The Justice Game (15 page)

    Now this.

    Olivia showed Lassiter into the office and closed the door. The two men shook hands. Lassiter was hunch-shouldered and red-eyed, wearing a ratty navy blue sweater and jeans, his laptop tucked under his arm. Sherwood had seldom seen Lassiter without the laptop. Lassiter’s hair looked like he had just rolled out of bed, and he blinked a couple of times behind his thick glasses.
Why are the brilliant ones always so socially inept?

    The two men had initially made a formidable team. Lassiter had developed the software and micromarketing formulas to predict jury verdicts, while Sherwood had worked the venture capitalists for financing and developed the hedge fund clients who paid so handsomely for Justice Inc.’s service.

    As the company grew, Sherwood became the face man for interacting with board members, investors, and clients. Lassiter obsessively focused on the study of the human mind, constantly refining the formulas and models for predicting jury behavior.

    But now he had lost his touch. And Sherwood was the one who got stuck cleaning up the mess when Lassiter was wrong.

    “Have a seat,” Sherwood said. He motioned to the navy blue chair. He knew the rumors about the chair and had never done anything to discourage them. It was a useful way to signal bad news without actually saying anything. People could brace themselves.

    Lassiter’s eyes reflected confusion and hurt, like a loyal dog tossed out of the house when a new baby comes home.

    He twitched once and stepped to the side. He took a seat in the other chair facing Sherwood’s desk, the brown leather chair.

    
Interesting.

    Sherwood took a seat behind his desk.

    Without prompting, Lassiter started in, the blinking on overdrive. “I watched the mock trial deliberations again last night and tweaked the program. Part of it was the limited
voir dire
that Judge Davis allowed in the real case. Plus, the defense lawyers alienated the jurors when they attacked every witness who took the stand. We can’t factor in for bad lawyering, especially when the reputation of that firm was so strong.”

    Sherwood kept his tone businesslike. “But Andrew, all three shadow juries came back with a defense verdict. The real jury found patent infringement and $325 million in damages. Our clients don’t want excuses; they want results.”

    “We
have
given them results, Robert. It’s science, not a guessing game. Let me show you a couple of things.”

    Lassiter moved his glasses to the top of his head and opened his computer. Sherwood knew what was coming—detailed explanations of formulas and micromarketing techniques, a mishmash of algorithms and spending preferences and consumer psychology. There were others in Sherwood’s organization who could apply the models but didn’t have half the baggage.

    “Put the computer away, Andrew. We’re beyond that point.”

    Lassiter looked up at Sherwood with alarm bordering on panic. “What do you mean?”

    Sherwood leaned forward. He hated doing this, but Lassiter’s reaction was confirming his decision. “The company needs to move on without you, Andrew. Our clients are losing confidence in us. These last few months have been tough. The board agrees that it’s time for change.”

    Sherwood paused so the words could sink in. It was clear he had stunned Lassiter. The man stared into space for a moment and then gingerly placed his computer on the floor, as if continuing to hold its weight was more than he could bear.

    “I’m sorry,” Sherwood said. “I know this is terrible timing, but I’ve gone to bat for a good severance package.”

    Lassiter started to speak but couldn’t. He looked like he might break down at any second. “You had a board meeting already?” he finally managed.

    “I’ve spoken to every member.”

    For the next several minutes, Sherwood explained the details of the proposed severance deal. The payout was $2.5 million. In addition, Lassiter would keep his 15-percent stake in the company and could cash in if the company went public. In return, Justice Inc. needed a signed release and confidentiality agreement.

    By the time Sherwood finished, Andrew Lassiter had regained some of his composure. The glazed-over look had faded. He put on his glasses, picked up his computer, and stood. He cleared his throat. Once. Twice. “You can’t do this,” he said. “I designed virtually every program we use.”

    “Those are all works for hire.” Sherwood’s voice was more emphatic now. He stood as well. “You know that, Andrew. This is the best way.”

    Lassiter was trembling but had his jaw set. “I’m not your employee, Robert. We’re partners. We started this company together.”

    “You don’t want this fight, Andrew.”

    “I’m going to see a lawyer.”

    Sherwood sighed and moved out from behind his desk. He put a hand on the outside of Lassiter’s arm. Lassiter stared at him, through him. “We’ve had a good run, Andrew. And I hope we can still be friends. But I’ve got a fiduciary duty to our shareholders and the board, not to mention the clients.” He gave Lassiter a squeeze on the arm. “I could have had our HR department do this, but I felt like I owed it to you to do this myself. I really am sorry.”

    Lassiter stared for an awkward few seconds, saying nothing. He blinked, took a sideways step, and headed toward the door.

    “Wait a second,” Sherwood said. “I need the computer.”

    Lassiter looked down at his laptop and back at Sherwood, his mouth open in disbelief. Sherwood held out his hand. “I need it now.”

    Lassiter cradled it like a football. His eyes took on a wild look, as if he might explode at any second.

    “There are folks in your office packing all your personal stuff as we speak,” Sherwood said. He kept his voice steady, like he was talking a person down from a ledge. “Rafael is waiting right outside to escort you out of the building. I need your computer and keys. Don’t make it any harder than it already is, Andrew. You know our policies.”

    Lassiter hesitated for another few seconds, his face twisted in pain, before he handed the computer to Sherwood. He reached in his pocket and retrieved a key ring. With trembling hands, he removed his office keys.

    He looked so pathetic. Tears welled in his eyes. It was as if Sherwood had just ordered him to the electric chair rather than offering him a multi-million-dollar severance package.

    “Are you going to be all right?” Sherwood asked.

    Lassiter stared at him for a moment, as if he couldn’t believe that Sherwood had the audacity to ask such a question.

    “This isn’t right,” Lassiter said. There was no throat-clearing this time. “It’s just not right.” He turned, as if in a trance, and opened the office door.

    Rafael Johansen was waiting outside.

    After Lassiter left, Robert Sherwood sat down at his desk and lit up a cigar. He knew that Lassiter would review the offer with a lawyer and see the light. Sherwood probably should have handled this the way other CEOs would have—let the HR guys do it. But that had never been Robert Sherwood’s style.

    He took a long draw on the cigar, calming his frazzled nerves. Andrew Lassiter was a good man. Off-the-charts brilliant. Justice Inc. would never have made it without him. But Sherwood had his fiduciary duties, and he couldn’t let friendships interfere.

    Sometimes he hated his job.

The phone message took Jason by surprise. He hadn’t heard from Andrew Lassiter since leaving Justice Inc. three months ago.

    
Call me as soon as possible. It’s important.

    Jason returned the call from an office phone. Lassiter answered on the first ring.

    “Are you alone?” Lassiter asked.

    “Yes.”

    “I got fired from Justice Inc. Sherwood squeezed me out. I need your help.”

    Through the phone lines, Jason could hear Lassiter’s desperation. The man was breathless, spitting his words out quickly.

    “They’ve got all my software, my programs, everything. Sherwood lined up the votes from the other directors and called me in yesterday. One week before Christmas. Can you believe this? He had his goons escort me out of the building.”

    Jason was having a hard time processing all this. Andrew Lassiter wasn’t just an employee; he was a cofounder, the brains behind the micromarketing formulas.

    “You’re a shareholder. How can the board just vote you out?”

    Lassiter cleared his throat, his nervous habits on full throttle. “Technically, they can’t take away my stock. But if they don’t take the company public, my shares will be worthless. They’ll increase Sherwood’s salary, send more money to Kenya, do everything they can to eliminate year-end profits. They can manipulate the books to pay stockholders whatever they want.”

    Jason knew Lassiter was overreacting a little. Minority shareholders could audit the books to ensure that profits weren’t being hidden. Still, the urgency in Lassiter’s voice was unmistakable. This wasn’t really about the money.

    “What reason did they give?” Jason asked.

    Lassiter spent several minutes describing his meeting with Sherwood. He got sidetracked for a few minutes explaining why the miscalculation in the drug patent case wasn’t his fault. The formulas worked fine, and his prediction would have been right if the real-life lawyers had done their job. Unfortunately, the defense lawyers had been pitiful.

    Back on track, Lassiter detailed the terms of the proposed severance agreement. Two point five million might sound like a lot, but it was a pittance compared to the real worth of the company.

    Jason listened patiently, asking appropriate questions as he tried to figure out what he should do. He felt a special bond with Andrew Lassiter. Others at Justice Inc. had a strictly business mind-set. They sweated over P&L statements, the intricacies of stock deals, budgets for the mock trials.

    Lassiter, on the other hand, was more like Jason. Their obsession was figuring out what made juries tick. For Lassiter, being wrong on a jury verdict was like being unfaithful to your wife. It was a character flaw, not just a bad business prediction.

    In a way, that compulsive behavior made Andrew Lassiter a kindred spirit. Normally, Jason, who had his own obsession with winning, would go out of his way to help.

    But not when it meant taking on Robert Sherwood. The man had his faults, but he wasn’t the personification of evil that Lassiter was making him out to be. He was a tough business executive, and the squeeze play on Lassiter did not entirely surprise Jason. But Robert Sherwood also had a heart. He genuinely cared about social justice. And he had certainly helped Jason in the three months he had been on his own.

    “What do you want
me
to do?” Jason asked.

    “Represent me,” Lassiter said, his voice tense, a half octave higher than normal. “I need somebody to file suit—somebody who won’t be intimidated.”

    “You don’t need me,” Jason protested. “You need somebody with experience in business law. Somebody who hasn’t worked for the company.”

    This brought silence on the phone line, followed by the trademark throat-clearing to which Lassiter resorted under pressure. When Lassiter finally spoke, his voice was cracking, the raw emotion coming to the surface. “You’re wrong, Jason. You care about the same things I care about. This case will be tough. Other lawyers could be bought off or intimidated. I need somebody I can trust.”

    Jason swallowed hard. He hadn’t asked for this—the plea of a desperate man. He felt like a kid in the middle of a nasty divorce.

    “I’m not asking for a favor, Jason. I’ll pay whatever your rate is.”

    Jason tried to imagine himself suing Robert Sherwood. The only way to get Andrew Lassiter reinstated would be to threaten the entire business plan of Justice Inc. Perhaps Jason could challenge the non-compete that Lassiter had signed, freeing him up to start a similar business. If other companies could use the same micromarketing formulas to predict these seminal cases, Justice Inc.’s business would take a major hit.

    But Justice Inc. had treated Jason fairly. If not for Robert Sherwood, Jason wouldn’t be where he was now. His biggest clients had all been referrals from Sherwood. And what had Andrew Lassiter done for him?

    “Andrew, I’m sorry. I just can’t take the case. I’ve got too many conflicting loyalties.”

    Jason waited. The silence became awkward.

    “You’re better off with another lawyer,” Jason insisted. “Somebody without the conflicts.”

    “Thanks for your time,” Lassiter said, his voice cold. Before Jason could respond, his friend hung up the phone.

    Jason walked over to the window and stared at the street below. He rubbed the back of his neck and watched the small flakes of snow dot the afternoon sky, a novelty in Richmond, particularly in December.

    Was he intimidated by Robert Sherwood? A little. Was that the reason he had turned Lassiter down? Not really. It was a business decision. Jason had acted in spite of fear many times in the past. If he had to take on men like Robert Sherwood, he would do it.

    At least that’s what he told himself.

    This wasn’t the case of a little guy like Lassiter being taken advantage of by a powerful man with all the resources. If it were, Jason would feel compelled to intervene. Wasn’t that one of the things he had learned at Justice Inc.—the Robin Hood philosophy of justice?

    No, this was just a business dispute, and Jason didn’t need to get in the middle of it. Besides, Andrew Lassiter would land on his feet. The guy was a certifiable genius.

    But the questions wouldn’t go away—that gnawing in the pit of his stomach. Was he just scared? Was he betraying a friend?

    It was just a business dispute, he reminded himself. Between two grown men.

The day before Christmas, Jason boarded a plane in Richmond for his second flight to Atlanta in less than two weeks. He ended up sitting next to a mom and her elementary-age son, who was excited to see his grandparents. When Jason deplaned in Atlanta, Hartsfield-Jackson was jammed with people, thousands of smiling and excited faces dragging kids and luggage through the terminals. Jason always felt an extra stab of loneliness and envy this time of year.