The two friends walked slowly towards the setting sun.
Chapter 5
July 9, 2014−One Year after Graduation from Law School
THE GRASS WAVED in the wind and the birds flew lazily above as the blue sky painted a soothing backdrop behind the two people ambling towards the house at the end of the field. The older man, dressed in jeans and a sport coat, carried a folder while talking to his younger companion, who was dressed similarly in jeans and a darker jacket.
“Mikey, we did good today. Got the delivery company to come to the table and we got a reasonable settlement for our client,” the man said. “Mrs. Middlebaum should be happy. She never wanted to take her case to trial and now she will receive some compensation to pay her son’s medical bills.”
The man paused to look down at his feet and then turned to his colleague. “Mike, you helped a lot working up the file. Without you, the company might not have offered as much money. I am not sure if I’ve told you this, but having you here is a huge help. If you had decided not to come and assist me after Tom died, I would have been in trouble. You gave up so much to be here. I will take you to Geneva someday for the greatest vacation of your life. I wanted you to understand how much I appreciate what you have done for me.”
“Uncle Stan, stop. You’ve told me. I’m enjoying learning how to become a lawyer with you. This is different than my original plans, but I like what I am doing. Would I meet someone like Mrs. Middlebaum if I lived in Geneva?”
“Probably not,” said Stan, lean and trim, his salt and pepper hair moving with the gentle breeze, with a glance up to the heavens.
“I enjoy helping you with your files, but I want to handle more on my own and try cases in court. After working with you for the last year, I think I am ready to run with some files without you constantly looking over my shoulder.”
Stan stopped and again turned towards his nephew. “Funny you should ask. I wanted to talk to you about this while we grabbed some lunch at the house. I am handling an arbitration hearing next week for an old client of mine, Mrs. Samson. The air conditioning company apparently charged her a little too much when she scheduled them to fix her cooling system. Overbilled her for a few things she says they never did. I’d like you to go visit her this afternoon to prepare her for the arbitration. She’s a smart old woman.”
Mike hesitated for a moment before asking how much was at stake.
“About two hundred and seventy dollars,” Stan answered, avoiding eye contact.
“Wow, I better open up my calendar and make sure I have enough time to handle this massive case.”
As they approached the front steps to the house, Stan said, “Listen Mike, I am lucky with my practice. I can take whatever I want and don’t worry about how much I get paid. I try to represent solid people and if they need something, I assist them. From your perspective, I would suggest the dollar amount of the case doesn’t matter. You want fair results and to gain some experience.”
“I want to learn, Uncle Stan, but two hundred and seventy dollars, are you kidding?”
“Go talk to Mrs. Samson and help her.”
“I’ll go this afternoon.”
A week later, Mike walked into the office Stan kept in the back of his house. Stan was reviewing deposition transcripts, but peeked over his bifocals when Mike entered. “So how did your first arbitration hearing go?”
Mike, dressed for court in a dark grey suit, crisp white shirt, and a steel-red tie knotted and hanging to his belt buckle, smiled sardonically. His combed hair framed his face and highlighted his piercing blue eyes. Mike eased into the wooden chair in front of his uncle’s desk. “What’s the difference? We fought over two hundred and sixty-three dollars.”
Stan dropped the deposition and pursed his lips. “Let me ask you a couple of questions. Did you give an opening statement?”
Mike leaned back in his chair and contemplated the question. “Yes, I told them in thirty seconds how Mrs. Samson asked the air conditioning company to fix her thermostat, but the company charged her for an inspection of the air conditioner unit and repairs to the unit which they never did.”
“Excellent, did you do any direct examinations?”
“Yes, I questioned Mrs. Samson about what she asked the company to do and what they billed her. I got her to explain how the company never did anything but replace her thermostat. We got into evidence the bill showing they invoiced her for more things than simply replacing the device.”
“Perfect.” Stan returned Mike’s stare with his hands clasped behind his head smiling. “Did you cross-examine anyone?”
“Yes, I cross-examined the owner of the air conditioning company and got him to admit all Mrs. Samson requested was a repair to her thermostat and he admitted he had no documents indicating she agreed to anything other than purchasing a new one.”
“Sounds right. What else did you do?”
“I objected on hearsay grounds when the owner tried to say his employee told him Mrs. Samson wanted additional services and gave a brief closing argument summarizing the evidence, discussing the relevant points from contract law and asking the arbitrators to award her the appropriate amount of damages.”
“Wow, sounds like a productive morning. You gave an opening statement, directed a witness, objected, cross-examined another witness, and gave a closing argument. That’s an awful lot for one day.” Stan glanced at Mike in earnest. “Mike, those are the things you have to learn to do to become a trial attorney. Anytime you can do any of those, you do it to gain the experience. It doesn’t matter how much the claim is worth, you need to develop those skills. If you can do those things in a two-hundred-dollar case, the skills are the same in a two-million-dollar case. You just don’t want the big dollar one to be your first time.”
“Okay, I understand, Uncle Stan. Thanks for the opportunity,” Mike said failing to hide his sarcasm.
“Do you want to look-up the result?”
“Sure.”
Mike walked behind Stan’s desk to view the computer screen. Stan pulled up the court’s website to check the arbitrators’ award.
“Well lookie here, you won. The arbitrators entered an award in favor of Mrs. Samson for two hundred and sixty-three dollars, plus interest. You got everything you asked for. Congratulations.”
“Thanks Uncle Stan, perhaps in my next case we can win six hundred dollars for my client.”
“If you are lucky,” Stan chortled while printing off a copy of the docket evidencing Mike’s first victory. Mike grabbed the sheet of paper out of Stan’s hands and stuck it deep in his file cabinet.
Chapter 6
April 19, 2013—Third Year of Law School
JERI, JACK, AND Mike entered the basement gathering area of the law school like they had hundreds of times during their three years of study, but the transformation of the lounge from earlier in the afternoon held them transfixed. Since classes ended, twenty round top tables, each covered with white linen, ivory colored plates, and shimmering silver utensils, replaced the scattered Formica slabs which usually occupied the space.
Like the room itself, the three friends had undergone a transformation, changing out of their casual class attire into suits and a flowing dress for Jeri. The room was filled with other students, faculty, and local attorneys attending the dinner. Jeri, Jack, and Mike had been so busy taking pictures earlier, that when they arrived everyone was already taking their pre-assigned seats. The three friends found their table, nodding to the classmates seated near them.
The lights immediately dimmed and Professor Norden appeared at the dais at the front of the room. Dressed in a tuxedo, Norden smiled at the audience and waited for quiet.
“Each year,” he began, “we turn our venerable lounge area into a fancy gathering space to honor the students who have worked hard, achieved academically, and served as leaders in our small community. I want to welcom
e all of our distinguished guests and colleagues and remind everyone to eat quickly because we have lots of nominees in the various categories. So, enjoy the fine food and I will rejoin you afterwards to announce the winners of this year’s law school awards.”
A surge of applause rolled over the room as Professor Norden left the stage. Twelve members of the faculty outfitted in elegant server outfits emerged from the hallway carrying trays and began to serve the appreciative audience.
Jack, Jeri, and Mike quickly attacked the salads their Labor Law professor placed before them. They talked, forgetting the others at the table. John Catulla, sitting on Jack’s left, leaned forward to interrupt. “Good luck to the three of you on your nomination for the leadership award. I’m sure you will get it.”
Jeri opened her mouth to thank John for his kind wishes, but Jack spoke first. “Not sure we need luck, there isn’t much competition.”
Jack winced in pain when Jeri elbowed him in the side. “John, I think you and Steve have an excellent chance to win. I thought the retreat to the Supreme Court in D.C. you planned sounded amazing.”
Jack rolled his eyes and made no attempt to hide his sarcasm. “The trip was awesome. At least four people signed up.”
Catulla sat back, looking wounded. Mike leaned in to join the conversation. “Jack don’t be an ass. A lot of work went into planning their event and I heard it was a success.”
Catulla nodded at Mike and offered, “Everyone knows you three are going to win. You started the project to help victims of crime and I see so much action at your table every morning. I think half of the law school is involved.”
“It’s sweet of you to say John, perhaps you should also join us,” Jeri suggested.
Jack rolled his eyes and spat out, “I’m not sure John wants to be a member. Plus, I’m not sure we are looking for his kind.” He turned to Jeri and said, “Look at him, with that haircut and the clothes he wears to class. Wouldn’t that be embarrassing?” Jeri immediately turned beat red and stared at Jack. “Jack-ass, now would be a good time to apologize and then shut up.”
This time Catulla lashed out at Jack. “What the hell is that supposed to mean, Jack?” Jack refused to respond and looked straight ahead, smiling. “C’mon Jack, what are you saying? You think you’re better than the rest of us?”
Jack continued to ignore Catulla. Enraged, Catulla set upon Jack. “You are such an ass, Jack. The project the three of you started is wonderful, but everyone knows you had nothing to do with how well it’s going. It was Jeri’s idea. She got the ball rolling and Mike does most of the work getting people involved. You Jack−you don’t do anything but hang around collecting underserved glory and using it as a resume builder. They do everything and you take the credit. Jack, you’re nothing but a fraud.”
The commotion at their table was attracting the attention of others. Mike walked over to Jack’s seat and placed himself between Jack and Catulla. He spoke to them softly. “Guys, this is a wonderful event. Everyone worked hard to get invited here, so let’s sit back and finish our meals before we all get thrown out.” He stood there for a few moments, waiting for his two classmates to calm down, and when he saw the tension level at their table dissipating, he returned to his chair. Jeri gently grabbed Mike’s arm to thank him for handling the crisis. With her other hand, she touched the scar under her eye.
When dinner was over, Professor Norden began his announcements of the year’s winners. For each award, he made the nominees stand, waited a moment to build tension and then identified the winner, who received an engraved plaque.
Norden announced the nominees for the Student Leader of the Year as one of the last awards. Jack and John Catulla stood next to each other without sharing a glance. Catulla did not respond when Jack nudged him with an elbow. After a suspenseful moment, Norden announced Jeri, Jack, and Mike had won the award.
When the three friends returned to the table with their plaques, Catulla enthusiastically shook Mike’s hand and offered sincere congratulations to Jeri. He turned to Jack and under his breath said, “You’re a poser Jack, and you always will be.”
Chapter 7
August 20, 2014—One Year after Graduation from Law School
FIVE HEADS POKED from the tops of the hastily set up cubicles in the dusty storage facility. The smell of sawdust permeated the air and the lights swayed overhead emitting a pulsating, fluorescent glow. A computer sat on the desk in each work area, with piles of documents strewn about. Hundreds of boxes stacked floor to ceiling along the long bare wall of the barnlike structure remained untouched.
The five attorneys, who had each been present at the facility for months, entered the building daily at precisely 8 a.m., and left each evening at 7:30. Each day, without reflection, they ate the same sandwiches for lunch and pasta for dinner, dutifully returning to their cubicles to review additional documents to determine if they were relevant to the claims in the litigation or whether any contained privileged attorney communications.
Interrupting the sound of rustling papers, a male voice came floating out from one of the workstations: “Can anyone tell me what this case is about?”
“Not me,” piped up a female voice from a different cubicle. “Doesn’t matter either. All I want is to review my share of documents and go home.”
“Like we did yesterday,” echoed a third voice, “and the day before and the day before....” Laughter broke out among the lawyers in their stations, which quickly subsided, allowing them to return their attention to their computer screens.
A few minutes later, another voice rang out, “This case might be worth billions of dollars, but these documents are borrrrrrring.”
“Why don’t the partners in Chicago come here and help us review some of the documents?” asked another.
“Because we are the grunts of Carlton and Sanders, and it doesn’t really matter if we understand what this case is actually about.”
“Shut up guys,” a deep male voice interjected. “I am reviewing a thirty-six-page contract right now. I think it may be the key document in this case.” The voice paused for a moment, then continued, “Nope, it’s just for cable television service. I’m going to mark it as ‘significant’ anyway because our client’s cable service somehow might be relevant to some issue in this case.”
Laughter again rose up from the cubes. The female spoke: “Guys, let’s hold it down. I need to keep my billable hours up so I can get my bonus later in the year. Hopefully I will get it before the partners realize that I miscoded a bunch of significant documents.”
For the lawyers, each day at the facility was indistinguishable from any other. An imposing neon clock hung on the wall near the entrance, its glowing numbers keeping digital track of the passing seconds, and serving as a reminder of everything they were missing outside of the trailer.
Late in the afternoon, Jack Rogers stretched out his long, lanky legs and tilted his head up towards the ceiling. “Who is going to the NOB tonight to let loose?”
Another voice responded, “I don’t know. I heard there is a Shakespeare festival tonight in the park. Of course, only after they move the trailer homes will there be enough space so that the citizens of Chadron can attend.”
Jack chimed in, “Since there is nothing to do in this backwards town, we will for the seventeenth night in a row be drinking beer and eating stale pretzels at what we call affectionately, Nebraska’s Only Bar. Drafts will again be on special at two dirty glasses for a dollar. Can’t wait to see you all there.”
“With three million more documents to review, I’m not so sure I can go. I promised we would finish them by the end of the day,” Vy Bock yelled from his cubicle at the back of the trailer.
“Not a problem,” Peggy Gamble called out, “we can mark everything as significant and nobody will be the wiser. I do that anyway. I’m too scared to determine something is insignificant.” Peggy made a small guttural s
ound. “Somebody please tell me what this case is about. If one of the partners sat us down and explained what the causes of action and defenses were, I might be a little more confident understanding how all of these documents fit together.”
“You understand everything you need to understand,” Jack said to the group, which he couldn’t see from his cubicle. “We all know that smaller energy companies filed a class action lawsuit after they purchased electricity and resulting tax credits from our client and claim our company. . ..” Jack paused, waiting for the rest to call back…
“. . . improperly billed them for the past six years,” they yelled in unison.
“I find it funny,” echoed Bill Pycheck’s voice, “we can all quote from the one memo we got about the litigation, but none of us knows what we are doing or how any of this has any impact on the case.”
The group of lawyers rose from their seats and assembled in Jack’s cubicle. They were there unsupervised and frequently congregated to analyze the events of the day.
“I think I would be so much more effective coding these documents if I understood what the case was about, but nobody will tell us so I’ve been guessing since I got here,” Peggy complained. “We’re a pretty smart group. We were the elite at our respective law schools. We thought we would be at the center of significant cases, but every day we are stuck here.”
Bill Pycheck eased his head into the center of the group and said, “The partners don’t care if we understand. They think they have the litigation under control. Their primary concern is whether we are here billing away. Do you guys recognize the staggering amount of money the firm makes every day while we sit in this trailer?”
Pycheck ran over to Jack’s cubicle and grabbed a yellow pad off the desk. After jotting down the numbers, he said to the other lawyers, “Five of us are here at all times. Each one of us is billing about eleven hours per day. Most of us don’t go home on weekends and so we bill more. Conservatively, we all bill two hundred and fifty hours per month to our client; one thousand two hundred and fifty hours for all of us each month. Our hourly rate for this job I believe is three hundred and fifty dollars. Every month we are here, the firm is receiving over four hundred and thirty-seven thousand dollars.”
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