The Street Lawyer (38 page)

Rafter’s nose was three inches away from his legal pad.

“I can convince a jury in this courtroom that these
little children were worth at least a million dollars each, same as any child in the prep schools of Virginia and Maryland.”

It was a nasty shot, one they took in the groin. There was no doubt where their kids went to school.

Rafter’s summary made no provision for the pain and suffering of the victims. The rationale was unspoken, but nonetheless obvious. They had died peacefully, breathing odorless gas until they floated away. There were no burns, breaks, blood.

Rafter paid dearly for his omission. Mordecai launched into a detailed account of the last hours of Lontae and her children; the search for food and warmth, the snow and bitter cold, the fear of freezing to death, the desperate efforts to stay together, the horror of being stuck in a snowstorm, in a rattletrap car, motor running, watching the fuel gauge.

It was a spellbinding performance, given off the cuff with the skill of a gifted storyteller. As the lone juror, I would have handed him a blank check.

“Don’t tell me about pain and suffering,” he snarled at Drake & Sweeney. “You don’t know the meaning of it.”

He talked about Lontae as if he’d known her for years. A kid born without a chance, who made all the predictable mistakes. But, more important, a mother who loved her children and was trying desperately to climb out of poverty. She had confronted her past and her addictions, and was fighting for sobriety when the defendants kicked her back into the streets.

His voice ebbed and flowed, rising with indignation, falling with shame and guilt. Not a syllable was missed, no wasted words. He was giving them an extraordinary dose of what the jury would hear.

Arthur had control of the checkbook, and it must’ve been burning a hole in his pocket.

Mordecai saved his best for last. He lectured on the purpose of punitive damages—to punish wrongdoers, to make examples out of them so they would sin no more. He hammered at the evils committed by the defendants, rich people with no regard for those less fortunate. “They’re just a bunch of squatters,” his voice boomed. “Let’s throw them out!”

Greed had made them ignore the law. A proper eviction would have taken at least thirty more days. It would have killed the deal with the Postal Service. Thirty days and the heavy snows would’ve been gone; the streets would’ve been a little safer.

It was the perfect case for the levying of punitive damages, and there was little doubt in his mind a jury would agree with him. I certainly did, and at that moment neither Arthur nor Rafter nor any other lawyer sitting over there wanted any part of Mordecai Green.

“We’ll settle for five million,” he said as he came to an end. “Not a penny less.”

There was a pause when he finished. DeOrio made some notes, then returned to the agenda. The matter of the file was next. “Do you have it?” he asked me.

“Yes sir.”

“Are you willing to hand it over?”

“Yes.”

Mordecai opened his battered briefcase and removed the file. He handed it to the clerk, who passed it up to His Honor. We watched for ten long minutes as DeOrio flipped through every page.

I caught a few stares from Rafter, but who cared. He and the rest were anxious to get their hands on it.

When the Judge was finished, he said, “The file has been returned, Mr. Jacobs. There is a criminal matter pending down the hall. I’ve spoken to Judge Kisner about it. What do you wish to do?”

“Your Honor, if we can settle all other issues, we will not push for an indictment.”

“I assume this is agreeable with you, Mr. Brock?” DeOrio said.

Damned right it was agreeable with me. “Yes sir.”

“Moving right along. The next item is the matter of the ethics complaint filed by Drake & Sweeney against Michael Brock. Mr. Jacobs, would you care to address this?”

“Certainly, Your Honor.” Arthur sprang to his feet, and delivered a condemnation of my ethical shortcomings. He was not unduly harsh, or long-winded. He seemed to get no pleasure from it. Arthur was a lawyer’s lawyer, an old-timer who preached ethics and certainly practiced them. He and the firm would never forgive me for my screwup, but I had been, after all, one of them. Just as Braden Chance’s actions had been
a reflection on the entire firm, so had my failure to maintain certain standards.

He ended by asserting that I must not escape punishment for taking the file. It was an egregious breach of duty owed to the client, RiverOaks. I was not a criminal, and they had no difficulty in forgetting the grand larceny charge. But I was a lawyer, and a damned good one, he admitted, and as such I should be held responsible.

They would not, under any circumstances, withdraw the ethics complaint.

His arguments were well reasoned, well pled, and he convinced me. The folks from RiverOaks seemed especially hard-nosed.

“Mr. Brock,” DeOrio said. “Do you have any response?”

I had not prepared any remarks, but I wasn’t afraid to stand and say what I felt. I looked Arthur squarely in the eyes, and said, “Mr. Jacobs, I have always had great respect for you, and I still do. I have nothing to say in my defense. I was wrong in taking the file, and I’ve wished a thousand times I had not done it. I was looking for information which I knew was being concealed, but that is no excuse. I apologize to you, the rest of the firm, and to your client, RiverOaks.”

I sat down and couldn’t look at them. Mordecai told me later that my humility thawed the room by ten degrees.

DeOrio then did a very wise thing. He proceeded to the next item, which was the litigation yet to be commenced.
We planned to file suit on behalf of Marquis Deese and Kelvin Lam, and eventually for every other evictee we could find. DeVon Hardy and Lontae were gone, so there were fifteen potential plaintiffs out there. This had been promised by Mordecai, and he had informed the Judge.

“If you’re conceding liability, Mr. Jacobs,” His Honor said, “then you have to talk about damages. How much will you offer to settle these other fifteen cases?”

Arthur whispered to Rafter and Malamud, then said, “Well, Your Honor, we figure these people have been without their homes for about a month now. If we gave them five thousand each, they could find a new place, probably something much better.”

“That’s low,” DeOrio said. “Mr. Green.”

“Much too low,” Mordecai agreed. “Again, I evaluate cases based on what juries might do. Same defendants, same wrongful conduct, same jury pool. I can get fifty thousand per case easy.”

“What will you take?” the Judge asked.

“Twenty-five thousand.”

“I think you should pay it,” DeOrio said to Arthur. “It’s not unreasonable.”

“Twenty-five thousand to each of the fifteen?” Arthur asked, his unflappable demeanor cracking under the assault from two sides of the courtroom.

“That’s right.”

A fierce huddle ensued in which each of the four Drake & Sweeney lawyers had his say. It was telling
that they did not consult the attorneys for the other two defendants. It was obvious the firm would foot the bill for the settlement. Gantry seemed completely indifferent; his money was not at stake. RiverOaks had probably threatened a suit of its own against the lawyers if the case wasn’t settled.

“We will pay twenty-five,” Arthur announced quietly, and $375,000 left the coffers of Drake & Sweeney.

The wisdom was in the breaking of the ice. DeOrio knew he could force them to settle the smaller claims. Once the money started flowing, it wouldn’t stop until we were finished.

For the prior year, after paying my salary and benefits, and setting aside one third of my billings for the overhead, approximately four hundred thousand dollars went into the pot of gold the partners divided. And I was just one of eight hundred.

“Gentlemen, we are down to two issues. The first is money—how much will it take to settle this lawsuit? The second is the matter of Mr. Brock’s disciplinary problems. It appears as though one hinges on the other. It’s at this point in these meetings that I like to talk privately with each side. I’ll start with the plaintiff. Mr. Green and Mr. Brock, would you step into my chambers?”

The clerk escorted us into the hallway behind the bench, then down to a splendid oak-paneled office where His Honor was disrobing and ordering tea from a secretary. He offered some to us, but we declined.
The clerk closed the door, leaving us alone with DeOrio.

“We’re making progress,” he said. “I’ve got to tell you, Mr. Brock, the ethics complaint is a problem. Do you realize how serious it is?”

“I think so.”

He cracked his knuckles and began pacing around the room. “We had a lawyer here in the District, must have been seven, eight years ago, who pulled a similar stunt. Walked out of a firm with a bunch of discovery materials that mysteriously ended up in a different firm, which just so happened to offer the guy a nice job. Can’t remember the name.”

“Makovek. Brad Makovek,” I said.

“Right. What happened to him?”

“Suspended for two years.”

“Which is what they want from you.”

“No way, Judge,” Mordecai said. “No way in hell we’re agreeing to a two-year suspension.”

“How much will you agree to?”

“Six months max. And it’s not negotiable. Look, Judge, these guys are scared to death, you know that. They’re scared and we’re not. Why should we settle anything? I’d rather have a jury.”

“There’s not going to be a jury.” The Judge stepped close to me and studied my eyes. “You’ll agree to a six-month suspension?” he asked.

“Yes,” I said. “But they have to pay the money.”

“How much money?” he asked Mordecai.

“Five million. I could get more from a jury.”

DeOrio walked to his window, deep in thought, scratching his chin. “I can see five million from a jury,” he said without turning around.

“I can see twenty,” Mordecai said.

“Who’ll get the money?” the Judge asked.

“It’ll be a nightmare,” Mordecai admitted.

“How much in attorneys’ fees?”

“Twenty percent. Half of which goes to a trust in New York.”

The Judge snapped around and began pacing again, hands clenched behind his head. “Six months is light,” he said.

“That’s all we’re giving,” Mordecai retorted.

“All right. Let me talk to the other side.”

OUR PRIVATE session with DeOrio lasted less than fifteen minutes. For the bad guys, it took an hour. Of course, they were the ones forking over the money.

We drank colas on a bench in the bustling lobby of the building, saying nothing as we watched a million lawyers scurry about, chasing clients and justice.

We walked the halls and looked at the scared people about to be hauled before the bench for a variety of offenses. Mordecai spoke to a couple of lawyers he knew. I recognized no one. Big-firm lawyers did not spend time in Superior Court.

The clerk found us and led us back to the courtroom, where all players were in place. Things were tense. DeOrio
was agitated. Arthur and company looked exhausted. We took our seats and waited for the Judge.

“Mr. Green,” he began, “I have met with the lawyers for the defendants. Here’s their best offer: the sum of three million dollars, and a one-year suspension for Mr. Brock.”

Mordecai had barely settled into his seat, when he bounced forward. “Then we’re wasting our time,” he said and grabbed his briefcase. I jumped up to follow him.

“Please excuse us, Your Honor,” he said. “But we have better things to do.” We started for the aisle between the pews.

“You’re excused,” the Judge said, very frustrated.

We left the courtroom in a rush.

Thirty-eight

I
WAS unlocking the car when the cell phone rattled in my pocket. It was Judge DeOrio. Mordecai laughed when I said, “Yes, Judge, we’ll be there in five minutes.” We took ten, stopping in the rest rooms on the ground floor, walking slowly, using the stairs, giving DeOrio as much time as possible to further pummel the defendants.

The first thing I noticed when we entered the courtroom was that Jack Bolling, one of the three attorneys for RiverOaks, had removed his jacket, rolled up his sleeves, and was walking away from the Drake & Sweeney
lawyers. I doubted if he had physically slapped them around, but he looked willing and able.

The huge verdict Mordecai dreamed about would be lodged against all three defendants. Evidently RiverOaks had been sufficiently frightened by the settlement conference. Threats had been made, and perhaps the company had decided to chip in with some cash of its own. We would never know.

I avoided the jury box and sat next to Mordecai. Wilma Phelan had left.

“We’re getting close,” the Judge said.

“And we’re thinking of withdrawing our offer,” Mordecai announced with one of his more violent barks. We had not discussed such a thing, and neither the other lawyers nor His Honor had contemplated it. Their heads jerked as they looked at each other.

“Settle down,” DeOrio said.

“I’m very serious, Judge. The more I sit here in this courtroom, the more convinced I am that this travesty needs to be revealed to a jury. As for Mr. Brock, his old firm can push all it wants on the criminal charges, but it’s no big deal. They have their file back. He has no criminal record. God knows our system is overloaded with drug dealers and murderers; prosecuting him will become a joke. He will not go to jail. And the bar complaint—let it run its course. I’ll file one against Braden Chance and maybe some of the other lawyers involved in this mess, and we’ll have us an old-fashioned spitting contest.” He pointed at Arthur and said, “You run to the newspaper, we run to the newspaper.”

The 14th Street Legal Clinic couldn’t care less what was printed about it. If Gantry cared, he wouldn’t show it. RiverOaks could continue to make money in spite of bad press. But Drake & Sweeney had only its reputation to market.

Mordecai’s tirade came from nowhere, and they were completely astonished by it.

“Are you finished?” DeOrio asked.

“I guess.”

“Good. The offer is up to four million.”

“If they can pay four million, then they can certainly pay five.” Mordecai pointed again, back to Drake & Sweeney. “This defendant had gross billings last year of almost seven hundred million dollars.” He paused as the numbers echoed around the courtroom. “Seven hundred million dollars, last year alone.” Then he pointed at RiverOaks. “And this defendant owns real estate worth three hundred and fifty million dollars. Give me a jury.”