Jim Jesperson was no problem. Grey haired, dignified, every inch the image of the traditional respected attorney, he welcomed the new associate, evinced discrete appreciation for her full figure and passed the hour or so of introduction in small talk, obviously with the intention of making her feel at ease.
With Becky Loward, the situation was very different. Sheila made it a point to be on her best behavior, but the rather dowdy middle-aged woman with the very red face didn’t unbend. Sheila mentally shrugged and concentrated on being attentive to the Managing Partner.
The first trial, with Jim Jesperson himself sitting in with her, turned out amazingly well. With her quick mind, she rapidly mastered the minutiae of court proceedings, relishing the interplay with the opposing attorney. Within months she was handling cases on her own, trivial ones at first, but culminating finally in the Vonsacker sexual harassment case.
It had been touch and go at first as to whether Sheila would handle the case and even whether the firm would take it on at all. The three partners met in the conference room while Sheila nervously awaited the outcome of their decision. She was convinced she would be arguing the case if the partners accepted it, but she also knew their client hadn’t made the finest of impressions on the partners. The big hurdle was going to be getting the firm’s initial acceptance of the case.
In confidence, and after giving her the good news that she would indeed be representing Vera Constable, Herman told Sheila how Becky had expressed serious reservations about taking on the client, especially since it would have to be on a contingency basis. Sheila hid her exasperation and wasn’t about to admit she knew Vera had initiated the advances. The one thing she did know for sure, and had respect for, was her client’s talent as an actress. In addition, at least some of the evidence against Christian Vonsacker was damning, he desperately wanted to avoid the publicity—for his own sake and for his family’s sake as well—and his lawyer was already fishing deep for a settlement. There would be none. Sheila was determined to take the matter to court.
The offer of settlement was so generous it took all of Sheila’s powers of persuasion to keep Vera from accepting it. But it was the very size of the offer which convinced Sheila she could win, and the preliminaries provided her with invaluable lessons in trial preparation. Vonsacker’s lawyers wanted to avoid a jury trial, adhering to the view a judge would be less influenced by the emotionally charged testimony of the supposed victim. After consultation with Goetz, and despite her misgivings, Sheila decided to go along. Goetz’s argument was how all of the judges in the jurisdiction had either ruled in favor of the plaintiff in similar cases, or had simply not presided in sexual harassment trials.
“Keep in mind,” he had advised, “judges occasionally talk over the matters before them with their colleagues. They are bound to influence each other, and we just generally have a liberal collection of judges. Sure, you might be able to get a favorable jury, but that’s a much bigger gamble. Play it safe.”
When the luck of the draw fell to Lester Greene, an African-American judge, Sheila toyed with the idea of using a peremptory challenge to remove him, something she could do once and once only in any given case. But she leaned in the direction of staying with Greene. After all, he was a member of a minority, something which could very well work in her favor. And there was nothing in his prior rulings to show his attitude toward sexual harassment was not encouraging. What finally decided her was his exemplary record with regard to those of his decisions which had been appealed. He was a respected judge with a virtually perfect score sheet, and Sheila was convinced she would not be the one who would have to file an appeal.
She had been right. The three-day acrimonious trial ended with Judge Greene ruling in the plaintiff’s favor, then stating he was taking the matter of monetary award under submission. A week dragged by. At her most pessimistic, Sheila had visions of a token amount. The actual result blew her mind. The compensatory and punitive damages were far more than she had hoped for—by far the biggest judgement Jesperson et al. had ever been involved in. Even with a possible revision downward by the appeals court, rather unlikely given that Judge Greene had presided in the lower court, the victory was sweet.
Sheila’s star was rising fast, and the traditional champagne party for major successes was held in her honor. Jim gave the toast. Vera Constable, who had arrived late but who had started celebrating early, joined in the festivities with vociferous enthusiasm. The only dour face belonged to Becky, whose countenance became even more so as Vera begin announcing in a loud voice “The old fart deserved what he got. Christ, Sheila, but you did a bang-up job. He didn’t even know I’d led him on from the word go, but his lawyer sure did. Jeez, it was really great the way you stomped on him.”
While heads turned at the loud-voiced admission, the receptionist who was answering the phone slipped into the room to have a whispered consultation with Jim. Suddenly, the room became quiet. It may have been the expression on the managing partner’s face which produced the effect. His announcement brought shocked murmurs and a gradual breakup of the celebration. “The police have just reported Christian Vonsacker shot and killed himself this morning in his office.”
Vonsacker’s suicide removed some of the shine from her victory. Still, all indications pointed to good things being in store for Sheila. An unprecedented meeting of the partners was called to consider raising her to junior partner status. The grapevine indicated the meeting had come as close to unpleasantness as the trio had ever approached. Jim was leaning in favor of granting the promotion, Herman spoke glowingly of her achievements. Becky was the one who finally killed her chances. She was adamant. The basis of her opposition wasn’t entirely clear, but it had unquestionably been effective.
The meeting was part of the reason Sheila so wanted another clear-cut, remunerative victory. But much of the reason also came in the form of an invitation to lunch from an attorney for Spengler, Lowell, Hutchison and Bates, though she gave it little thought at the time. The subject would be the agreement on a settlement of a very minor case. The attorney was someone even further down in the pecking order of his firm than Sheila was in hers. There was a difference, however. Spengler, et al., unlike Jesperson, et al., was one of the most prestigious law firms in the country—and internationally, as well—since they had several offices abroad and in virtually every major city in the U.S.
A last-minute change immediately prior to the lunch caught her by surprise. The opposing attorney wouldn’t be able to make it, but another member of the firm would be there, and the meeting place was the elaborate dining facility leased by the local Harvard Club chapter. As a Yale alumna, Sheila had never had the opportunity to enter those premises before, and the luncheon suddenly loomed as something beyond routine. Indeed, it was. The substitute attorney was none other than Leverett Spengler III, replete with apologies and a rather inadequate explanation for the change.
They settled the legal matter quickly, and Sheila spent most of the lunch observing this attractive male who, while not actually saying so, appeared to be sounding her out as a possible addition to his firm. Yet, much as she enjoyed the meal and the company, she was impatient to get back to her office for a stint of vital research.
Sheila had used Martindale-Hubbell—the standard directory on law firms, attorneys and their backgrounds—when she was job searching, but had spent little time on Spengler, Lowell, Hutchinson and Bates, convinced there was little chance of ever being hired by such a prestigious firm. Certainly, it was not the company’s credentials she was checking now as she did the computer search. The legal essentials were all there, and they were impressive. Leverett Spengler III had an impeccable reputation, along with being CEO of the law corporation and the firm’s managing partner.
Personal background was what she was looking for, and further exploration finally produced it. “Age, 42. Divorced. No children.” Bingo! One other triumph on the scale of the Vonsacker case could bring a good deal more than a lunch at the Harva
rd Club and vague offers of a job. It was why Sheila was now determined more than ever to represent Tanya Kosich.
***
“What are the possibilities of meeting with the three partners about a case which could pay off every bit as well as the Vonsacker case?”
Sheila addressed the question to Herman Goetz who was relaxing back in his desk chair with his hands behind his head.
“You did do a bang-up job on the case, so maybe I can arrange it. I think Jim’s feeling a bit guilty about not moving you up to junior partner, which means he’ll probably be willing to listen.” He sat forward and checked his appointment book. “We’re having a meeting tomorrow at ten. Can you present your material in twenty minutes, let’s say?”
Sheila nodded.
“Care to tell me what’s up?” he asked.
She smiled. “No details until tomorrow, except it’s a blockbuster. Take my word for it.” As she spoke, her smile broadened at the thought of the precious tape. Ten minutes of damning innuendos and beyond. Unfortunately, the “dictation session” hadn’t lasted longer since Mundt had to leave for a conference elsewhere.
The meeting began promptly at ten and, from the expression on the faces of the trio, Sheila knew her first words had a strong effect, though not quite the one she had expected.
Jesperson broke in before she could go on. “Let me get this straight. A receptionist from Kelvin Mundt’s office is asking you to represent her in a sexual harassment suit against him? She just walked into your office, made those charges and you listened to her?” The tone of his voice indicated he was having difficulty believing what he had heard.
The atmosphere was not at all what she had anticipated. Herman Goetz was slipping down in his chair. Becky Loward was shaking her head. Sheila could hear herself suddenly going on to the defensive. “There’s nothing wrong with that. He’s not our client. And, believe me, we can’t lose.” Reaching into her dispatch case, she snatched up the tape recorder, slapped it on the conference table and pressed the play button.
Within moments, Mundt’s unmistakable voice filled the room, and the comments he was making over Tanya’s protests were more than lewd. Two minutes into it, Sheila hit the stop button and grinned. Maybe these boneheads couldn’t appreciate the quality of the case, but some other firm might jump at the chance to represent Tanya Kosich…maybe Leverett Spengler III would like the opportunity. The silence astonished her.
Goetz seemed totally speechless. Loward was trying to talk, but her stammer obliterated whatever she was trying to say. Finally, Jesperson leaned forward, “Do you mean to tell us this recording was made in Mundt’s office?”
“Of course.”
Loward stopped trying to speak but simply reached over to the recorder, hit the fast forward button, stopped the tape near the end, then pressed the play button. The voice was male—not Mundt’s, but one Sheila immediately recognized.”…know the deposition went badly, but we covered our tracks and, besides…”
Mundt’s voice broke in. “Covered our tracks? Felix, that’s not enough. The bitch made me deny knowing things any fool would know I couldn’t have forgotten. As my attorney, you…”
Loward punched the stop button. “D-d-d-do you have the l-l-least idea w-w-what that conversation means?”
Before Sheila could answer, Jesperson broke in. “It means we accepted a tape recording of a private conference between an adverse party and his attorney. There can be no more flagrant violation of client confidentiality than what we have here. And our client in the contract case against Mundt will have to be notified. We’ll have to drop the case and tell him it’s so badly tainted no one else will probably want to touch it. As far as Mundt is concerned, we can only hope he’s willing to let us settle quietly. In the meantime, Sheila, you are on a leave of absence as of this moment.”
Why couldn’t they see? “But Tanya will testify against him. He’ll never want this to get out.” By God, if they want to fire me, so much the better. Other firms will see how Mundt would never want the tape made public. A sure-fire settlement, and a big one, would definitely be in the offing. Leverett Spengler III will be waiting with open arms.
Loward’s stammer had completely disappeared. “Sheila, don’t you understand? Tanya will never testify against him. If this ever gets to court, and let’s hope to God it never does, she’ll swear you told her to plant the tape. Did you have anything to do with her, any contact all, before she came to your office?”
The scenario broke through to Sheila as she remembered Tanya Kosich talking to her at Mundt’s office. The meeting had been intentional, and there were plenty of eyewitnesses to say they spoke to each other. Tanya’s plain appearance was nothing more than an appearance—for the occasion. Very likely she was Mundt’s lover. The enormity of how she’d been conned finally hit Sheila. Nothing worse could happen.
There was a knock on the conference room door. Interruptions of partner conferences were almost unprecedented. A fire in the building, a few months back, had been the occasion for one such interruption, and the announcement had been accompanied by profuse apologies. The receptionist, who came in at Jesperson’s invitation, was even more apologetic this time. Addressing him, she said, “I’m very sorry sir, but there’s an attorney here who absolutely insists on seeing you immediately. He says he has just been retained by Mr. Kelvin Mundt to deal with an ethical matter which must be settled today.”
The receptionist glanced down at a card in her hand and said, before handing it to Jesperson, “His name is Leverett Spengler III.”
THE THREAT
“She’s even threatening suicide.” Clint Lord’s voice broke.
I still didn’t really understand why Clint was sitting in my office telling me about his depressed wife. I suggested a doctor, not an attorney, should be the object of his consultation. My suggestion merely unleashed a flood.
He had consulted a doctor, the family’s physician. They had been to therapists. Anna Lord’s depression had been going on for years, but was now worse than ever, and the climax came when Clint checked out one of the pills her doctor had prescribed and which she’d been on for months—Thanazac.
“I searched for it on the internet, and at least a dozen people report they’ve known someone on Thanazac who threatened and then actually committed suicide.” Clint was becoming increasingly agitated. “We have to get her into a hospital where she can get decent treatment, but she absolutely refuses to go. She’s just not herself, and I can’t be watching her every minute.”
Finally, the reason for the visit was becoming clear. Involuntary commitment! A sticky procedure at best. But it couldn’t be any worse than some of the vicious divorce cases I’ve handled and, besides, my practice wasn’t exactly booming. Clint’s case would put off ambulance chasing for a while, if nothing else.
A retainer fee, reassurance I would move immediately on the matter, and a goodbye handshake terminated the consultation. An immediate bit of research on my part to see what would be involved followed. My original assumptions proved to be correct. It wouldn’t be easy, especially now I’d had to cut off even a temp secretary who used to do all the peon work for me.
Times were tough, and there was just so much cutting back I could do. I’d been looking for a reasonable, used BMW to replace my old and ailing Ford. I was impressed with the prices and depressed by my bank account.
I knew I wouldn’t get rich off of a commitment hearing, especially since Clint had made it clear he was borrowing on his plastic to pay me. And I did have other cases pending—a driving under the influence, a codicil to a will and a continuing and bitter property-line dispute, all of which were in need of more immediate attention. So it wasn’t until the next day, earlier than usual, before I got around to settling down to serious research in an area I really knew little about.
By nine I had a motion roughed out, and I gave Clint a ring to arrange a court date. I didn’t reach him. Instead, a voice, identifying itself as Detective Sergeant McCloskey, gave me the
news. Anna Lord was dead from a drug overdose, and Clint was in no condition to talk to an attorney…or to anyone else.
I’d like to say my first reaction was concern for my client and his deceased wife. It wasn’t. All I could think of was how much of the retainer I would have to return. And that’s when it struck me. A threat of suicide, suicide, medication associated with suicide! Perhaps there was something more here with Anna dead than with Anna alive. And Clint had said he’d done some internet research on the medication. I checked through my notes to find the name. Thanazac!
If anything, Clint had vastly understated the situation. I begin to download the literature. In minutes I had dozens of pages and could see there would be thousands if I didn’t become more selective. Much of the material was anecdotal—mostly relatives or friends who’d been taking Thanazac and who’d threatened suicide and then carried out the act. Some of the material was surprising, though hardly instructive. A book called “The Joy of Thanazac.” A cook book for Thanazac users. Cult attacks on the drug. Long, long lists of side effects, including drowsiness, insomnia, muscle spasms, tremor, nausea, loss of appetite, weight gain, dizziness, headaches, nervousness—all of which struck me as reasons enough in themselves to commit suicide. But there was more, much more.
A long defense by the drug company stressed how there were no studies to indicate depressed persons taking Thanazac were any more prone to suicide than depressed persons on other drugs or on no drugs at all.
But, to my notion, the argument “It must be remembered—Thanazac is an antidepressant, and depressed persons are at risk for suicide” was, at the very least, self serving. My own view was reinforced by studies from respectable research centers indicating there was an extraordinary correlation between suicide and the use of the drug.
Expect the Unexpected Page 43
