Law and Addiction

by Mike Papantonio

  There was laughter in the courtroom.

  “This hearing is concluded. However, I would ask that before this day is out, the legal teams supply me with all the briefings they want me to review. If I’m not overwhelmed by new and cogent material, you should have my ruling by Thursday morning.”

  He paused for a moment, removed his glasses, and leaned back in his chair before continuing. “Last week I was asked to give a speech about some of the more interesting statements made by Justice Oliver Wendell Holmes while he was on the bench. One especially telling statement Holmes made was this: ‘Even a dog distinguishes between being stumbled over and being kicked.’

  “I would like to think that I have more judicial insight than the average dog, and over the next few days I am confident I will be able to look at the bigger picture in front of me and determine that which was inadvertent, and that which was purposeful and hurtful and perhaps even vicious. Does the ARCOS data show a deliberate diversion of drugs was afoot, and that blind eyes were purposely turned to that, or did things just fall through the cracks, as they are often wont to do?”

  Judge Sargent stood up, and those in the courtroom rose. With a backward wave, the judge made his way toward chambers.

  “How does an early Italian dinner sound to everyone?” asked Deke.

  On the recommendation of the concierge, all seven members of the plaintiff’s party decided to dine at a long-established family Italian restaurant in downtown Columbus. Jake had never dined in such a fancy restaurant. He wished Anna were there with him. If she had been at his side, everything might not have felt so anticlimactic. The excitement and ebullience that had carried him through the day had vanished. Maybe it was the uncertainty of the future that made him feel weighed down, or it could have just been the ebb and flow of his recovery. Intellectually, Jake knew that opioids had altered his brain chemistry, but that knowledge didn’t make his reality any easier.

  Over the course of the meal, starting with antipasti and lots of red wine, the hearing was rehashed. Even the judge’s final words were considered. Deke focused on the judge’s dog analogy.

  “What could be more purposeful and hurtful than circumventing safeguards and distributing billions of pills?” he asked. “And in the end, what could be more vicious?”

  “And doesn’t Nathan Ailes strike you as the kind of human being who would kick a poor dog?” said Paul.

  There seemed to be unanimous agreement on that.

  Deke couldn’t help but notice how quiet Jake had been throughout the meal. “So, how’s that pork ragout with that pasta’s name I can’t pronounce?” he asked.

  “Pappardelle,” said Jake, “but don’t ask me what it means. I’ve never had the dish before and didn’t know what to expect, but the server steered me well. It’s really good.”

  “I was twenty-five when I learned there were other Italian dishes besides pepperoni pizza and spaghetti and meatballs,” said Deke.

  “That’s pretty much my knowledge and experience with Italian food,” said Jake.

  “So is the food here better than Mom’s?” asked Deke.

  Jake ran his hand along the white linen tablecloth. “The food is equally good,” he said. “But this white linen is a bit more appetizing than Mom’s vinyl tablecloths. I’m pretty sure some of those tablecloths are older than I am.”

  Deke smiled. “So now that you’re a bona fide lawyer, Jake, what do you think of practicing law?”

  Jake pursed his lips and gave the question some thought. “I’m afraid I don’t feel like a bona fide lawyer,” he admitted. “Maybe I’ll think differently when I get the monkey off my back.”

  “As I’ve told you,” said Deke, “and I hope you’re hearing me, whatever rehab clinic you choose will be paid for by our firm.”

  “That’s very generous of you,” said Jake.

  “There are some treatment facilities that have gorgeous ocean views and serve spa food,” said Deke. “In fact, there’s one just like that in Spanish Trace.”

  Spanish Trace was Deke’s waterfront hometown in the Florida Panhandle. Jake nodded and offered a polite if noncommittal smile.

  Paul decided to get in on the conversation. “You’re not trying to steal my fellow West Virginian to work at your firm, are you, Deke?”

  “The thought had crossed my mind,” said Deke.

  “Jake’s a Mountaineer through and through,” said Paul. “West Virginia is in his blood. When this is over, I see his future in Huntington at a certain boutique law firm. How does that sound, Jake?”

  “It sounds better than I deserve,” Jake said. “Especially since lately I’ve been wondering if I was really cut out to be a lawyer.”

  “You’re too young to be having a midlife crisis,” said Deke.

  Jake tried to smile, and did his best not to look or act glum. “Maybe it’s the Naltrexone talking,” he admitted. “Maybe when I’m off it, I’ll be reinvigorated and back to my old self. But I never imagined practicing the law would be so cumbersome. It’s hard to believe we’re still a ways from the finish line in this case, but just to get to this point has taken so much longer than I thought. That sure wasn’t what I expected.”

  “I’m afraid the term ‘speedy justice’ is invariably an oxymoron,” said Paul.

  “If we get our MDL,” said Deke, “I guarantee you that things will speed up. And one day you’ll look back and realize that by jumping through all the hoops that you did, you might very well have made the difference in our being able to establish an MDL. And if we get there, we will absolutely bring an end to all this. I’m convinced, Jake, that nothing has better potential to help mitigate the damage caused by the opioid crisis at the city and county and personal level than an MDL.”

  Jake was reluctantly nodding. “I guess I’ve always known that time was not on our side,” he said. “Every day’s opioid body count is a reminder of that.”

  He thought about Blake. Every unnecessary opioid death was a reminder of his own painful loss.

  Later, Jake ordered tiramisu for dessert. He had never eaten it before and was looking forward to trying it, but only when he was looking at an empty plate did Jake realize he’d finished the dessert without even being aware of how it tasted.

  vvv Thursday morning, Judge Edward Sargent’s decision was emailed to both legal teams. From his office in Spanish Trace, Deke scanned the pages. His first call was to Jake, but it went immediately to his voice mail. After leaving him a quick message, Deke called Paul.

  “See the decision?” he asked, his voice triumphant. “I’m just looking at it now,” said Paul, who sounded equally exultant.

  “Judge Sargent’s office must have contacted the DEA’s office with his ruling yesterday so as to expedite matters,” said Deke. “Because of that, we’re supposed to get all the requested ARCOS data this morning. Judge Sargent has made it clear that there will be no kicking of the can. They’ll be in contempt if they don’t comply.”

  “As far as I can see,” said Paul, “the judge’s only concession to Jazz Hands is that the ARCOS data is for our eyes only for the next sixty days.”

  What that meant was the information couldn’t be disseminated to any other parties, especially the media.

  “That will give Jazz Hands two months to prepare his take on the data,” said Deke. “He’ll probably use that line about how there are three kinds of lies: lies, damn lies, and statistics.”

  “Don’t give him any ideas,” said Paul.

  “Let’s just use the sixty days to our advantage,” said Deke. “Even though Judge Sargent sealed the data, we can still use the ARCOS information to take the first steps to draft the pleadings and briefings we’ll need to launch an MDL. I don’t think we’re being premature in this, what with Judge Sargent discussing the connection between ARCOS and the foundation of an MDL in his decision. Starting tomorrow, I’ll get to work building a team of lawyers from coast to coast who have the talent, financial ability, and courage to jump into this project. Because Ohio wa
s essentially ground zero for the start of the opioid epidemic, it would be my first pick as an MDL jurisdiction. If that occurs, either Cleveland or Columbus is the likely choice of venue. I’d like you to identify the best local law firms based in and around those cities.”

  “I’ll make some calls,” said Paul. “We can start building bridges, even if for sixty days we can’t be specific about the materials we’re using.”

  “Exactly,” said Deke.

  “Did you get a chance to talk to Jake this morning?”

  “Not yet,” said Deke. “What about you?”

  “I left a message on his voice mail,” said Paul.

  “So did I,” said Deke. He tried not to sound worried, but he was.

  vvv Just before noon, the DEA complied with Judge Sargent’s directive, emailing files with the ARCOS data to the legal teams. Deke spent an hour poring through the figures. He wasn’t a forensic accountant, but he could add two and two. The numbers were showing a systematic diversion of opioids on a scale hard to imagine.

  In the middle of crunching numbers, Deke suddenly remembered that Jake still hadn’t called him back. That wasn’t like him. He checked his cell phone for messages and texts but saw nothing. Maybe Jake is just studying the ARCOS data, Deke thought. It was a

  logical explanation, but Deke’s gut told him something wasn’t right.

  Once again, his call went directly to voice mail.

  There was an explanation for that as well, Deke told himself.

  Whenever he forgot to charge his cell phone, he knew that his calls

  always went straight to voice mail. It was possible Jake hadn’t even

  noticed his phone needed charging. Deke hoped that was the case,

  but he wasn’t buying it. He called Alison. She and Ron had remained

  behind in Huntington.

  “Congratulations!” Alison said. In the background, Deke heard

  Ron joining in.

  “And congratulations to you and Ron,” he said. “I also want to

  bring Jake in on this group hug. Have you seen or heard from him?” “No,” she said.

  Deke didn’t want to alarm Alison, but she was apparently perceptive to the undertones of his inquiry. “Is anything wrong?” she asked. “I wouldn’t worry,” he said. “It’s just that I haven’t been able to

  reach Jake this morning, and I wanted to make sure he knew about

  the ruling.”

  “He was on Judge Sargent’s email list,” she said. “And wasn’t he

  also on the approved sender list for the ARCOS files?”

  “That’s right,” said Deke, pretending to be reassured. “I’m sure

  he’s out celebrating with Anna.”

  Alison agreed with him, and the two said their goodbyes. Deke

  wished he believed his own story, but he knew something else had to

  be behind Jake’s falling off the radar. Had he relapsed? Was he back on

  opioids? Was he in some other kind of danger? Despite the ongoing

  investigation, they still didn’t know who had ordered Jake’s abduction. Deke sat at his desk thinking. He should have been more closely

  monitoring Jake. After all, he was undergoing drug treatment and had acknowledged to everyone that he hadn’t been himself since

  escaping from captivity.

  Think like Jake would, thought Deke. The kid was as impetuous

  as he was smart. Like anyone in their twenties, Jake was impatient.

  And he was driven by the death of his brother. That had motivated

  everything he had done.

  “Dammit,” said Deke.

  Was that the answer? And if it was, what was Jake’s response?

  It had been Jake’s hope that the ARCOS data would make a huge

  splash. He wanted the figures to be used as a platform for reform.

  Jake had wanted to explain the opioid plague that had claimed so

  many lives. Waiting, in his mind, was not an option. The judge had

  ordered the ARCOS data to not be released for two months. Sixty

  days didn’t seem too long a wait for someone Deke’s age, but to his

  friend that time frame must have seemed like an eternity. Jake’s passion demanded he act. The idea of perhaps as many as ten thousand

  deaths over the course of those sixty days was enough to compel

  him to act. Jake had made the choice to be a lightning rod—to call

  people’s attention to the crisis, even though doing so would get him

  burned.

  Deke was certain he was right. He hit Paul’s cell number, and as

  soon as he heard his voice, began talking.

  “I’m afraid Jake is about to throw himself on his sword,” said

  Deke. “My guess is that he’s decided to release the ARCOS data to

  the media.”

  “Shit,” said Paul. “What can I do?”

  “Call Jake. If your call goes to voice mail, leave a message and

  say it’s imperative that he contacts you immediately. After that, text

  him. Tell him he needs to talk to us before he acts rashly and unnecessarily throws his career away. And then get in touch with some of

  those media contacts of yours. See if Jake has scheduled some sort of news conference. If we’re lucky, you might be able to head him off at the pass before he starts singing. After we finish this conversation, I’ll call Ron and Alison and tell them they’re to be on call to do whatever you might need them for. Then I’ll start a Team Jake group text and include Carol and Bennie in it. They might have some ideas on how to find out where Jake is. Let’s all keep each other

  in the loop.”

  “Will do,” said Paul.

  “Good luck,” said Deke.

  vvv Jake finished his email to Judge Sargent and sent it from his cell phone. There were dozens of emails in his in-box, and even more texts. He purposely didn’t read any of his friends’ messages. He wasn’t going to be deterred.

  His email to the judge explained what he’d done, and why he’d done it. Naturally, Jake had exonerated all of his coworkers by stating they had no knowledge of his plans. He’d apologized to the judge for disseminating the ARCOS data sixty days early and said he understood there would be consequences for his actions, and that he would not contest whatever punishment the judge deemed fit.

  It was time, Jake thought. No—it was past time. He walked forward and stood at a microphone. He’d promised the media a big story, and a handful of news cameras and reporters were waiting to see if he’d deliver.

  “I was responsible for a media dump that just occurred,” Jake said. “I’m no Edward Snowden or Julian Assange, and I have no political ax to grind. The media dump was ARCOS files provided by the DEA. This data is essentially an accounting of all controlled substances from their point of manufacture to their distribution. This tracking takes place in the twenty-eight DEA distribution warehouses throughout the United States, and covers the last decade.

  “Right now, I see some eyes glazing over. Many, if not all of you, believe the tracking of pills sounds rather boring, even if I put it into perspective by noting that in 2016 over six billion hydrocodone pills and five billion oxycodone pills were distributed throughout our country. If you don’t find those numbers compelling, perhaps these are more to my point: in that same year, there were more than forty-two thousand deaths from opioid overdoses, as well as thirteen thousand deaths from heroin overdoses.

  “Today I made the decision to release the ARCOS data, even though I knew full well it was illegal to do so. If I had merely waited another sixty days, I would not have committed professional suicide. To many of you, I am sure that seems ridiculous, and yet this morning after an inner debate, I decided I couldn’t wait. To not act would mean that over the next two months as many as ten thousand people would needlessly die of an opioid overdose directly and indirectly caused by corporate drug dealers. My twin brother, Blake, was one of
those victims, and I decided if there was any way I could prevent one father or mother, or wife or husband, or sister or brother, from experiencing the pain that I did, it would be worth it to release the data early.

  “Justice delayed is justice denied, especially when delay means death. I have also chosen to speak out now because of what happened to me. As many of you know, I was abducted, held captive for more than a month, and unwittingly consumed enough opioids to make me an addict. Someone must have seen me as a threat and decided to silence me. But guess what? I’m still here, and I’m still talking. And for today, at least, I’m still a lawyer, but one who has never had a chance to offer up closing arguments.

  “I’d like to take the opportunity to do that now, and I hope you will do me the courtesy of listening to me for a few minutes and being my jury.”

  Jake took a deep breath and blinked away a few tears. This one is for you, brother, he thought. When he’d been imprisoned, Jake had worked on his opening comments to the jury. Jake had known that most of those opening arguments could never be used in court, but that hadn’t stopped him from incorporating those thoughts into what he was about to say now.

  With a heartfelt smile on his face, Jake began the most important closing argument of his life.

  35

  STAND BY YOUR MAN

  It was an almost perfect closing argument, thought Deke. If not for Jake’s having to sacrifice his career, it would have been considered textbook quality.

  Or maybe that was what made it the perfect closing, but Deke was too invested in the career of his protégé to see that.

  During the many years of the opioid crisis, the battleground had somehow never been personalized, despite the deaths of such actors as Heath Ledger and Philip Seymour Hoffman, and musicians Prince and Tom Petty. The public didn’t identify opioids with a face, or an event. But Jake somehow made it a big story. Few people would have cared about the ARCOS data; what caught their attention was a young, penitent lawyer who essentially was willing to give everything for his cause. Becoming an addict wasn’t enough; he’d also had to throw away his career.

  Jake was the car crash that people stopped to observe. His was the story that finally gained enough traction for progress to be made in dealing with the grievous wounds caused by opioids.