John Grisham - The Litigators

David gave a highly condensed version of the trial. He mimicked the Russian accent of Dr. Borzov, and this drew laughter. All jokes were on Finley & Figg after all, so why not laugh at themselves. When he described his frantic efforts to find Dr. Threadgill, they laughed some more. They could not believe that Helen had been drafted into service. When he described the faces of the jurors during Iris’s video, Rochelle wiped her eyes with a tissue.

“And in spite of my brilliant performance, the jury reached its verdict in only seventeen minutes.”

When the humor was gone, they talked about Wally, their fallen comrade. They talked about the bills, the line of credit, their bleak future. Oscar suggested they forget about it until Monday morning. “We’ll figure out something,” he said.

David and Rochelle were startled at how thoughtful and kind he had become. Perhaps the heart attack and surgery had softened him up and provided a glimpse of his own mortality. The old Oscar would have been cussing Figg and griping about the firm’s imminent financial ruin, but the new one seemed oddly optimistic about their situation.

After an hour of the most pleasant conversation David had experienced around the office, he said he needed to go. His paralegal was waiting with dinner and wanted to know about the trial.

Over the weekend David puttered around the house, ran errands for Helen, pushed Emma through the neighborhood in her stroller, washed and shined both vehicles, and kept an eye on the online buzz about the trial and Varrick’s great victory. There had been a small story in Saturday’s Sun-Times and not a word in the Tribune . The online publications, though, were busy with the aftershocks. Varrick’s public relations machinery was in full swing, and the verdict was being described as a major vindication of Krayoxx. CEO Reuben Massey was quoted everywhere touting the drug, condemning the mass tort bar, promising to crush “those ambulance chasers” in any courtroom they dared to enter, praising the wisdom of the Chicago jurors, and clamoring for more laws to protect innocent corporations from such frivolous lawsuits. Jerry Alisandros was unavailable for comment. Indeed, there were no comments from any of the lawyers suing Varrick Labs. “For the first time in recent history, the entire tort bar has gone silent,” observed one reporter.

The call came at 2:00 on Sunday afternoon. Dr. Biff Sandroni had received the samples of Nasty Teeth by FedEx on Friday morning, about the time David was grilling Dr. Ulander on the stand. Dr. Sandroni had promised to test the samples immediately. “They’re all the same, David, all coated with the same lead-based paint. Highly toxic. Your lawsuit is a cinch. Open and shut, the best I’ve ever seen.”

“When can you finish the report?”

“I’ll e-mail it tomorrow.”

“Thanks, Biff.”

“Good luck.”

An hour later, David and Helen loaded Emma into her car seat and set off for Waukegan. The purpose of the trip was to check on Wally, but there was the added benefit of having the baby finally go to sleep.

After four days of sobriety, Wally looked rested and was eager to leave Harbor House. David recapped the trial and, not wanting to repeat himself and not entirely in the mood for humor, omitted the parts that Oscar and Rochelle had found so funny Friday afternoon. Wally apologized repeatedly until David asked him to stop. “It’s over, Wally. We have to move on.” They talked about ways to unload their Krayoxx clients and the problems this might create. It really didn’t matter how complicated things became — their decision was final. They were finished with Krayoxx and Varrick.

“I don’t need to stay here any longer,” Wally said. They were alone at the end of the hallway. Helen had stayed behind in the car with the sleeping baby.

“What does your counselor say?”

“I’m getting tired of the guy. Look, David, I fell off the wagon because of the pressure, that’s all. I consider myself sober right now. I’m already counting the days. I’ll jump back into AA and hope and pray I won’t fall off again. Hear me, David. I don’t like being a drunk. We got our work cut out for us, and I gotta stay sober.”

With his portion of the meter ticking at $500 a day, David wanted Wally out as soon as possible, but he was not convinced a ten-day detox would work. “I’ll talk to the counselor — what’s his name?”

“Patrick Hale. He’s really beating me up this time.”

“Maybe that’s what you need, Wally.”

“Come on, David. Get me outta here. We’ve dug a hole for ourselves, and it’s just you and me this time. I’m not so sure Oscar will be much help.”

Left unsaid was the fact that Oscar had been the great skeptic about Krayoxx and mass torts in general. The deep hole in which they now found themselves had been dug by Wallis T. Figg. They talked about Oscar for a while, his divorce, his health, his new girlfriend, who was not really that new, according to Wally, though David did not press for details.

As he left, Wally pleaded again, “Get me outta here, David. We have too much work to do.”

David hugged him good-bye and left the visitors’ room. The “work” Wally kept referring to was little more than the imposing task of getting rid of four hundred or so dissatisfied clients, mopping up the remains of the Klopeck trial, grappling with a lot of unpaid bills, and laboring away in a building now burdened with a $200,000 mortgage. In the past month, the firm’s other clients had been neglected, many to the point of hiring other lawyers, and the daily inquiries from prospective clients had declined dramatically.

David had thought of leaving, of opening his own shop, or looking at other, smaller firms. If he walked away, he would, of course, take the Thuya Khaing case with him. Oscar and Wally would never know about it. If the case eventually paid off, David could write a check to Finley & Figg for his share of the mortgage on the building. But these thoughts were bothersome. He had run away from one firm and never looked back. If he ran away from the second one, he would always have regrets. In reality, David knew he could not leave Finley & Figg with the two partners ailing and a swarm of unhappy clients and creditors pounding on the door.

The phones rang constantly Monday morning. Rochelle answered a few times, then announced, “It’s all those Krayoxx people, asking about their cases.”

“Unplug it,” David said, and the racket stopped. The old Oscar was making a comeback. He was in his office, door tightly closed, shoving paperwork around his desk.

By 9:00 a.m., David had composed a letter to be mailed to the four hundred or so clients who only thought they had a lawsuit. It read:

Dear _______:

Last week our firm tried the first lawsuit against Varrick Labs for its drug Krayoxx. The trial did not go as planned and was not successful. The jury ruled in favor of Varrick. With all the evidence now presented, it is clear that additional litigation against the company would be ill-advised. For that reason, we are withdrawing as your counsel. Feel free to consult with another attorney .

For what it’s worth, Varrick presented convincing proof that Krayoxx does not damage the heart valves, or any other part of the body .

Sincerely ,

David Zinc

Attorney and Counselor-at-Law

When Rochelle’s printer began spitting out the letters, David went upstairs to prepare for another fight in federal court, which, on that Monday morning, was the last place he wanted to go. He had a rough draft of a lawsuit to be filed against Sonesta Games and a rough draft of a letter he planned to send to the company’s chief in-house counsel. He polished and tweaked both as he waited on Sandroni’s report.