"Sit down, please," Roman said quietly.

"I have the right to face my accusers." She spotted three former employees hunched down in the back row. "There you are, you bastards!"

"Vanda, sit!" Roman ordered.

She whirled to face him. Dammit, he'd known her since 1950, and he was believing this crap from those whiny troublemakers? She pointed a finger at him. "You—"

She gasped when Gregori grabbed her arm and yanked her down hard onto her seat. He gave her a warning glare.

She drew in a shaky breath. Okay. She needed to calm down.

"How do you plead, Ms. Barkowski?" Roman asked.

She gripped her hands together, knuckles white. "Not guilty."

"You didn't terminate the first plaintiff's employment?" Roman glanced at Laszlo. "His name?"

Laszlo scanned the first page, then plucked nervously at one of his buttons. "He wishes to be called by his stage name—Jem Stones."

Chuckles reverberated across the room, then halted abruptly when Roman cleared his throat. "Ms. Barkowski, did you fire Mister…Stones?"

"Yes, I did, but I had just cause."

"No, you didn't!" a petulant voice shouted from the back of the room. "I was the best dancer you ever had. You had no reason to fire me!"

Vanda glanced back at Jem. "You were trying to sell your services. I run a dance club, not a brothel."

"The ladies were begging for me," Jem argued.

"And you charged them money?" Roman asked.

Jem huffed. "Of course I did. And I'm worth it! I'm the best there is."

Roman looked unimpressed. "The first suit is dismissed."

"What?" Jem squealed. "But I need my job back. How will I make a living?"

Roman shrugged. "It appears you have already embarked upon your next career. You may leave."