John Grisham - The Litigators

“Just stop calling 911,” Clint said.

“Are you going to testify tomorrow?” David asked firmly.

“No, I can’t. I can’t leave this house, otherwise my nerves will melt down.”

“It won’t do any good, will it?” Clint asked. “The lawsuit is a loser. That other lawyer, Shaw, says you guys have messed up the case so bad can’t nobody win it.”

David was about to return fire when he realized that Clint was right. The lawsuit was a loser. Thanks to Finley & Figg, the Klopecks were now in federal court with a case that was hopeless, and he along with his partners was simply going through the motions and looking forward to the end.

David said good-bye and left as quickly as possible. Clint followed him outside, and as they walked to the street, he said, “Look, if you need me, I’ll come to court and speak for the family.”

If an appearance by Iris was the last thing their case needed, a cameo by Clint was certainly next to last. “Let me think about it,” David said, but only to be nice. The jury would get more than enough of the Klopecks through Iris’s video deposition.

“Any chance we’re gonna get some money?” Clint asked.

“We’re fighting, Clint. There’s always a chance, but no guarantees.”

“Sure would be nice.”

At 4:30, the jury was selected, seated, sworn, and sent home with instructions to return at 8:45 the following morning. Of the twelve, there were seven women, five men, eight whites, three blacks, and one Hispanic, though the jury consultants felt as if race would not be a factor. One woman was moderately obese. The rest were in reasonably good shape. Their ages ranged from twenty-five to sixty-one, all had finished high school, and three had college degrees.

The Finley & Figg lawyers piled into David’s SUV and headed back to the office. They were exhausted, but oddly satisfied. They had gone toe-to-toe with the power of corporate America and, so far, had not crumbled under the pressure. Of course, the trial hadn’t really started. No witness had been sworn. No evidence had been offered. The worst was yet to come, but for the moment they were still in the game.

David gave a detailed account of his visit to see Iris, and all three agreed she should be kept away from the courtroom. Their first task of the evening was to somehow obtain a letter from a doctor that would satisfy Seawright.

There was much to be done that evening. They bought a pizza and took it to the office.

Monday’s brief respite from the fear of annihilation was long forgotten by Tuesday morning. By the time the boutique team walked into the courtroom, the pressure was back in spades. This was the real beginning of the trial, and a heavy tension filled the air. “Just get through it,” David repeated each time his stomach turned flips.

Judge Seawright offered an abrupt good morning, welcomed his jury, then explained, or tried to explain, the absence of Ms. Iris Klopeck, widow and personal representative of Percy Klopeck. When he finished, he said, “At this time, each party will make an opening statement. Nothing you are about to hear is evidence; rather, it’s what the lawyers think they will prove during this trial. I caution you to take it lightly. You may proceed, Mr. Finley, for the plaintiff.”

Oscar stood and walked to the podium with his yellow legal pad. He placed it on the podium, smiled at the jurors, looked at his notes, smiled again at the jurors, then, oddly, stopped smiling. Several awkward seconds passed, as if Oscar had lost his train of thought and could think of nothing to say. He wiped his forehead with the palm of his hand and fell forward. He ricocheted off the podium and landed hard on the carpeted floor, still groaning and grimacing as if in enormous pain. There was a wild scramble as Wally and David sprinted for him, as did two uniformed bailiffs and a couple of the Rogan Rothberg attorneys. Several of the jurors stood as if they wanted to help in some way. Judge Seawright was yelling, “Call 911! Call 911!” Then, “Is there a doctor here?”

No one claimed to be a doctor. One of the bailiffs took charge, and it wasn’t long before it was clear that Oscar had not merely fainted. In the chaos, and as a crowd hovered over Oscar, someone said, “He’s barely breathing.” There was more scurrying about, more calls for help. A paramedic assigned to the courthouse arrived within minutes and knelt over Oscar.

Wally stood and backed away and found himself near the jury box. Without thinking, and in an incredibly stupid effort at humor, he looked at the jurors, pointed to his fallen partner, and said, in a voice that was heard by many, words that would be repeated by other lawyers for years to come, “Oh, the wonders of Krayoxx.”

“Your Honor, please!” Nadine Karros shrieked. Several of the jurors found it funny; others did not.

Judge Seawright said, “Mr. Figg, get away from the jury.”

Wally scampered away. He and David waited across the courtroom.

The jury was removed and sent back to the jury room. “Court’s in recess for an hour,” Seawright said. He walked down from the bench and waited near the podium. Wally eased over and said, “Sorry about that, Judge.”

“Silence.”

A team of paramedics arrived with a stretcher. Oscar was strapped down and wheeled out of the courtroom. He did not appear to be conscious. He had a pulse, but it was dangerously low. As the lawyers and spectators mingled about, uncertain as to what they should be doing, David whispered to Wally, “Any history of heart trouble?”

Wally shook his head. “Nothing. He’s always been lean and healthy. Seems like his father may have died young from something. Oscar never talked about his family, though.”

A bailiff approached and said, “The judge wants to see the lawyers in chambers.”

——

Fearing that he was on the hot seat, Wally decided he had nothing to lose. He went into Judge Seawright’s chambers with an attitude. “Judge, I need to get to the hospital.”

“Just a moment, Mr. Figg.”

Nadine was standing and not happy. She said, in her best courtroom voice, “Your Honor, based solely on the improper comments made by Mr. Figg directly to the jurors, we have no choice but to move for a mistrial.”

“Mr. Figg?” His Honor demanded in a tone that clearly conveyed the message that a mistrial was only minutes, perhaps seconds away.

Wally was standing too and could think of no response. David instinctively said, “How is the jury prejudiced? Mr. Finley did not take the drug. Sure, it was a stupid comment, made in the chaos of the moment, but there is no prejudice.”

“I disagree, Your Honor,” Nadine shot back. “Several of the jurors thought it was funny and were actually on the verge of laughing. Calling it stupid is an understatement. It was clearly an improper and very prejudicial comment.”

A mistrial would mean a delay, something that the plaintiff’s team needed. Hell, they were willing to delay it for a decade.

“Motion granted,” His Honor announced. “I declare a mistrial. Now what?”

Wally had fallen into a chair and looked pale. David said the first thing that came to his mind. “Well, Judge, we obviously need more time. How about a continuance or something like that?”

“Ms. Karros?”

“Judge, this is certainly a unique situation. I suggest we wait twenty-four hours and monitor Mr. Finley’s condition. I think it’s fair to point out that Mr. Figg filed this lawsuit and was lead counsel until just a few days ago. I’m sure he could try this case as well as his senior partner.”

“Good point,” Judge Seawright agreed. “Mr. Zinc, I think it best if you and Mr. Figg hustle on down to the hospital and check on Mr. Finley. Keep me posted by e-mail, with copies to Ms. Karros.”