John Grisham - The Litigators

“And retired?” he asked.

A sip of coffee, another grunt. “Last time I checked, the computer showed three thousand files retired since 1991. I don’t know what’s upstairs.”

Upstairs was the final resting place for everything — old law books, outdated computers and word processors, unused office supplies, and dozens of boxes of files Oscar had retired before he added Wally as a partner.

“Three thousand,” Wally said with a satisfied grin, as if such a large number were clear evidence of a long and successful career. “Here’s the plan, Ms. Gibson. I have drafted a letter that I want you to print on our stationery. It goes to every client, current and past, active and retired. Every name in our client database.”

Rochelle thought of all the unhappy clients who had left Finley & Figg. The unpaid fees, the nasty letters, the threats of malpractice lawsuits. She even kept a file labeled “Threats.” Over the years, half a dozen or so disgruntled ex-clients had been angry enough to put their feelings on paper. A couple promised ambushes and beatings. One mentioned a sniper’s rifle.

Why not leave these poor people alone? They had suffered enough having passed through the office the first time.

Wally jumped to his feet and walked over with the letter. She had no choice but to take it and read it.

Dear _______ :

Beware of Krayoxx! This cholesterol drug, made by Varrick Labs, has been proven to cause heart attacks and strokes. Though it has been on the market for six years, scientific evidence is just now revealing the deadly side effects of this drug. If you are using Krayoxx, stop immediately .

The law firm of Finley & Figg is at the forefront of Krayoxx litigation. We will soon be joining a national class action lawsuit in a highly complicated move to bring Varrick to justice .

We need your involvement! If you or anyone you know has a history with Krayoxx, you may have a case. More important, if you know of anyone who has taken Krayoxx and has suffered a heart attack or stroke, please call immediately. A lawyer from Finley & Figg will be at your home within hours .

Don’t hesitate. Call now. We anticipate a huge settlement .

Sincerely, Wallis T. Figg, Attorney and Counselor-at-Law

“Has Oscar seen this?” she asked.

“Not yet. Pretty good, huh?”

“This for real?”

“Oh, it’s so real, Ms. Gibson. This is our biggest moment.”

“Another gold mine?”

“Bigger than a gold mine.”

“And you want to send three thousand letters?”

“Yep, you print ’em, I’ll sign ’em, we’ll stuff ’em, and they go out in today’s mail.”

“That’s over a thousand bucks in postage.”

“Ms. Gibson, the average Krayoxx case will generate something like $200,000 in attorneys’ fees, and that’s on the low side. Could be as high as $400,000 per case. If we can find ten cases, the math gets real easy.”

Rochelle did the math, and her reluctance began to fade. Her mind began to drift. With all the bar journals and newsletters that crossed her desk, she had seen a thousand stories about big verdicts and big settlements. Lawyers making millions in fees.

Surely, they would give her a fine bonus.

“All right,” she said, shoving her newspaper aside.

Oscar and Wally had their second Krayoxx fight not long afterward. When Oscar arrived at 9:00 a.m., he could not help but notice the flurry of activity around the front desk. Rochelle was working the computer. The printer was in high gear. Wally was signing his name to letters. Even AC was awake and watching.

“What’s all this?” Oscar demanded.

“The sounds of capitalism at work,” Wally answered cheerfully.

“What the hell does that mean?”

“Protecting the rights of the injured. Serving our clients. Purging the market of dangerous products. Bringing corporate wrongdoers to justice.”

“Chasing ambulances,” Rochelle said.

Oscar looked disgusted and continued to his office, where he slammed the door. Before he could remove his coat and park his umbrella, Wally was at his desk, nibbling on a muffin and waving one of the letters. “You gotta read this, Oscar,” he said. “This is brilliant.”

Oscar read it, the wrinkles in his forehead getting deeper and deeper with each paragraph. When he finished, he said, “Come on, Wally, not again. How many of these are you sending out?”

“Three thousand. Our entire client list.”

“What? Think of the postage. Think of the wasted time. Here we go again. You’ll spend the next month running around chirping about Krayoxx this and Krayoxx that, and you’ll waste a hundred hours looking for worthless cases, and on and on. We’ve been here before, Wally, come on. Do something productive.”

“Like what?”

“Like go hang out in an emergency room somewhere, wait for a real case to come in. I don’t have to tell you how to find good cases.”

“I’m tired of that crap, Oscar. I wanna make some money. Let’s hit it big for a change.”

“My wife’s been taking the drug for two years. Loves it.”

“Did you tell her to stop, that it’s killing people?”

“Of course not.”

As their voices grew louder, Rochelle eased over and quietly closed the door to Oscar’s office. She was returning to her desk when the front door suddenly opened. It was David Zinc, bright and sober with a big smile, sharp suit, cashmere overcoat, and two thick briefcases loaded to the max.

“Well, well, if it ain’t Mr. Harvard,” Rochelle said.

“I’m back.”

“I’m surprised you could find us.”

“It wasn’t easy. Where’s my office?”

“Well, uh, let’s see. I’m not sure we have one. Perhaps we should ask the two bosses about this.” She nodded to Oscar’s door, beyond which voices could be heard.

“So they’re here?” David asked.

“Yes, they usually start the day with a round of bickering.”

“I see.”

“Look, Harvard, are you sure you know what you’re doing? This is another world. You’re taking a plunge here, leaving the fancy life of corporate law for the bush leagues. You might get hurt out here, and you sure won’t make any money.”

“I’ve done the big-firm thing, Ms. Gibson, and I’ll jump off a bridge before I go back. Just give me a little room somewhere to park myself, and I’ll figure it out.”

The door opened, and Wally and Oscar emerged. They froze when they saw David standing in front of Rochelle’s desk. Wally smiled and said, “Well, good morning, David. You look surprisingly healthy.”

“Thank you, and I’d like to apologize for my appearance yesterday.” He nodded at all three as he spoke. “You caught me at the tail end of a rather unusual episode, but it was nonetheless a very important day in my life. I quit the big firm, and here I am, ready to go to work.”

“What type of work do you have in mind?” Oscar asked.

David gave a slight shrug as if he didn’t have a clue. “For the past five years, I’ve labored in the dungeon of bond underwriting, with emphasis on second- and third-tier aftermarket spreads, primarily for foreign multinational corporations that prefer to avoid paying taxes anywhere in the world. If you have no idea what that is, then don’t worry. No one else does either. What it means is that a small team of us idiots labored fifteen hours a day in a room with no windows creating paperwork, and more paperwork. I’ve never seen the inside of a courtroom, or a courthouse for that matter, never met a judge when he was wearing a robe, never offered a hand to help a person who needed a real lawyer. To answer your question, Mr. Finley, I’m here to do anything. Think of me as a rookie fresh out of law school who doesn’t know his ass from a hole in the ground. But I’m a quick study.”