The Litigators (32 page)

Agreed? You have no idea, Jerry thought. “A great idea, Nick. I’ll set it up down here.”

“But I insist that all six PLC members be in the room.”

“I can arrange that, no problem.”

“And can we get a magistrate or someone from the judge’s office to be present? I’m not leaving there until we have a deal, in writing and approved by the court.”

“Excellent idea, Nick.” Jerry was grinning like an idiot.

“Let’s get it done.”

After the call, Jerry checked the market. Varrick was trading at $36, and the only plausible reason for its uptick was the good spin about the settlement.

T
he phone conversation had been recorded by a company specializing in truth and deception. It was a firm Zell & Potter used frequently to secretly record conversations in an effort to determine the level of veracity on the other end. Thirty minutes after Jerry hung up, two experts entered his office with some graphs and charts. They had camped out in a small conference room down the hall with their staff and machines. They had measured the stress of both voices and had easily determined that both men were lying. Jerry’s lies had been planned, of course, in an effort to prompt Walker.

Walker’s voice-stress analysis showed a high level of deception. When he spoke of Reuben Massey and the company’s desire to get rid of the litigation, he was telling the truth. But when he spoke of the big plans for a settlement summit next week in Fort Lauderdale, he was clearly being deceptive.

Jerry gave the impression of taking the news in stride. Such evidence was never admissible in court because it was so wildly unreliable. He had often asked himself why he even bothered with voice-stress analysis, but after using it for years, he almost believed it. Anything to give him a slight edge. Such recordings were highly unethical anyway, and even illegal in some states, so it was easy to bury the information.

For most of the past fifteen years, he had kept Varrick on the run with one lawsuit after another. And in doing so, he had learned much about the company. Its research was always better than that of the
plaintiffs. It hired spies and invested heavily in corporate espionage. Reuben Massey loved hardball and usually found a way to win the war, even after losing most of the battles.

Alone in his office, Jerry typed an entry into his private daily log: “Krayoxx is evaporating before my eyes. Just spoke with N. Walker who plans to be here next week to sign a deal. 80–20 chance he doesn’t show.”

I
ris Klopeck shared Wally’s letter with several friends and family members, and the imminent arrival of $2 million was already causing problems. Clint, her deadbeat son, who routinely went days without offering her as much as a rude grunt or two, was suddenly showing all manner of affection. He was cleaning his room, washing dishes, running errands for his dear mother, and chattering away nonstop, his favorite topic being his desire for a new car. Iris’s brother, fresh from his second stint in prison for stealing motorcycles, was painting her house (with no charge for the labor) and dropping hints about his longtime dream of owning a used motorcycle business. He knew of one on the market for only $100,000. “A steal,” he said, at which her son whispered behind his back, “He should know a steal when he sees one.” Percy’s wretched sister Bertha was letting it be known that she was entitled to a chunk of the money because she was “blood.” Iris loathed the woman, as had Percy, and Iris had already reminded Bertha that she had not attended Percy’s funeral. Bertha was now claiming she had been hospitalized on that day. “Prove it,” Iris said, and so they bickered.

O
n the day Adam Grand received his letter from Wally, he was hustling around the all-you-can-eat pizza house when his boss barked at him for no apparent reason. Adam, the assistant manager, returned the favor, and a nasty row ensued. When the shouting and cursing ended, Adam either quit or was fired, and for several minutes both men argued
over the exact nature of Adam’s departure. Not that it mattered—he was gone. And that didn’t matter to Adam either, because he was about to be rich.

M
illie Marino had the good sense to show her letter to no one. She read it several times before the words began to sink in, and she felt a twinge of guilt for doubting Wally’s ability. He still failed to inspire confidence, and she was still angry over her late husband Chester’s will and estate, but those issues were now of fading importance. Chester’s son, Lyle, would be entitled to his portion, and for that reason he had been monitoring the litigation. If he knew how close they were to pay dirt, he might become a nuisance. So Millie put the letter under lock and key and told no one.

O
n September 9, five weeks after being shot in both legs, Justin Bardall filed a lawsuit against Oscar individually and Finley & Figg as a partnership. He alleged Oscar used “excessive force” in the shooting and, in particular, deliberately fired the third shot into the left leg after Bardall was seriously wounded and no longer posed a threat. The lawsuit demanded $5 million in actual damages and $10 million in punitive damages for Oscar’s malicious conduct.

The lawyer who filed the case, Goodloe Stamm, was the same lawyer hired by Paula Finley to handle her divorce. Evidently, at some point Stamm tracked down Bardall and convinced him to sue, in spite of his criminal activities and the fact that he was about to spend time in prison for attempted arson.

The divorce was proving to be more contentious than Wally or Oscar had expected, especially in light of the fact that Oscar was basically walking away with nothing but his car and clothes. Stamm kept chirping about the big Krayoxx money and smelled a conspiracy to hide it.

Oscar was furious over the $15 million lawsuit and blamed everything
on David. Had it not been for the wage case filed against Cicero Pipe, he and Bardall would have never met. Wally managed to broker a truce, and the yelling stopped. He contacted their insurance company and insisted it provide a defense and coverage.

With the big settlement so close, it was much easier to make peace, to smile, even to joke about the image of that little thug Bardall limping into court and trying to convince a jury he, an incompetent arsonist, should be made rich because he failed to burn down a law office.

T
he e-mail was prefaced with the standard warnings of confidentiality and protected with encryption codes. It was written by Jerry Alisandros and sent to about eighty lawyers, one of whom was Wally Figg. It read:

Wally printed the e-mail—it weighed a ton—walked it into Oscar’s
office, and placed it on his desk. Then he fell into a leather chair and almost began weeping.

Oscar read it slowly, the wrinkles across his forehead growing thicker with each sentence. He was breathing through his mouth, heavily. Rochelle buzzed in with a call for Oscar, but he did not respond. They heard her heavy footsteps as she walked to his office door, tapped it, and when neither lawyer responded, she peeked inside and said, “Mr. Finley, it’s Judge Wilson.”

Oscar shook his head and said, “I can’t talk now. I’ll call him back.”

She closed the door. Minutes passed, then David knocked on the door, came inside, looked at the two partners, and knew the world was coming to an end. Oscar handed him the e-mail, which he read as he paced in front of the bookshelves.

“There’s more,” David said.

“What do you mean, there’s more?” Wally asked, his voice weak and dry.

“I was just online, looking at a discovery filing, when I saw the notice that a motion had been filed. Not twenty minutes ago. Jerry Alisandros, on behalf of Zell & Potter, filed a motion to withdraw as counsel in the Klopeck case.”

Wally’s entire body slumped a good six inches. Oscar grunted as if trying to say something.

David, himself pale and stunned, continued: “I called my contact at Zell & Potter, guy named Worley, and he tells me off the record that it’s a full retreat. The experts—our experts—have all collapsed on the drug and no one is willing to testify. The McFadden report won’t stand up in court. Varrick has known this for some time and has been stringing out the settlement talks so they could yank the rug out right before the Klopeck trial. Worley says the Zell & Potter partners are at war but Alisandros gets the last word. He isn’t coming to Chicago because he doesn’t want such a notorious loss on his great record. With no experts, the case is hopeless. Worley says there’s a good chance that there was nothing wrong with the drug to begin with.”

“I knew these cases were a bad idea,” Oscar said.

“Oh shut up,” Wally hissed.

David sat in a wooden chair as far from the two partners as possible. Oscar had both elbows on his desk with his head between his forearms, as if in a vice, as if a lethal migraine were forming. Wally’s eyes were closed and his head twitched. Because they seemed unable to speak, David felt compelled to attempt conversation. “Can he withdraw this close to trial?” he asked, fully aware that his two partners knew virtually nothing about the rules of federal court procedure.

“That’s up to the judge,” Wally said. “What are they going to do with all their cases?” he asked David. “They have thousands, tens of thousands.”

“Worley thinks that everybody will just sit tight and see what happens here, with Klopeck. If we win, then I guess Varrick will resume settlement talks. If we lose, I guess the Krayoxx cases are worthless.”

The idea of winning seemed quite remote. Minutes passed with no words. The only sounds were the labored breathing of three bewildered men. The distant sound of an ambulance approached on Beech Street, but none of the three reacted.

Finally, Wally sat erect, or tried to, and said, “We’ll have to ask the court for a continuance, for additional time, and we’ll probably want to oppose this motion to withdraw.”

Oscar managed to dislodge his head. He glared at Wally as if he could shoot him too. “What you need to do is call your buddy Jerry and find out what the hell’s going on. He can’t run away with the trial this close. Tell him we’ll file an ethics complaint. Tell him we’ll leak it to the press—the great Jerry Alisandros afraid to come to Chicago. Tell him anything, Wally, but he has to come try this case. God knows we can’t do it.”

“If there’s nothing wrong with the drug, why even think about going to trial?” David asked.

“It’s a bad drug,” Wally said. “And we can find an expert who’ll say so.”

“For some reason I’m having trouble believing you,” Oscar said.

David stood and headed for the door. “I suggest we go to our rooms, think about the situation, and reconvene here in an hour.”

Wally said, “Good idea,” and staggered to his feet. He got to his office, to his phone, and began calling Alisandros. Not surprisingly, the great man was unavailable. Wally began sending him e-mails—long, scorching messages filled with threats and invective.

David scoured the blogs—financial, mass tort, legal watchdogs—and found confirmation that Varrick had called off settlement talks. Its share price was down for the third day in a row.

B
y late afternoon, the firm had filed a motion for a continuance and a response to Jerry’s motion to withdraw. Virtually all the work was done by David because Wally had fled the office and Oscar was not functioning well. David had briefed Rochelle on the disaster, and her first concern was Wally’s drinking. He’d been sober for almost a year, but she had witnessed his earlier relapses.

The following day, in an unusually prompt move, Nadine Karros filed a response in opposition to the request for more time. And, in a move that was easily predictable, she had no problem with Zell & Potter making an exit. A long trial against a pro like Jerry Alisandros would be a tremendous challenge, but Nadine was confident she could make quick work of either Finley or Figg, or both.

The following day, in a response that was almost dizzying in its speed, Judge Seawright denied the request for additional time. The trial had been set for October 17, and it would go on. He had cleared his calendar for two weeks, and it would be unfair to other litigants to change the schedule. Mr. Figg had filed the lawsuit (“with as much noise as possible”), and he’d had ample time to prepare for trial. Welcome to the Rocket Docket.

Judge Seawright had harsh words for Jerry Alisandros but in the end granted his motion to withdraw. Procedurally, such a motion was almost always granted. The judge noted that the client, Iris Klopeck, would still have adequate legal representation after the departure of
Mr. Alisandros. The word “adequate” could have been debated, but the judge took the high ground and did not comment on the complete lack of federal trial experience by Mr. Figg, Mr. Finley, and Mr. Zinc.

The only remaining option was for Wally to file a motion to dismiss the Klopeck case, along with the other seven. His fortune was slipping away, and he was close to a nervous breakdown, but as painful as a dismissal would be, he could not imagine the horror of walking into Seawright’s courtroom, practically alone, with the unbearable weight of thousands of Krayoxx victims on his back, and pursuing a case that even the great trial lawyers were now dodging. No sir. He, along with what appeared to be everyone else who’d stepped into the pit, was scrambling to get out of it. Oscar was adamant that the clients should first be notified. David was of the opinion that Wally should obtain their consent before he killed their cases. Wally halfheartedly agreed with both, but he could not bring himself to inform his clients that he was dismissing their cases only days after he’d sent his jolly letters virtually promising $2 million each.