Randy Singer - The Justice Game

Kelly made it about halfway through her presentation before the questions started.

“What about the theory of independent superseding cause? Don’t the actions of this guy… what’s his name?”

“Jamison.”

“Right. Don’t his criminal actions cut off the right to pursue MD Firearms?”

Before Kelly could answer, another member of the committee piped in. “She’s not proposing a negligence theory. She’s saying this company creates a public nuisance by selling to rogue dealers. Causation is analyzed differently under a nuisance theory.”

“Actually,” Kelly said, “I’m proposing both.”

“Even if we take this on a contingency fee, who’s going to pay the out-of-pocket costs?”

“I’m proposing that our firm would advance them.”

“Could be a hundred thousand or more,” somebody murmured.

“Have you seen the polls on gun control?” one of the members asked. “A majority of Americans support the Second Amendment.”

“What’s that got to do with anything?” countered another committee member. “We’re not attacking the Second Amendment.”

“That’s semantics,” the first member shot back. “You know as well as I do this is just a backdoor way to take guns out of the hands of American citizens.”

And so it went. The pro-gun members arguing with the anti-gun members and Kelly hardly getting a word in edgewise. The men staked out their positions early, and nobody changed anyone else’s mind. At the end of the meeting, the committee authorized Kelly to take the case by a 3-2 vote.

There was an unexpected twist, however. John Lloyd, the chairman of the committee and a vote in favor of the case, proposed that B amp;W take the case pro bono instead of on a contingency fee basis.

At first, Kelly hated the idea. If the firm handled the case on a contingency fee basis and obtained a large verdict, the money collected would count toward her billable hour requirement. But pro bono cases were extra-community service work done above and beyond the normal oppressive billable hour quota.

“If we take the case on a contingency fee,” Lloyd said, “the media will portray us as a bunch of ambulance-chasers trying to profit from gun violence. If we take it pro bono, they’ll applaud us as principled advocates for reform.”

“And we might leave a million dollars on the table,” somebody protested.

Lloyd motioned toward Kelly. “We’re gonna have our firm’s prettiest face all over The Today Show and Nightline and 20/20 -no offense, Kelly. How much do you think it would cost us to buy that kind of publicity?”

Kelly blushed a little. She wasn’t afraid of the publicity, but it would be nice to be more than just the firm cover girl. “I think that’s a mistake,” she said. “This case could lead to other cases just like it. This could develop into a very lucrative practice area.”

That thought generated looks of grave concern on the faces of the two partners who had voted against the case. “B amp;W is a business litigation firm,” one said. “Not a plaintiff’s personal injury firm. I for one don’t want to be known as the law firm that declares war on the Second Amendment.”

John Lloyd took off his glasses and spoke with the gravitas of a peacemaker. “Those are valid concerns, and I’m not proposing that we declare war on the Second Amendment. We’re taking one case, milking all the publicity we can out of it, then going back to our bread and butter.”

It wasn’t exactly a ringing endorsement, but Kelly just wanted out of the room with her case intact. Even though she couldn’t possibly handle her billable hours requirement and this case, in a way it wouldn’t matter. If she won, her reputation would soar, and her lack of billable hours wouldn’t matter. If she lost, all the billable hours in the world wouldn’t save her.

The more she thought about it, the more she liked the idea of taking the case pro bono. Lloyd was right. The liberal media would portray Kelly as the white knight, riding in to save the day against gun violence. Her firm could take the next case on a contingency fee.

“You really want me to do this pro bono?” she asked. Her tone made it clear that it would be a major sacrifice, one she would reluctantly make for the good of the firm.

“I’m afraid so,” John Lloyd said.

“All right,” Kelly said, resisting the urge to smile.

Two weeks later, a B amp;W runner filed a thick lawsuit in Virginia Beach circuit court. A press release quickly followed. In the lawsuit, Kelly was required to provide only general allegations, but she had gone much further. She beefed up the pleadings with lots of specific facts about the MD-9 and the way Peninsula Arms supplied much of the black market in New York, Philadelphia, Baltimore, and D.C.

Fortunately for Kelly, all four of those cities happened to be major media markets.

A week earlier, B amp;W had hired an outside PR firm to arrange interviews on the most prestigious morning shows for the day after the filing. Accordingly, while the lawsuit was being file-stamped by the Virginia Beach court clerk, Kelly was on a flight from D.C. to New York. She was nervous, but she had learned from the rainmakers at B amp;W that building a law practice consisted of one part skill and two parts marketing. Besides, this would be a great opportunity to influence the public’s perception of her case, including potential jurors in Virginia Beach. She would look into the cameras and pretend she was talking to a few friends over a nice dinner. How hard could it be?

On Tuesday evening, Kelly was greeted at LaGuardia Airport by PR consultant Jeff Chapman and a limo driver holding a sign with Kelly’s name on it. On the way to the hotel, Jeff briefed Kelly on each interview scheduled for the following day and the types of questions she might expect. Jeff was a big man, gregarious and confident, and his briefing helped Kelly calm down. He seemed to be on a first-name basis with all the hosts and assured Kelly that most of the interviews would be very sympathetic.

“They’ll have to ask hard questions because that’s what they do. But remember, secretly they’ll be cheering you on. If you stumble, they’ll ask a softball question so you can end strong.”

“And then there’s Fox and Friends, ” Kelly said.

“Even there, they’ll have to be careful how hard they push. There’s a lot of sympathy for your client.”

At each studio, Jeff Chapman introduced her to the producers and makeup crews, chitchatting with them like old friends. Kelly breezed through the first few interviews, her only disappointment being that Matt Lauer was taking the day off. Her third interview, ABC’s Good Morning America, was smooth sailing until Diane Sawyer popped the experience question: “If you don’t mind my asking, how long have you been practicing law?”

“Five years,” Kelly replied. She had flashed her smile often that morning, on the advice of Jeff Chapman. But she didn’t smile now. “I’m the same age Rachel Crawford was when she was gunned down.”

“Great answer!” Jeff said after the interview. All morning long, he had been telling her that she was a natural.

I could get used to this, Kelly thought.

CNN was probably her best interview. They had assembled a whole package of graphics based on the statistics Kelly had highlighted in her lawsuit. As an extra bonus, they had uncovered some details about several other crimes involving guns sold by Peninsula Arms, particularly the MD-9. Toward the end of the interview, they actually produced an MD-9 on the set, assuring Kelly it was not loaded.

It looked evil, lying on the anchor desk-flat and boxy, dull black with a blunt barrel. “Do you think guns like this should be legal?” the anchor asked.