Randy Singer - The Justice Game

The woman ushered Jason into the inner sanctum of Sherwood’s large corner suite. “Mr. Sherwood will be right back,” she said. “My name is Olivia. Please let me know if you need anything.”

Olivia stepped out, and Jason took the opportunity to glance around. His other visits to this office had been part of quick meetings with Mr. Sherwood and other attorneys-never alone like this. Though he worked hard not to be impressed by the trappings of success, the view out the bank of windows on the west wall was breathtaking even on a rainy day. The Statue of Liberty, the green trees on Ellis Island, a few boats navigating the choppy water of the Hudson River-it was all a little overwhelming for a cop’s kid from Alpharetta, Georgia.

But the view was not the most talked about aspect of Sherwood’s corner office. That honor fell to a mundane navy blue leather chair positioned just in front of Sherwood’s desk. The faded leather was cracked, and the wooden armrests were stained dark on the ends-the result, Jason suspected, of years of accumulated palm sweat. The old chair looked almost comically out of place amid the other expensive office furniture; the navy blue color didn’t even match the rich brown decor of the other furnishings.

But the blue chair had been known to strike terror into the hearts of even the most intrepid young associates. The Justice Inc. rumor mill said that the blue chair was only used for tongue-lashings and firings and similarly unpleasant events. When Mr. Sherwood asked you to have a seat in the blue chair, you’d better have your resume updated.

When Sherwood entered the room, Jason was rubbing the small brass knobs on the top of the backrest, wondering how many lives had been changed in that chair.

“Thanks for coming,” Sherwood boomed, causing Jason to start. Sherwood walked over and shook Jason’s hand with a grip you might expect from a football coach. The man was old school-white shirt, red tie, black wing-tip loafers. He patted Jason on the shoulder. “Have a seat.”

Jason took a breath and slid reluctantly into the blue chair. Without speaking, Sherwood walked around his desk and sat in his own desk chair. Jason slouched down just a little and crossed his legs by resting his left ankle on his right knee. He wasn’t intimidated… much.

Before Sherwood started speaking, Olivia poked her head back in the office. “I’m sorry,” she said, “but it’s Mr. McDermont, and he’s insisting on speaking with you.”

Sherwood looked annoyed. “I’ve already talked with him twice. Tell him I’ll call back later.”

Olivia’s face fell, as if she knew McDermont would take it out on her. “I’ll let him know,” she said.

As soon as Olivia disappeared and closed the door, Sherwood pushed his chair back and stood, grabbing a sealed envelope as he did so. “They say you should never have a desk between yourself and someone you’re talking with. Creates a barrier or some such nonsense.” He walked out from behind his desk and motioned to a small round table. “Let’s move over here.”

Jason smiled to himself-a student of head games, he was watching a master. He joined Sherwood at the conference table that overlooked the river, suddenly feeling a little more confident after being liberated from the blue chair.

“Did Olivia offer you something to drink?”

“I’m fine, thanks.”

“You tried a heckuva case in Los Angeles,” Sherwood said.

“Thanks.” Jason felt a small burst of pride-after all, this was the head honcho. But he also noticed that the envelope Sherwood absentmindedly tapped on the table had Jason’s name on it.

“Too bad the real prosecutors didn’t use your playbook.”

Jason thought about his “playbook,” including the hair dye stunt. He had used another product after the trial to regain his natural brown hue. “They played it safe. Prosecutors always play it safe.”

Sherwood frowned at the thought and nodded. “You know what makes our system work?”

“Sir?”

“Do you know what makes our criminal justice system work? What allows juries to get it right most of the time?”

Jason could think of a thousand things-the presumption of innocence, the right to confront one’s accusers, a jury of one’s peers-but he wasn’t sure where Sherwood was headed. “I haven’t really thought about it in those terms,” Jason admitted.

“The adversarial nature of it,” Sherwood responded, as if the answer was obvious to any idiot. “When two equally matched and well-prepared advocates zealously represent their clients in front of an unbiased decision maker, the truth generally wins out.”

He rotated the envelope in his hands, zeroing in on Jason. “Now, what screws the system up? When does it not work?”

“When lazy or incompetent lawyers get involved. When the juries or judges are biased.”

“Right,” Sherwood said. “There’s an old adage about the definition of a jury. It’s twelve men and women from the local community who come together to decide which client hired the better lawyer. When exceptional lawyers with enormous resources outwork and outsmart their adversaries, they win. But in the process, justice loses.”

Three years of law school and two years of practicing law, and Jason had never heard it expressed quite that way. Sherwood had a reputation for cutting to the core issues.

“That’s what happened in the Van Wyck mock trial,” Sherwood continued. “You out-lawyered Austin Lockhart. You pulled out a conviction when the evidence demanded an acquittal. You cost a few hedge fund managers millions of dollars.”

Jason didn’t quite know what to say. It felt like he was being accused and congratulated at the same time.

“I think you’re giving me too much credit,” he managed.

“That’s what Andrew Lassiter said. And I listened. It cost me a lot of credibility, Jason. It cost my clients a lot of money.”

Jason squelched the desire to apologize. What had he done wrong?

“It’s not your fault,” Sherwood said, as if reading Jason’s mind. “We told you on day one that we wanted your best efforts in every case. The only way this works is when both lawyers go all out.” Sherwood flashed a quick smile, almost a wink. “Unfortunately, your best efforts are too good.

“I’ve never fired anyone for being too good at their job, Jason. But there’s always a first time.”

Sherwood twisted his neck back and forth, casually stretching his neck muscles as if he fired someone every day.

Am I hearing this right?

The CEO put down the envelope and stood, his bulky frame hovering over the table. He walked to his credenza and pulled out a box of cigars. He held them toward Jason, a surreal gesture that made Jason realize this moment would become part of Justice Inc. folklore. His friends wouldn’t believe this! He was getting fired for doing his job too well-and then offered a celebratory cigar as if he and Sherwood had just won the NBA championship.

“No, thanks,” Jason said.

Sherwood set the box on the table and unwrapped one for himself. He bit off the end and spit it into a trash can. He placed the cigar in his mouth without lighting it and chewed on it as he talked.

“I’ll pay you for the remainder of your two-year contract,” he said, sliding the envelope toward Jason. “I would probably pay you a bonus for exceptional performance if you hadn’t set the company back a year or two by winning a case you should have lost.”

Jason bit his tongue and eyed the big man curiously. It was hard to know whether Sherwood was being sarcastic or serious.

Sherwood shrugged and gave Jason a knowing smile. “I know this sounds stupid. But it’s like a college football player declaring early for the draft. You’re better prepared to try a big case than 90 percent of the litigation partners at the largest law firms in this city.” He chewed a little more on his cigar. “You’ve got a knack, Jason. And I want to help you land at the right place.”