what we have to do.”
“How?” Nora said simply.
“Well, first you say yes to letting me help,” said Russell E. Russo. “And then we get to work.”
Around her days at the clinic, they did get to work. Many of the people who said no to Russell said yes to Nora. Together, they held meetings at the then-library. First, people came to air grievances.
“‘They killed my husband’ is not a grievance,” Nora objected. “‘I have only one leg now’ is not a complaint for the company comment box.”