“Christine, don’t get the wrong idea. Theresa’s my niece. My wife Denise is my paralegal. She’s at a client’s or I’d introduce you. Nothing funny’s going on here. I’m a faithful guy.”

“Good to know.” Christine and Lauren both smiled, as Gary scampered around the side of his massive desk, of antique mahogany with carved curlicues. Matching built-in bookshelves lined the office, bursting with lawbooks, notebooks, files, family photographs, pictures of lions, toy lions, rubber lions, and even a Pez dispenser with a lion top, which Christine recognized as being from The Lion King.

“Welcome to my den!” Gary threw open his hands and plopped into his chair, also of black leather, but the tallest chair in the room. He looked over as Theresa returned with two drinks on a gold-toned tray, which she set down in front of Christine and Lauren, with ice in a glass and napkins for each.

“Thank you,” they both said.

“You’re welcome,” Theresa answered, then sashayed to the door and shut it behind her, which was when Gary’s expression changed, growing instantly serious, and his manner became strictly business.

“Christine, your husband says you’re not on board with this litigation. Tell me why.” Gary opened his palms. “I’m all ears.”

“I don’t think Dr. Davidow did anything wrong. He referred us to the best bank in the country, one that his sister has used.” Christine thought a moment. “Plus, I like him, personally. I don’t want to sue him.”

“Okay, you win.” Gary shrugged. “I only wanted him for leverage anyway. You convinced me.”

“I did?”

“Yes.” Gary flashed his lightened smile. “I want you happy and comfortable. I don’t push my clients. You got the doc off the hook. But Homestead is a different matter. Homestead stays on the hook. My legal advice? Sue the bastards.”

“Tell me why,” Christine said, taking a page from his book.

“I want to give you some background first.” Gary held up an index finger, with a manicured nail. “You need to know where I’m coming from. I’m Italian-American. My family came over in the 1930s, settled in Mystic, my grandfather was a plumber, my father was a plumber, my brother is a plumber. I didn’t want to be a plumber. You know why?”

“No, why?”

“No stakes.” Gary shrugged again. “Nobody cares. Nobody cries. Nobody does something wrong. Nobody does something right. You follow, ladies?”

“I’m following,” Christine answered. It wasn’t difficult.

“Me, too,” Lauren chimed in.

Gary continued, “Also, plumbers, they’re little guys. I come from a long line of little guys. In case you haven’t noticed, I’m a little guy.” He gestured down at himself. “So I feel for the little guy. I get the little guy. I’m feisty, and I’m loyal, and so I fight for the little guy.” Gary gestured to the photographs of the lions on his wall. “I took those pictures. I go on safari every year. To Botswana, the Serengeti, I been all over Africa. I drag my wife Denise. I drag her best friend, since she’s divorced. It’s a whole thing. I don’t shoot anything. I would never kill a lion. I’m a vegetarian. I take pictures. I have memories.” Gary pointed to his head. “I remember the lions I take pictures of. The lion, he takes care of every member of his pride. You’re my cub, now.” Gary frowned. “You think you’re in Connecticut, but you’re in the jungle.”

Christine waited, sensed he was coming to some relevant point. Or she hoped he was.

“Let me tell you the facts about the sperm banking industry, and believe me, it is an industry. It is a big, big, business. And in my opinion, it is lawless. As lawless as the jungle.” Gary puckered his lips. “There are no laws governing the screening and testing performed by sperm banks in this country. The United States Food and Drug Administration has some requirements with respect to screening sperm donors, but they apply only to contagious or infectious diseases, like venereal diseases or HIV, which 3319 was screened for.”

Christine perked up at the mention of her donor, and she began to realize that Gary had read their file, probably given him by Marcus.

“There are only two professional associations, the American Society for Reproductive Medicine and the American Association of Tissue Banks, that have anything to do with the screening and testing provided by sperm banks. They make guidelines for additional screening, like genetic screening, but they are only recommendations. Guidelines, not laws. They’re not enforceable, they have no teeth.” Gary glowered. “As a practical matter, sperm banking is a multibillion-dollar business, and they make their own laws. They’re the boss. They’re the king of their jungle.”

Christine was starting to wonder if she had misjudged Gary. He might have been bombastic, but he was shrewd.

“To come specifically to the point”—Gary pointed directly at Christine—“there are absolutely no laws that require Homestead or any other bank to conduct psychological screening for sperm donors. And because it would cost them money to conduct such screening, they don’t do it. Nobody tells them they have to spend money, so they don’t. They’re a business. They want to maximize their profit margins. They don’t want to spend any money that they don’t have to.”

Christine swallowed hard.

“So they hire nice women to sit down and interview the donors. The interviewer is a college graduate. Is that enough? No. The interviewers don’t have degrees in psychology. They don’t even have a master’s in social work. They’re not a mental health professional, an MHP.” Gary scowled. “Is an interview enough? No. That is not a psychological screening. That is not psychological testing. That’s not the Personality Assessment Inventory Test, administered by a psychologist or other MHP, after an hour and a half of a clinical interview by a psychologist or other MHP.”

Christine understood what he was saying and couldn’t disagree.

“Some banks, like Homestead, administer a Myers-Briggs test. That’s not the equivalent of a psychological evaluation. That’s a test that reveals temperament or style, but it doesn’t tell you any of the psychopathology of the putative donor.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means a true psychological evaluation of the donor, exploring for disorders like depression or anxiety, to find out if the donor is hearing voices or the like, or manifests any issues regarding addictions or disorders like OCD and the rest. Some banks administer a phony-baloney test that somebody made up, which characterizes personality traits. You probably saw that online, with other banks. Did you?”