Legal Reserves

by James Rosenberg

  Legal

  Reserves

  James Rosenberg

  Legal Reserves

  Copyright © 2018 by James Rosenberg

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means without written permission of the author.

  Legal

  Reserves

  Prologue

  July 16, 2017—Five Years after Graduation from Law School

  BRIGHT LIGHTS ILLUMINATED the fourteen leather chairs surrounding the gleaming mahogany table. A video screen dropped into view with a faint mechanical hum. Once he received the signal from the nattily dressed man seated at the table, Jack Rogers dimmed the lights and as he started the video said, “I hope you are pleased with what you are about to see.”

  The man did not react, sitting motionless, staring at the images on the screen. The presentation lasted less than five minutes and when it was over the man leaned back in his chair, resting his hands behind his head. “That was tremendous,” he said. “It should help our case significantly.”

  Jack let out a scarcely audible sigh having received the blessing of his mentor. “Ed, do you think they’re going to be pissed when they see this?”

  “Does a bear crap in the woods?”

  Jack laughed as if this were the first time he had heard his mentor ask that question, his black hair thrown back slightly as his head nodded. “Speaking of the woods, that little scene where we caught them doing it behind the trees was entertaining, wasn’t it? Do you think we should send them this video and give them something to think about?”

  The man thought for a moment and responded, “No, if they really want to take this case to trial, you can shove the video up your buddy’s ass during cross-examination. What we just watched will seal the deal if a jury ever sees it. We’ll save it as our little insurance policy.” He looked over at Jack with a wry smile on his face. “You finally seem to have this case under control.”

  Jack felt his pulse slow for the first time in weeks.

  Mike Reigert glared at his clients, his clenched fist pounding the table. “I can’t believe what my investigator reported. Can you explain it to me?” The middle-aged couple sitting in the fake leather chairs lifted their eyes from the copies of the seven-page report Mike had given to them at the beginning of their meeting.

  The couple stared at Mike without responding. Rubbing his hands through his light-red hair, Mike’s heart rate accelerated and he felt a trickle of sweat under his arms. He looked squarely at the woman dressed in an unflattering pantsuit. “Martha, I thought you spent all day in your bedroom. My investigator has you leaving your house by yourself three times in a week. Doesn’t sound like you are so hurt to me.”

  The beefy man in the ratty sports coat sitting next to Martha put a hand on her arm to indicate he would respond. “Mike, this doesn’t seem so bad to me. This means she didn’t leave the house four days during that week.”

  “Mr. Gebbert, you don’t get it, do you? Close is not good enough. You have to be perfect. If Martha is injured, then she has to act like she’s hurt. Understand? The report has her going to the grocery store and then over to a friend’s house. Think about what their lawyer would do with that information if he had it. You testified she couldn’t leave the house. That can’t be true if she is running all over town. If for some reason she absolutely has to leave home, like if she has to go to her shrink or to come here, you are holding onto her as if she is the most fragile thing on Earth.”

  Paul Gebbert stood from his chair and looked directly into Mike’s eyes. “We understand what you are saying. She will do better. I will make sure you can trust her.”

  Martha stood and weakly grabbed her attorney’s hand to say goodbye. Mike watched his clients leave the conference room and wondered what curveball his case would throw him next.

  The peeling paint and stained carpet didn’t bother Jeri Richards. She looked at the seal of the Commonwealth of Pennsylvania mounted behind the desk and felt a surge of pride. “Mom, can you believe this is mine?”

  The well-attired woman with Jeri shook her head at the dilapidated state of the office. “Oh Jeri, look at this desk,” she said as she pulled her hand away from the grime coating the top of the desk. “This is a mess.”

  “I know, Mom, but this is easy to fix. Judge Wecksel didn’t care much about decorating. His bigger problem was he liked to use this office for non-legal acitivites. It’s going to be different now.” Jeri folded her arms across her chest and stood tall.

  Sandy Richards stepped towards her daughter and embraced her. “I’m sorry to focus on the unimportant stuff. I’m so proud of you. I can’t believe you are a judge.”

  Jeri beamed and allowed the hug to linger. The corrugated paper box her mother had put on the leather armchair in front of the desk diverted her attention. “What surprises have you brought for me?”

  Sandy pulled back and cleared her throat. “It’s some of your dad’s stuff. I thought you might want it.”

  Jeri opened the box and grabbed a picture frame sitting on top. Her eyes immediately welled-up. “He was so handsome, wasn’t he?” she said pulling her mom over to look at the picture. “I always thought he looked so strong in his dress whites.”

  Sandy put her head on Jeri’s shoulder. “He was so good looking. At least you got his beautiful dark skin and not my pasty white coloring.”

  They paused for a moment, staring at the picture before Jeri said, “What else is in the box?”

  “Just a few of his things I thought you might like to have. You can do whatever you want with them.”

  Jeri hesitated, sensing that digging deeper into the box might rip open old wounds. She slowly pulled out her father’s police academy graduation certificate, followed by his badge and then some ribbons and other commendations. She gasped when she extracted the last item from the box.

  “No way! Mom, how did you get this past security?” Jeri asked as she held up a sleek patrolman’s sidearm.

  Sandy blushed. “The nice security guard downstairs helped me with the box. I think he just took it to the other side of the scanner without sending it through. I guess I didn’t look terribly threatening.”

  Jeri laughed, but kept her focus on the gun while she felt its weight in her hands.

  “He never shot it. Twenty-two years on the squad and he never drew his weapon.” her mom said. “Kind of ironic, isn’t it? He was killed by that drug dealer, but never unholstered his gun.”

  Jeri sat into the chair behind the desk as her mother stood motionless on the other side, their gazes fixed on the gleam of the revolver.

  Chapter 1

  August 27, 2010−First Year of Law School

  NINETY PEOPLE ATTEMPTED to enter the empty room at once. An excess of energy filled the space as the new students struggled to locate their seats, even though the chairs had name tags on them. The class swiftly realized they were to sit in alphabetical order and found their proper locations. The fresh-eyed students squirreled their backpacks underneath their seats and set their laptops before them on the tables. Some engaged in nervous conversation and made brief introductions, but most concentrated on the small door at the bottom of the lecture hall.

  At exactly 9 a.m., the door opened and a tall, youthful man with one file folder under his arm entered. Dressed in a stylish suit and appearing in his early thirties, he contradicted every expectation they held of what a law professor should look like. The room fell silent as the instructor stepped to the lectern.

  “Happy Monday everyone. I am Professor Norden. Welcome to Torts class.” He immediately addressed a nervous young man
in the first row without even looking at his seating chart. “Mr. Cashman, can you tell me what a tort is?” The distressed student cleared his throat and read out loud from the notes on his computer: “A tort is a wrongful act, not like a breach of contract, resulting in injury to another person, property, or reputation.”

  “Excellent, Mr. Cashman. You have passed your first test in law school. You may now breathe.” The hall filled with laughter, dissipating a bit of the tension in the room.

  Continuing his lecture, Professor Norden addressed the class. “The study of torts is fascinating. You will learn whether you are liable if you touch your friend, when you owe a duty to help a stranger in times of need, how words can injure and how to dissect the concept that in order to recover for a tort, the wrongful action must cause harm. This course will cover your entire first year of law school.

  “You will be required to read numerous cases and discuss them intelligently in front of the class. We use the Socratic method, which allows me to call on anybody at any time, whether or not you want to be called on. I will ask you about each case to determine not only if you understood the opinion, but also how the court’s ruling affected the development of the law. Not seeing any questions, let’s start with our first case.”

  The energy level in the room spiked as the students accessed their computers to find their notes about the first day’s assignments. In the third from the last row, a tall, rugged student shifted uncomfortably in his seat. “Did he assign work for this class?” he whispered to his neighbor.

  Not wanting to draw attention to their conversation, in a hushed voice the woman responded, “Yes, didn’t you receive the email about the assignments for the first week?”

  “Shit, never got it.”

  From the front of the lecture hall, Professor Norden detected the conversation and zeroed in on the participants. “Mr. Rogers, please tell everyone what the case of Vaughn versus Menlove is about.”

  Jack Rogers fumbled with his laptop, hoping the opinion would magically appear on his screen and he wouldn’t suffer the embarrassment of being the first person to implode in class. Realizing he couldn’t bluff his way through, Jack considered admitting failure, but noticed the computer to his left shift towards him, allowing him to view the writing on the screen.

  “Professor, Vaughn versus Menlove is the seminal English case that introduced the idea of the reasonable person to the law,” Jack said, surreptitiously reading from his neighbor’s laptop.

  “Correct, Mr. Rogers. Can you give us the facts?”

  “Sure. A landowner built a haystack somewhere near to the boundary of his property. He constructed the haystack with a chimney he believed would prevent the haystack from setting itself on fire,” Jack said, now reading directly from his classmate’s computer. “People living near to the defendant, the guy who constructed the haystack, warned him he had designed the chimney improperly, but he didn’t do anything. The haystack caught on fire, burning down several of the adjacent property’s buildings.”

  “Outstanding. Tell us more about what happened.”

  “At the trial where one of the neighbors sued the guy who built the haystack for destroying his property, the judge instructed the jury they should consider whether the person who fabricated the haystack had proceeded ‘with such reasonable caution as a prudent man would exercise under the circumstances.’

  Jack paused as the woman next to him handed him a note under the table. He placed the paper on his computer and read from it. “The man who built the haystack lost at trial and on appeal argued the court should have instructed the jury to consider whether he had acted with his best judgment. The appellate court rejected the argument, saying a better rule is to hold people to the standard of what an ordinary man would do in those circumstances.”

  “Well put, Mr. Rogers. You got the facts correct and also stated the holding of the court accurately. What is the significance of the case?”

  Sounding more confident and no longer looking at information he received from his neighbors, Jack continued. “It means it’s not an excuse to say ‘this is the best I can do.’ Courts will hold all people to the same standard−that of what a reasonable person would do.”

  “Well done, Mr. Rogers,” said Professor Norden, turning his inquiry to other students. Jack let out a sigh. He leaned toward his neighbor and patted him on his back. “Thanks man, you saved my ass. Jack Rogers,” he said in a hushed voice.

  “Mike Reigert,” whispered his new friend. “You did an amazing job appearing like you had a clue what you were talking about.” They both nodded and laughed to themselves. Jack turned to the woman. “You also came through in the clutch.” He gently touched her shoulder. She smiled at him and responded, “Jeri Richards, at your service.”

  In the hallway outside the lecture hall, the woman joined the two young males. “That was kind of fun. Think anyone knew that Jack here was completely faking it?” she said, while pointing at Jack, who was tall and trim with a flop of black hair highlighting his lean face. Almost laughing, Jack said, “anytime either of you need anything, ask. I will take care of it for you. You saved my law career.”

  Mike flushed red while Jeri put her hand on his shoulder. She said, “guys, if we continue to perform this well in class we are looking forward to an exciting year.” Mike took a small bow and responded, “I think the three of us are going to work well together.”

  Jeri, wearing a t-shirt reading ‘No Government is Better than Big Government,’ said, “I can’t believe Professor Norden didn’t bust us today. We need to come up with some plans for how we are going to attack law school. Plus, if I ever forget to read an opinion for class, you boys are going to help me. Let’s go get something to eat and talk about our futures.” The three fledgling law students headed to the stairwell leading to the cafeteria, beginning a tradition that would last until they graduated law school.

  Chapter 2

  December 1, 2011−Second Year of Law School

  THE NORMAL BUZZ of the school had waned hours before, leaving three figures sitting at one of the square tables in the basement lounge. Papers they had strewn about while studying lay on the floor beneath them as they gathered their belongings and began placing them into their backpacks. A few other dedicated students studied at distant tables.

  “Good session, boys. Two weeks until finals and I think we are starting to have this under control,” said Jeri to her two companions.

  “Thanks for the pep talk. Keep it positive, even though we still haven’t touched Labor Law or Administrative Law.”

  “Hey Jack-ass,” Jeri responded, deploying her favorite nickname for her taller friend, “this technique worked pretty well for us first year. I think we’re going to do even better this year.” Jeri stood, ready to leave, when she felt her other friend’s hand on her shoulder.

  “Hey, I’m feeling a little horny tonight. You think we can have a quick one in the bathroom?”

  “I would Mike, but from what the other women in our class tell me, it wouldn’t be worth the three minutes it would take.”

  Jumping in between his two friends, Jack waved his hand in front of Jeri, compelling the slender woman to high-five him. Jack suddenly stopped and looked seriously at Jeri. He put his face directly in front of hers. “I’ve never realized how hot you really are. You have those beautiful, narrow eyes and that jet-black, perfectly straight hair. Let’s dump this loser and do it in my apartment.”

  “Idiot,” Mike said to Jack, “that’s my apartment too.”

  “Good point,” Jack responded. “Jeri, I guess we’re going to your place.”

  “Not tonight Jack, I’ve got some laundry to fold.”

  Jeri put her arms around both of her friends. “Maybe tomorrow both of you will come to my place and I can do both of you.”

  Jack and Mike looked at each other and shouted, “Nasty!” They walked towards the staircase w
here Mike said to Jack, “Jeri would never touch either one of us before. It always seemed like she thought she was too good for us. As far as I can remember, nobody has gotten anywhere with Jeri. Maybe she’s just a prude.”

  Jeri blushed and turned away from her friends, gently rubbing a small scar under her eye. Jack saw Jeri’s reaction and said, “Sorry Jeri, we know you’ll hook up with someone once the right guy, or girl, comes into your life.”

  Jeri yelped at Jack’s semi-apology and jumped on his back. Mike smacked Jeri’s butt, the sound echoing throughout the nearly empty space.

  Responding to the commotion, sitting at a far table by himself, a silhouetted male looked up and shooshed the group. The three friends immediately stopped, directing their attention to the figure. Jack and Mike walked towards the table, smirking.

  “Hey, Catulla, studying with all of your friends?” Jack called, loud enough to get the attention of the few other remaining students.

  “Shut up Jack. I’m just trying to finish for the night.”

  Jack and Mike stood over Catulla, who held his law treatise in both of his hands. Mike joined in. “John, give it up. Law school’s probably not for you.”

  Jack laughed at Catulla’s evident discomfort. “Maybe you should quit and go to nursing school.”

  “You’re an ass, Jack.”

  “Good one, John. Unfortunately, you can’t back it up, can you?”

  Catulla slowly stood, looking up at the two boys, both whom were at least five inches taller than him. “You both think you are royalty and can do anything you want. “

  Mike was enjoying watching Catulla get annoyed and responded, “We can, because everyone at the law school likes us. I can’t say the same about you.”

  “Screw both of you,” he exclaimed.

  Jack immediately gave Catulla a two-handed shove, hard enough to push him back a couple of steps. Mike laughed and then patted Catulla on top of his head. “It’s okay John, I’m sure if you study hard you might find a paralegal job after law school.”