John Grisham - The Litigators

Judge and Mrs. Zinc took the news well. They were, after all, in their late fifties and many of their friends were already grandparents. Helen was thirty-three, two years older than David, and, well, it was certainly about time, wasn’t it? They digested this amazing news, rallied nicely, then offered congratulations and wanted details. Helen gabbed away as David unloaded their luggage and everyone moved inside.

Over lunch, the baby talk eventually subsided, and Judge Zinc finally got down to business. “Tell me about your new firm, David,” he said. David knew damn well his father had dug and dug and found what little there was to know about Finley & Figg.

“Oh, Andy, don’t start that,” Caroline said, as if “that” were a raw subject that should be avoided. Caroline agreed with her husband and believed David had made a serious mistake, but the news of Helen’s pregnancy had changed everything, for the future grandmother anyway.

“I told you on the phone,” David said quickly, anxious to have this discussion and get it over with. He was also prepared to defend himself, to fight if necessary. His father chose a career that was not what old Woodrow wanted. David had now done the same.

“It’s a small two-man firm with a general practice. Fifty hours a week, which gives me time to fool around with my wife and keep the family name going. You should be proud.”

“I’m delighted Helen is expecting, but I’m not sure I understand your decision. Rogan Rothberg is one of the most prestigious law firms in the world. They’ve trained judges, legal scholars, diplomats, and leaders of business and government. How can you just walk away from that?”

“I didn’t walk away, Dad, I ran. And I’m not going back. I hate the memories of Rogan Rothberg, and I think even less of the people.”

They were eating as they spoke. Things were cordial. Andy had promised Caroline he would not provoke a fight. David had promised Helen he would not engage in one.

“So, this new firm has two partners?” the judge asked.

“Two partners and now three lawyers. Plus Rochelle, the secretary, receptionist, office manager, and a lot of other things.”

“Support staff? Clerks, paralegals, interns?”

“Rochelle handles all that. It’s a small firm where we do most of our own typing and research.”

“He’s actually home for dinner,” Helen added. “I’ve never seen him so happy.”

“You look great,” Caroline said. “Both of you.”

The judge was not accustomed to being outnumbered or outflanked. “These two partners, are they trial lawyers?”

“They claim to be, but I have my doubts. They’re basically a couple of ambulance chasers who advertise a lot and survive on car wrecks.”

“What made you choose them?”

David glanced at Helen, who looked away with a smile. “That, Dad, is a long story that I will not bore you with.”

“Oh, it’s not boring,” Helen said, barely suppressing laughter.

“What kind of money do they make?” the judge asked.

“I’ve been there three weeks. They have not shown me the books, but they’re not getting rich. And I’m sure you wanna know how much I’m making. Same answer. I don’t know. I get a piece of what I bring in the door, and I have no idea what might walk in tomorrow.”

“And you’re starting a family?”

“Yes, and I’ll be home for dinner with my family, and T-ball, and Cub Scouts and school plays and all the other wonderful stuff parents are supposed to do with their kids.”

“I was there, David, I missed very little.”

“Yes, you were, but you never worked for a sweatshop like Rogan Rothberg.”

A pause as everybody took a breath. David said, “We saved a lot. We’ll survive nicely, just wait and see.”

“I’m sure you will,” his mother said, switching sides completely and now fully aligned against her husband.

“I haven’t started the nursery yet,” Helen said to Caroline. “If you’d like, we can go to a great shop around the corner and look at wallpaper.”

“Perfect.”

The judge touched the corners of his mouth with a napkin and said, “Associate boot camp is just part of the routine these days, David. You survive that, make partner, and life is good.”

“I didn’t sign up for the Marines, Dad, and life is never good at a huge law firm like Rogan because the partners never make enough money. I know these partners. I’ve seen them. For the most part, they’re great lawyers and miserable people. I’ve quit. I’m not going back. Drop it.” It was the first flash of anger during lunch, and David was disappointed in himself. He drank some mineral water and took a bite of chicken salad.

His father smiled, took a bite himself, and chewed for a long time. Helen asked about David’s two sisters, and Caroline jumped at the chance to change the subject.

Over dessert, his father asked pleasantly, “What type of work are you doing?”

“Lots of good stuff. This week I prepared a will for a lady who’s hiding her assets from her children. They suspect she inherited some money from her third husband, which she did, but they can’t seem to find it. She wants to leave everything to her FedEx deliveryman. I represent a gay couple who are trying to adopt a child in Korea. I have two deportation cases involving illegal Mexicans who were caught in a drug ring. I represent the family of a fourteen-year-old girl who’s been hooked on crack for two years and there’s no place to lock her up for rehab. A couple of drunk-driving clients.”

“Sounds like a bunch of riffraff,” the judge observed.

“No, actually, they’re real people with real problems who need help. That’s the beauty of street law — you meet the clients face-to-face, you get to know them, and, if things work out, you get to help them.”

“If you don’t starve.”

“I’m not going to starve, Dad, I promise. Besides, these guys do hit the jackpot every now and then.”

“I know, I know. I saw them when I was practicing, and I see their cases now on appeal. Last week, we affirmed a $9 million jury verdict, a terrible case involving a brain-damaged kid who got lead poisoning from some toys. His lawyer was a sole practitioner who did a DUI for the mother. He got the case, called in a gunslinger to try it, now they’re splitting 40 percent of $9 million.”

Those numbers bounced around the table for a few minutes. “Coffee, anyone?” Helen asked. They all declined and moved to the den. After a few moments, Helen and Caroline left to inspect the guest room that was about to become a nursery.

When they were out of range, the judge mounted his final assault. “One of my law clerks came across a story about the Krayoxx litigation. Saw your picture online, the one from the Tribune , with Mr. Figg. Is he a straight-up guy?”

“Not really,” David admitted.

“Doesn’t look like.”

“Let’s just say that Wally’s complicated.”

“I’m not sure your career will be advanced if you hang around with these guys.”

“You could be right, Dad, but for now I’m having fun. I look forward to getting to the office. I enjoy my clients, the few that I have, and I am enormously relieved to be out of the sweatshop. Just relax a bit, okay? If this doesn’t work out, I’ll try something else.”

“How did you get involved in this Krayoxx litigation?”

“We found some cases.” David smiled at the thought of his father’s reaction if he told the truth about their search for clients. Wally and his.44 Magnum. Wally offering cash bribes for client referrals. Wally hitting the funeral home circuit. No, there were things the judge should never know.

“Have you researched Krayoxx?” the judge asked.

“I’m in the process. Have you?”