Legal Reserves

by James Rosenberg

  “This is a little quick. I haven’t been with the DA’s office for three years.”

  “I know you are young, but you’ve done so much in your three years here and people have noticed. Don’t question it. Say you will do it.”

  “Oh my god, yes, of course.” Jeri scanned the area to make sure no one could see them, and engulfed Alan in a hug. He let her squeeze his body and lowered his hand to quickly grab a chunk of her butt. Jeri yelped with pleasure.

  “This is so exciting. I can’t wait to thank you properly,” Jeri whispered in his ear. “Tonight, come over and I will show you my appreciation.”

  “Just like you always do.”

  Chapter 15

  April 19, 2016—Almost Three years after Graduation from Law School

  THE WIND WAS blowing hard when they opened the door to exit the courthouse. Dressed in suits and wrapped in overcoats, Mike and Stan covered their faces as another gust blew back their hair. Holding his file folder tightly, Mike jumped back as a car sped by them and sprayed slush onto the sidewalk.

  Stan laughed as the spray narrowly missed Mike. “Close call,” Stan said to Mike, who smiled at the near disaster. “That would’ve sucked if he got me.”

  “This could be our lucky day,” Stan said as they continued to walk in the direction of the public garage to retrieve Stan’s car. “You deftly handled the tidal wave coming towards you just like you dealt with the summary judgment argument.”

  Mike beamed at the compliment. “I think it went well enough. I worried they might get our case dismissed, but ultimately the judge saw it our way.”

  “Mike, you did an excellent job countering their arguments. The Pennsylvania Supreme Court case you found allowing landlords to seek money from tenants if the tenant’s guests cause damage to the building essentially gave the judge no choice. He had to let our claims proceed. Now the other side has to deal with the claims we brought against them. They are going to be more willing to settle. Certainly not a case I would want to try if I were them. Let’s hope we can get them to offer a fair amount of money,”

  They arrived at the car and began the drive to Stan’s home and office thirty miles away. “It’s too bad you couldn’t find your friend Jeri.”

  “I’m not surprised. Those assistant DAs are always trying a case somewhere. Nobody could tell me where she was, but I left her a note. I think she is doing pretty well there. I hear she keeps getting promoted.”

  As they exited the parking lot, Stan switched subjects. “Mike, there is a potential new client I want you to interview. Sounds interesting.”

  “Sure, Uncle Stan, what’s it about?”

  “I don’t know much. Her husband called me last week and said it involved false imprisonment at a department store. He told me his wife is having trouble leaving the house, so she can’t come down to the office. Can you go see her?”

  “Sure, does tomorrow work for them?”

  “I assume. After you talk with them, let me know if you think they have a case.”

  The next day, Mike drove to Connellsville and found the small, but tasteful house where he was meeting his potential new clients. Mike approached the red wooden front door carrying only a yellow pad and pen.

  At the door he was greeted by an unsmiling beefy man in his early forties. Following the man inside, Mike noticed no lights on in the house and all of the shades on the ground floor drawn. The man directed him to the kitchen where Mike sat at one of the wooden chairs encircling a round table.

  “I will tell Martha you are here and see if she will come down,” the man offered.

  Mike nodded and waited. Minutes passed as he gazed out of the window into the backyard. Swings swayed in the wind, a basketball hoop drooped precariously from the blue one-car garage situated at the back of a narrow concrete driveway.

  “Excuse me, Mr. Reigert,” the man’s voice echoed from the entrance to the kitchen. “This is my wife.”

  Martha Gebbert, dressed in a bathrobe, peeked out from behind her husband.

  “Mrs. Gebbert,” Mike said trying unsuccessfully to make eye contact. “I am Michael Reigert, but please call me Mike.”

  “Please call me Martha,” said the small woman with short brown hair and dull blue eyes. “Paul, will you get this young man some water?” she instructed her husband.

  They took a seat at the table and after some small talk Mike asked Martha to tell him what happened. Paul tried to speak for Martha, but she insisted on telling the story.

  “I went to Wendell’s department store in Irwin like a thousand times before.” Mike knew Wendell’s was a typical national chain with at least five locations in the Pittsburgh area. Neither upscale nor completely discount, the chain catered to Middle America with a variety of departments where useful products could be purchased at reasonable prices. The store advertised heavily in local newspapers and offered coupons for additional savings on sales that occurred virtually every week.

  Martha Gebbert slumped in her chair, her brow furrowed. Paul sat next to her with a hand on her arm. With a yellow pad in front of him, Mike waited for Martha to tell her story.

  “It was a Thursday, about five months ago when I decided to go to Wendell’s because I wanted to get some bath towels. They were having a good sale. The kids were at school. I walked into the first floor of the store and started to browse. I picked out a couple of things I wanted to buy. I’m not sure what department I was in, but there was a counter with a box of chocolates on it. I thought they were offering samples, so I took one and ate it.”

  Mike took notes on his yellow pad and asked her what happened next.

  “About thirty seconds later, this guy came up to me and told me to go with him. I had no idea who he was. I actually thought I had won some prize. I asked him why and he said I stole something. I didn’t know what he was talking about, but he said it was about the candy.”

  “You mean the sample you took?”

  “Yeah, he laughed when I told him it was a sample. He said it was a returned box of chocolates. I asked him if he was certain and he said, ‘like a heart attack.’“

  “Wow, so where did you go?”

  “He took me in an elevator down to the basement and led me into a room. He told me to sit at the table which I did. He pulled out a pair of handcuffs and locked me to a bar on the table. He put a form on the table and told me I could leave once I signed the paper.”

  “What paper?”

  “Some kind of confession, I guess. It said something like I admit I stole something and I would pay some fine to the company.”

  As he leaned back in his chair, Mike tried to imagine the setup of the room in which Martha Gebbert was held. He couldn’t fathom why Wendell’s had such a room in the first place. “What did the security guard do?” he asked.

  “The guy told me he would come back in when I signed the paper. I think there was a camera in the room and he was watching me. He came back in the room every thirty minutes and asked if I signed the form. I would tell him no and he would leave. At first, I kind of thought it was funny, but then I got scared, I didn’t know how long I might be in there.”

  “Did anyone else come into the room?”

  “No, the security guy was the only person who ever came into the room. I asked him to get me someone to talk to, but he said he was the man in charge.”

  “How long were you in there?”

  “I’m not sure. They didn’t put a clock in the room and they took my purse, so I couldn’t use my phone. I don’t wear a watch. The guard came in at least six times, so I’m guessing around over two hours.”

  “How did you get out?”

  “I told him I didn’t do anything wrong and he kept telling me to sign the form to get out of the handcuffs. I started crying, but he didn’t care. I think I yelled and screamed, but I’m not sure. Finally, I told him I didn’t take anything, but I w
ould sign the form anyway. He let me out of the cuffs. I stood up and tried to grab it back, but he was too fast. He let me go at that point.”

  Intrigued a company would incarcerate somebody to coerce a confession, Mike pondered the merits of case. He helped his uncle on many different types of matters, but not any false imprisonment or retail theft cases. The image of Mrs. Gebbert locked to the table angered Mike and he wondered what kind of company would implement a policy like that.

  Mike felt Mrs. Gebbert had a potential claim against the corporation, but also remembered his uncle taught him to look for three things before accepting a case. First was liability−whether the defendant did something legally wrong. Second were injuries and damages, and third was whether the defendant was able to pay. Mrs. Gebbert provided enough information to indicate there was a decent chance the company had done something improper. He knew Wendell’s could satisfy a judgment. The only question left was whether the company’s actions injured Mrs. Gebbert.

  “What you told me so far is helpful Mrs. Gebbert, but what I would like to understand is how has this affected you?”

  At this point Paul jumped in. “My wife is the backbone of the family, but something happened to her. Right after she came home she just went up to her room and cried. She stays in the room most of the time. She’s tried to go out with friends, but she wants to stay in the house all of the time. I don’t know what’s going on with her, but she is scared to leave. She sits around in the dark most of the time.”

  “Do you have any children?” asked Mike.

  “Yes, Stacey is a ninth grader and Tanner’s in seventh. Martha hasn’t been able to take them anywhere. She isn’t there for them and they are used to her helping them.”

  Martha listened to her husband and stared blankly past Mike. Paul described how she spent most of her time sitting on the couch vacantly watching television.

  “Mr. Gebbert,” Mike said, trying to show compassion, “has Martha seen anyone about what happened?”

  Paul glanced at his wife and then back at Mike. “I’m not a believer in those types of things, and neither is Martha. She’s never talked to anybody before and I’m not sure why she would do it now.”

  “I’m no expert on psychologists and mental health doctors, but I think she may need to talk with someone.”

  Paul nodded. “We’ll consider it.”

  “Sir, I think you and your wife have a solid case. I want to speak with my uncle, but I am going to recommend we handle this.” Mike stood and extended his hand towards Mr. Gebbert who grasped it firmly.

  “You seem like a smart, young man. Martha and I would sure be happy if you could help us.”

  Mike left the Gebbert house wondering who had come up with the idea of locking people in the basement of a department store until they confessed to a crime. He looked forward to figuring out the answer.

  Chapter 16

  July 13,2016−Three Years after Graduation from Law School

  JACK SAT BACK in his high leather chair admiring his surroundings. His new office three doors down from Jack Wagner wasn’t quite as large as Wagner’s, but to Jack it felt palatial. The desk, covered with neatly arranged stacks of papers, sat close to the small row of windows so that Jack, when he craned his neck, could get a glimpse of Lake Michigan. A credenza sat against the wall behind Jack; on this he placed his telephone, computer, and a small picture of his father. His diplomas hung over the credenza framed in the same wood Wagner had used for his diplomas. The office was spacious enough so that Jack, on occasion, could stand and practice gyrating his hips.

  Jack examined the two unfinished assignments on his desk. Both analyzed an esoteric point of law for one of Wagner’s product liability cases. Jack had spent nearly a week on both memos, researching any potential defense the client could conceivably raise if the case went to trial. Trial was unlikely−or at least years away. Jack felt little motivation to put the finishing touches on his work. He was holding a memo in each hand, pondering which to finish first, when Wagner poked his head into the office.

  “Got a minute?”

  “Sure, what’s up?” Jack asked, understanding he was to drop whatever he was doing. Motioning to the leather chairs in front of his desk, Jack offered Ed a seat.

  “Your new office looks nice. A lot better than the crap we give new associates on the eighth floor.” Jack nodded as Wagner continued. “Some of your buddies are still down there, aren’t they? How many are left from your class?”

  “We started with nine. There are four of us left.”

  Wagner smirked. “That sounds about right. You’re the only one who’s moved out of the starter office, aren’t you?”

  Jack leaned forward eagerly, “That’s true and I hope to keep moving on up.”

  “I assume you realize that if your friends still have those midget desks, they probably will never get off of that floor.”

  Jack wasn’t sure how to respond, but accepted the implication he was the lead dog among the attorneys who had started with him. “Is there anything I can do to help?”

  “Got a new case for you to work on,” Wagner said, placing a blue file folder on Jack’s desk.

  “Thanks, what sort of research are you looking for?”

  “No, Jack, you misunderstand. This is yours. You are handling it and in charge. It’s a personal injury matter for a potential new client, a national retailer, but it’s not much of a case. I perused the file, I doubt there’s any liability, and I don’t think the plaintiff was injured. I wanted you to get a chance to run with this.”

  Jack grinned. “I’m flattered. I will handle it.”

  “By the way, it’s filed in your old stomping grounds in Pittsburgh. Since you went to law school there, I assumed this would be fun for you. I talked to the client last week. Told him I thought it’s not too significant of a case. I got them to set the reserves at half a million dollars. You should be able to settle this for perhaps one hundred thousand, so you already have yourself some wiggle room. Work it up, bill some hours and get the other side to dance. It will make everyone happy.”

  “I hear you,” Jack said, thumbing through the papers as Ed spoke. He reviewed the cover sheet to the complaint and let out a laugh. “I think dancing on this case is going to be easier than either of us could imagine.”

  Chapter 17

  September 20, 2016−Three Years after Graduation from Law School

  RED WINE SLOSHED around in bulbous glasses as Mike and Jeri relaxed on Jeri’s floral printed couch. Mike listened to Jeri talk about her life, but his eyes took in the design of her condominium. The dining room table to their right was set for three. Yellow-striped cloth napkins rested on bone white china with two crystal glasses identically placed in front of each plate. Light blue irises floated in clear vases in the middle of the cherry table.

  As Jeri continued her soliloquy, Mike mentally compared Jeri’s functional condo with his two-bedroom farmhouse thirty-five miles away, with its hand-me-down furniture, the same off-white colored walls in every room, lacking even one piece of hung art or print.

  Mike was proud he was able to find and pay for his own place after having lived with his uncle for over a year after law school. Other than a few garage sale items and the furniture his uncle had given him, Mike had yet to update the interior of the farmhouse.

  Mike interrupted Jeri, realizing he had lost track of the conversation. “Wait, we never get to see each other. I want to hear about the election and everything going on in your life.” Mike sat back, intent on listening to Jeri, who placed her right hand gently on his knee.

  “Everything’s going so well. Like I was saying, I tried lots of cases for the DA’s office when out of the blue my boss asked me to run for judge. I never thought about being a judge before, but I said I would do it. The process is so time consuming. All sorts of events I have to go to, lots of hand shaking−that sort of thing, bu
t I’ve met so many people and it turns out its sort of fun. The election is only three weeks away. Everyone at the DA’s office is supportive. I hope I don’t disappoint them and lose.”

  “I doubt that could happen,” Mike said. “Just like in law school, the people who know you, also respect you. I thought back then you would make an outstanding judge. What else is going on with you?” Mike asked, pointing at the extra setting on the dining room table.

  Jeri blushed. “Oh that. You and I are going to be joined by a friend of mine.”

  “Friend?” Mike did not try to hide his salacious tone.

  “Well, my boyfriend, as ridiculous as it sounds, but I guess it’s the right word for it. His name is Alan and he was my boss at the DA’s office.”

  “Nice.”

  “No, it’s nothing like that. He was my mentor. He’s brilliant and he gets me. As you know, I have issues trusting men.” Jeri gently touched the scar under her eye.

  “I get it. How significant is this relationship?”

  “We’ve been seeing each other for over a year. We kept it private for a long time, but now everyone knows. He still keeps his own place, but we talked about moving in together. I don’t know. We are at an interesting place in our relationship and I don’t want to screw it up.”

  “You are not the kind of person who screws things up. I think you will be able to figure this one out.” Mike smiled at Jeri.

  “I hope so. I bet you’ll like him. He should be joining us any time now.”

  Jeri stood up to check the fish in the oven and returned with some cheese on a platter. They sat reminiscing about law school and how familiar it was sitting on a couch and hanging out.