John - The Runaway Jury

Mrs. Gladys Card was nervous and shaking and ready for a breakdown. “I'm sorry. I want to help, but I just can't do this.”

“It's okay, Mrs. Card,” Nicholas said, trying to soothe. The poor lady was distraught and needed a friend. Sure, things were fine as long as there were nine other votes. He could afford to be comforting; he just couldn't afford to lose another vote.

There was a silence as they waited to see if she would regroup or come unglued. She took a deep breath, jutted her chin forward, and found inner strength.

“Can I ask a question?” Angel said in the direction of Nicholas, as if he were now the sole source of wisdom.

“Sure,” he said, shrugging.

“What will happen to the tobacco industry if we bring back a big verdict, the kind we're talking about?”

“Legally, economically, or politically?”

“All.”

He thought for a second or two, but was anxious to respond. “A lot of panic, initially. Lots of shock waves. Lots of scared executives worrying about what's next. They'll hunker down and wait to see if the trial lawyers flood them with litigation. They'll be forced to reexamine their advertising strategies. They won't go bankrupt, at least not in the near future, because they have so much money. They'll run to Congress and demand special laws, and I suspect Washington will treat them with less and less favor. In short, Angel, the industry will never be the same if we do what we should do.”

“Hopefully, one day cigarettes will be outlawed,” Rikki added.

“That, or the companies will not be financially able to manufacture them,” said Nicholas.

“What will happen to us?” Angel asked. “I mean, will we be in any danger? You said these people have been watching us since before the trial started.”

“Naw, we'll be safe,” Nicholas said. “They can't do anything to us. Like I said earlier, next week they won't remember our names. But everyone will remember our verdict.”

Phillip Savelle returned and took his seat. “So what have you Robin Hoods decided now?” he asked.

Nicholas ignored him. “We need to decide on an amount, folks, if we want to go home.”

“I thought we'd made that decision,” said Rikki.

“Do we have at least nine votes?” Nicholas asked.

“For how much, may I ask?” Savelle inquired in a mocking tone.

“Three hundred and fifty million, give or take a few,” Rikki answered.

“Ah, the old distribution of wealth theory. Funny, you folks don't look like a bunch of Marxists.”

“I have an idea,” Jerry said. “Let's round it off to four hundred, half their cash. That shouldn't bankrupt them. They can tighten their belts, load up some more nicotine, hook some more kids, and, presto, they'll have the money back in a couple of years.”

“Is this an auction?” Savelle asked, and no one answered.

“Let's do it,” Rikki said.

“Count the votes,” Nicholas said, and nine hands went up. He then polled them by asking each of the other eight if they were voting to return a verdict of two million dollars in actual damages and four hundred million in punitive. Each of them said yes. He filled in the verdict form, and made each of them sign it.

Lonnie returned after a long absence.

Nicholas addressed him. “We've reached a verdict, Lonnie.”

“What a surprise. How much?”

“Four hundred and two million dollars,” Savelle said. “Give or take a few million.”

Lonnie looked at Savelle, then looked at Nicholas. “You're kidding?” he said, barely audible.

“Nope,” Nicholas said. “It's true, and we have nine votes. Care to join?”

“Hell no.”

“Pretty incredible, ain't it?” Savelle said. “And just think, we'll all be famous.”

“This is unheard of,” Lonnie said, leaning against the wall.

“Not really,” Nicholas replied. “Texaco got hit with a ten-billion-dollar verdict a few years back.”

“Oh, so this is a bargain?” Lonnie said.

“No,” Nicholas said, standing. “This is justice.” He walked to the door, opened it, and asked Lou Dell to inform Judge Harkin that his jury was ready.

While they waited for a minute, Lonnie cornered Nicholas, and in a whisper asked, “Is there any way I can keep my name out of this?” He was more nervous than angry.

“Sure. Don't worry. The Judge will poll us, ask us one at a time if this is our verdict. When he asks you, make sure everyone knows you had nothing to do with it.”

“Thanks.”

Lou Dell took the note as she had taken his previous ones and gave it to Willis, who walked down the hall, around the corner, and out of sight. He personally delivered it to His Honor, who at that moment was chatting on the phone, and anxious to hear the verdict. He heard verdicts all the time, but he had a hunch this one might have some pop to it. He felt sure he would one day preside over a grander civil trial, but one was hard to contemplate at the moment.

The note said: “Judge Harkin, Could you arrange for a deputy to escort me from the courthouse as soon as we're dismissed? I'm scared. I'll explain later. Nicholas Easter.”

His Honor gave instructions to a deputy waiting outside his chambers, then strode purposefully through the door and into the courtroom, where the air seemed thick with trepidation. Lawyers, most of whom had been lounging around their offices not far away waiting for the call, were scurrying down the aisle, hustling to their seats, nerved up and wild-eyed. Spectators filtered in. It was almost eight o'clock.

“I have been informed that the jury has reached a verdict,” Harkin said loudly into his microphone, and he could see the lawyers shaking. “Please bring in the jury.”

They filed in with solemn faces, something jurors always do. Regardless of what good news they bear for one side or the other, and regardless of how united they'might be, their eyes are always downcast, causing both sides to instinctively sink low and begin plans for appeal.

Lou Dell took the form from Nicholas, gave it to His Honor, who somehow managed to examine it while remaining remarkably straight-faced. He gave not the slightest hint of the shattering news he was holding. The verdict shocked him beyond reason, but procedurally there was nothing he could do. It was technically in order. There would be motions to reduce it later, but he was handcuffed now. He refolded it, gave it back to Lou Dell, who walked it over to Nicholas. He was standing and ready for the announcement. “Mr. Foreman, read the verdict.”

Nicholas unfolded his masterpiece, cleared his throat, glanced around quickly to see if Fitch was in the courtroom, and when he didn't see him, he read: “We, the jury, find for the plaintiff, Celeste Wood, and award compensatory damages in the amount of two million dollars.”

This alone was a precedent. Wendall Rohr and his gang of trial lawyers breathed an enormous sigh of relief. They had just made history. But the jury wasn't finished.

“And we, the jury, find for the plaintiff, Celeste Wood, and award punitive damages in the amount of four hundred million dollars.”

From a lawyer's point of view, the receiving of a verdict approaches an art form. One cannot flinch or twitch. One cannot look around for either solace or jubilation. One cannot grab one's client to celebrate or to comfort. One must sit perfectly still, frown hard at a legal pad upon which one is writing, and act as though one knew precisely what the verdict would be.

The art form was desecrated. Cable slumped as if shot in the stomach. His comrades stared at the jury box with mouths gaping, air rushing out, eyes squinted in utter disbelief. An “Oh my god!” was heard from somewhere among the second-tier defense lawyers behind Cable.