He turned toward the witness stand, where Leonard Pruitt was already waiting to be called, his own leather portfolio clutched like a shield.
"Your Honor," Marcus said, "I call the city's appraiser."
Chapter 13
The Appraiser
Leonard Pruitt took the stand with the practiced ease of a man who had testified in a hundred proceedings and been contradicted in none of them. He was sixty-ish, silver at the temples, his suit expensive but not showy, his manner that of a professional delivering professional conclusions. He settled into the witness chair, adjusted the microphone, and smiled at the jury box, which was empty, out of habit.
Marcus stood at the small lectern the bailiff had reluctantly provided — it was too tall for him, and he had to reach up for the papers — and looked at the witness with open, almost friendly curiosity.
"Mr. Pruitt," he said. "You appraised the property at 44 Magnolia Lane for the city. Is that correct?"
"It is."
"And your report concludes the fair market value of the property is ninety thousand dollars."
"Correct. Based on comparable sales in the surrounding area."
"Ninety thousand dollars," Marcus repeated, and let the number sit in the room for a moment. "For a house that has stood for over seventy years, on a lot my great-grandfather cleared and built on with his own hands. For context, Mr. Pruitt — what did the lot immediately to the east of my grandmother's sell for last year?"
Pruitt's smile thinned. "I don't recall the specific —"
"It sold for two hundred and forty thousand dollars." Marcus held up the deed record. "Same block. Same zoning. Forty square feet smaller than my grandmother's lot. Would you agree that's a comparable sale, Mr. Pruitt?"
"A single sale does not establish — the comparables I selected are more representative of —"
"Let's look at your comparables, then." Marcus lifted the appraisal report, and his thumb found the flagged page. "Comparable one: a property on the far side of the highway, in the flood zone, sold at auction after a foreclosure. Comparable two: a teardown sold to a developer — the Whitmore Development Group, in fact — at a distressed price, because the seller was told the block was about to be condemned." He looked up. "Comparable three: a vacant lot three miles away, in a different neighborhood entirely. Mr. Pruitt, did you consider the sale next door?"
"I excluded it as an outlier."
"An outlier." Marcus nodded as though the word interested him. "The most recent sale, on the same block, of a smaller lot — you excluded it as an outlier. And instead you used a foreclosure, a distressed sale to the very developer who benefits from this condemnation, and a lot three miles away. Is that your testimony?"
The witness shifted. "My professional judgment —"
"Your professional judgment." Marcus set the report down. "Mr. Pruitt, page fourteen of your report states, and I quote: 'All comparable sales were arm's-length transactions between unrelated parties.' Is that your statement?"
"It is."
"And the teardown sold to Whitmore Development Group — the buyer in this case's beneficiary — was an arm's-length transaction between unrelated parties?"
A long pause. In the gallery, someone coughed. Victor Crane leaned forward, his hand half-raised, but there was no question pending to object to, only a silence filling with weight.
"The seller was under duress," Pruitt said finally, "which I noted —"
"You did not note it. Page fourteen says all comparables were arm's-length. Either the statement is true or it is not, Mr. Pruitt. Which is it?"
Pruitt looked at Crane. Crane looked at the ceiling.
"It was — the characterization on page fourteen is — broadly accurate —"
"Broadly accurate." Marcus picked up another document. "Mr. Pruitt, are you familiar with the Uniform Standards of Professional Appraisal Practice?"
"I am."
"Standard one requires an appraiser to identify and analyze the relevant characteristics of comparable sales, including any conditions of sale that affect price. You identified the distressed sale, and you analyzed none of its conditions. Then you certified, under penalty of perjury, that it was arm's-length." Marcus let that rest. "Who hired you for this appraisal, Mr. Pruitt?"
"The city."
"And who referred the city to you?"
"I don't — I believe the city attorney's office —"
"The engagement letter," Marcus said, holding it up, "is signed by a project manager at Whitmore Development Group, countersigned by the city. The developer selected you, the developer paid the city's invoice through its consulting budget, and the developer's project depends on your number being low." He paused. "Mr. Pruitt, in your thirty-year career, have you ever appraised a property where the buyer's consultant chose you, paid you, and needed your number?"
"Objection!" Crane was on his feet, gold cufflinks flashing. "Your Honor, this is argumentative, this is — counsel is badgering the witness —"
"Overruled," Judge Langston said, and he did not look at Crane this time; he was watching Pruitt, who had gone very still in the witness chair. "Answer the question, Mr. Pruitt."
The appraiser cleared his throat. "I — I don't recall such an engagement."
"You don't recall." Marcus checked the clock: 9:49. "Mr. Pruitt, if we remove the foreclosure, the distressed sale to the developer, and the lot three miles away, and use the actual comparable — the sale next door — what is the fair market value of 44 Magnolia Lane?"
Pruitt stared at him. His mouth worked. "I would need to — recalculate —"
"Approximately."
"Approximately — two hundred and thirty — two hundred and forty thousand dollars."
"Two hundred and forty thousand dollars." Marcus nodded, and for the first time something like gentleness crossed his face — the gentleness of a boy who did not enjoy what he was doing to a tired old man, only the necessity of it. "No further questions, Your Honor."
Pruitt left the stand like a man walking out of a room where the floor had given way. Crane did not look at him. Samuel Whitmore's gala smile had developed a crack at one corner.