To Save the Nation

by Robert E Kass

  “Yeah, that’s right, and no guarantees of any kind. You’ll see I made that perfectly clear in the retainer agreement. I guess I’m just not accustomed to taking a case where I don’t have some expectation of winning.”

  “Like you always say, David, let’s take it a step at a time. First, let’s see what Afzam comes up with, and what your P.I. can do on his end. I’ll give Afzam a heads up about tomorrow’s meeting, and you let me know if your P.I. will be joining you—.”

  Winkler interrupted her. “Not you, Emma—it’s us. I’d like you to attend the meeting as well and be in on this one every step of the way. I have a feeling you’ll be of tremendous assistance.”

  “That’s fine with me, David, but in that case, I’m not ordering pizza for lunch—I think we’ll all work better over salad!” Emma hardly ever ate lunch, but her girlish figure showed when she did eat, she made careful choices.

  “Right. And don’t forget the fresh-squeezed juices or mineral water instead of soda!” he added with a wink. “I think I’ll go down to Joshua Green’s office and see what he has on his mind.”

  CHAPTER 13

  THE WALLS OF JOSHUA GREEN’S OFFICE were adorned with his Harvard Law School degree, State Bar and U.S. Supreme Court admission certificates, and commendations from everyone from the President of the United States down to the mayor. Photos pictured him with clients and celebrities, from politicians to movie stars. His long and illustrious career spanned over six decades, most of which was spent as a partner with Kelly, Friedman & Green, a firm he’d seen grow from a bunch of young upstarts to the legal powerhouse it had become.

  “Joshua, is this a good time?” Winkler asked politely, standing at Green’s door.

  Green nodded affirmatively. “Come in, sit down, and close the door behind you, David.”

  Green always spoke behind closed doors. It was his way to assure there would be no interruptions. It also put the entire world outside the conversation. When the door was closed and calls shut off, it was as if the billable hour time clock stopped. He pushed the do-not-disturb button on his phone, a sign that the meeting wasn’t going to be brief.

  “I appreciate the lifeline you threw me in the Management Committee meeting, Joshua. I really do. I knew they wouldn’t be happy about my taking the Romero case, but I guess I underestimated the degree of their concern. Frankly, I’ve seen more billable hours written off on our run-of-the mill pro bono case than we’ll ever see here.”

  “I think you handled yourself well, under the circumstances. What you’re not seeing is that they’re desperate for fees. I say they because as you know, I’m on the way out, have been for a number of years. I just work on the few cases I want, cases that pique my interest, and I have a place to come every day. That suits me fine.”

  Green’s tone was somber, almost morose. He’d been among the founders of a firm of which any lawyer would be proud to be a part, yet he’d acknowledged that the time had come to pass the mantle.

  “David, I see panic in their eyes. We’ve always realized law practice has its ups and downs, but these are different times. Competition from the mega firms for the top law school grads has driven starting salaries to ridiculous levels, forcing us to boost our hourly billing rates sky-high. Yet these young attorneys don’t know any more about drafting an interrogatory or taking a deposition than a new associate ten years ago earning one-half the salary.” Winkler listened intently.

  “So, our younger litigation partners—I don’t suppose I have to name names—wake up one day to realize the only clients who can afford to hire them are the major corporations with extremely large cases, with huge dollars at stake. They call them ‘bet the company’ cases. Then those corporations, themselves feeling the profit squeeze, put the litigation out to bid. Our partners are offended that they have to spend countless non-billable hours preparing budgets, completing RFPs, and participating in beauty contests. Their self-image is that they’re the best, yet they’re being treated like vendors—no different than a software developer trying to sell an accounting package to a major corporation!”

  “So, why don’t they take a step back and ask themselves how they can compete in the twenty-first century, rather than beating their heads against the wall running the practice the way they always have?” Winkler had always been one to look for solutions, rather than stewing over what appeared to be an insurmountable problem.

  “It’s easy to say but hard to do. They’re creatures of habit—we all are. For their entire professional careers, they’ve just racked up their billable hours and were paid for them. Now they’re totally taken aback by the thought that they really have to compete for work, and in some cases they won’t even get a chance.”

  “Why wouldn’t a client want a firm with an excellent track record to handle its litigation?” Winkler was showing that he, too, was out of touch with the reality of law practice in major litigation.

  “Let’s call it the politics of corporate management. More and more general counsel at major corporations want a major national law firm, so they won’t be criticized for a bad hiring decision. It reminds me of the mindset of corporate buyers in the early days of computers, who generally bought IBM computers with the official IBM blue logo, rather than less expensive IBM clones. It was all the same. The mantra was ‘No one ever got fired for buying IBM.’”

  “I get your point, but there has to be some solution,” Winkler said. He wasn’t one to take a defeatist position.

  “Probably so, but they haven’t found it, David. The bottom line is, because of our fee structure, we can only handle big cases, and those cases are getting harder to snag. Competition from large national firms is increasing daily, with local branches of those firms horning in on even our regular clients. Actually, the outlook for a firm of our size is rather grim.”

  It was the first time Green had ever spoken so openly with Winkler about the future of the firm. He continued.

  “Usually, we have one or two major cases going on at any one time, and that keeps the armies of associates and legal assistants cranking out their billable hours. My guess is, with our senior rainmakers seriously cutting back, no one can figure out how to assure that the pipeline remains full. It’s not a pretty picture.

  “That’s when the panic sets in. It’s probably not a today or tomorrow situation, but if anyone looks at the business plan for the next two to five years—they’ll realize there isn’t one. That’s when they’ll seriously ask themselves how they’re going to support their lifestyles over the balance of their careers. When you’re used to having summer and winter vacation homes, fractional interests in jet aircraft, your kids are in the best private schools and expect to go to Ivy League schools for post-graduate or professional degrees, change is hard to imagine.”

  “There could be a couple of solutions, Joshua—”

  Before he could even lay out some alternatives, Green stopped him. “David, I didn’t really invite you here to discuss the future of the firm. It’ll work out, or it won’t. My guess is, we’ll bring in some high-priced talent with a book of business, and that’ll either be our salvation or a disaster. Or maybe we’ll get gobbled up by another firm. In fact, rumor has it Kelly’s been quietly exploring some merger options.

  “My point is merely that you shouldn’t take the grilling too personally; it was just your bad luck to come in with a case that reminded them of their serious concerns on the revenue side. Actually, I wanted to talk to you on a personal note.” Green pursed his lips and drew a breath as he looked away from Winkler.

  “I’ve got some health issues, David; some very serious ones. You probably know I’ve been dealing with various types of cancer over the years. I’ve told you about my chemo, haven’t I?”

  He looked back at Winkler, who immediately became flush, expecting to hear the worst.

  “Well, let’s just say I’ve probably used up my nine lives. This time, they tell me it’s multiple myeloma. Bone cancer. Nasty stuff. If you looked at an X-ray of my b
ones, you’d see lots of little holes. It’s eating away at me, and so far nothing they’ve given me has been able to stop it for very long.”

  Winkler wasn’t sure what he was hearing. Was this the final word from a giant of his profession who never took “No” for an answer?

  “I’m not one to be melancholy or ask for pity. Let’s just say I’m being realistic, not optimistic. I’m going to try one more experimental drug before I hang up my gloves, so to speak. I’m telling you this because I’m going to be at University Hospital for treatment and don’t know when I’ll be back to the office. The stuff they want to use is poison, so either way, it won’t be a vacation.”

  “I’m really sorry to hear that, Joshua. Does anyone else at the firm know?”

  “Just the Management Committee. For now, I’d like to keep it between us. I’ve got other people involved in all my cases, so there won’t be any problem with transition if I’m out for a while—or decide to take some time off after the treatments are over.”

  “Mind if I drop by while you’re in the hospital?”

  “Not at all. I’d look forward to the visit—and would certainly be interested to hear how you’re doing on the Romero case.”

  Winkler felt a profound sense of sadness. Joshua Green had been his ally and mentor over the years and passed along many of his best clients. Professionally, Green had achieved whatever he aimed for, yet personally he was unfulfilled, and his life was a disaster. His series of three wives had each died young, the first in a tragic car accident, the last two of cancer. When his third wife died fifteen years ago, he vowed never to have another relationship. Though some thought he was kidding, he was deadly serious when he said being married to him was tantamount to a death sentence.

  Green had one child, a son, who had a promising legal career ahead of him, got mixed up with the wrong people, and died of a crack cocaine overdose in his second year of law school. Green never talked about him, but it was clear his mentoring of the younger lawyers, including Winkler, was in some sense fulfilling his frustrated fatherly instincts. He treated each of them like the children he never had.

  Green’s eighty-some-odd years represented tremendous professional achievement, coupled with immeasurable personal tragedy. Now the last act would play, a man alone against a vengeful disease that had robbed him of his desire to live, and could ultimately take his life.

  CHAPTER 14

  “RAY, TIME FOR A BREAK.”

  Ray Adams looked up from his desk at Winkler.

  “I told you I’d introduce you to my trainer, Frankie, and now’s your chance. I don’t have time for a full workout, but you can come with me to the gym for forty-five minutes and see what the place is like,” Winkler said.

  A recent law school grad, Adams had a tendency to stay late in the office and knew his energy would disappear soon if his routine didn’t include an exercise program. But without a trainer, he knew he’d quickly fall off the wagon, as he had so many times before.

  “I’ve been waiting for you to get the time,” Adams said.

  Adams left his computer on, grabbed his gym bag from the closet, and the two of them took the elevator to the parking garage, where Winkler’s red BMW was parked on the executive level. Within minutes, they were in the elevator at the gym. Winkler pushed the button for the top floor with gym equipment for “Gold” members who paid a premium for the newest and best equipment.

  “Your trainer—Frankie—he’s not one of those macho men who’s gonna work me ‘til I’m dead, is he?” Adams had put on forty pounds in law school, and while he knew his body needed exercise, he didn’t want to push it.

  “Not a macho man at all, Ray. You’ll see. Just a trainer who’ll get you on a program and give you a reason to stick to a schedule so you don’t stop going.”

  They stopped at the reception desk where Winkler got a visitor’s pass for Adams, then swiped both of them in at the locker room door. Winkler then took his gear out of his locker, and they both changed into workout clothes.

  Winkler glanced at his watch. “Right on time, six o’clock. My Monday - Wednesday - Friday appointment.” The equipment room was filled with row upon row of exercise equipment. Though the place was packed, there were still a few machines available. “I start on the recumbent bike for a five-minute warm-up. Take the one next to me, and focus on what you’re doing, not the gorgeous women in spandex on the other machines. Frankie’ll be out in a couple of minutes.”

  Just as they started peddling, the trainer came out of the office.

  “Ray, let me introduce you to my trainer—the best in the city—Francesca Zuccarrelli. We call her Frankie,” Winkler said.

  The associate did a double take. Frankie was petite and trim, with her long blonde hair tied back in a neat ponytail and toned physique clearly the result of eight to ten hours of exercise a day.

  Adams seemed pleased and relieved. “I thought David was taking me to slaughter, with one of those weightlifter type personal trainers whose motto would be ‘No Pain, No Gain.’”

  “Don’t kid yourself, Ray,” said Frankie. “We’ll work you as hard as you can, and then some. You may feel a little pain, but it’ll be good for you. You can quit any time you want, but David’ll tell you he just keeps coming back for more! Once you get hooked, you’ll feel something’s missing in your routine if you skip a session.”

  After five minutes on the recumbent bikes, they moved over to the exercise benches, and Frankie ran them through two sets of ten abdominal crunches.

  “This is just for starters, to get the blood flowing. Now let’s move to the floor mats.”

  Frankie lay down on the mat between the two of them. Each of them had an exercise ball, and she worked along with them. For the next half-hour, she directed their movements as they did more crunches, lifted the ball off the floor between their legs, rounded their legs up over the ball, and arched their backs, taking her every order.

  “Breathe out when you’re exerting effort, gentlemen,” Frankie said.

  Winkler and Adams focused intently on their movements and breathing, sweat pouring down, while Frankie breezed along with no apparent effort.

  “Time for a stretch,” Frankie said, then took Winkler’s left leg and put it up on her shoulder, to an almost vertical position. He winced, holding back a grunt.

  Pain is good, he thought as she continued to stretch out his hamstrings.

  “Frankie, I need a favor,” Winkler said. “You were seeing that deputy sheriff who left the county to set up his own P.I. firm. I need a top-notch investigator for a special project. I was thinking he might be the one.”

  “I gave that guy eight years of my life, but he needed his space,” she said.

  Obviously aggravated at the thought of her ex, Frankie ratcheted up Winkler’s leg another notch. He grimaced, pursed his lips, and closed his eyes as the pain in his hamstrings shot up from an eight to a ten. He held in a grunt, pressing both palms to the mat, digging his nails into the foam.

  “Sorry to bring back bad memories, but I just thought he might be the right fit for a special assignment.”

  Sensing she’d gone a bit too far, Frankie eased off a bit. “It’s not your fault, David. Probably mine. I let the relationship go too long when the signs were obvious from the get-go.

  “Anyhow, you’re not here for floor mat psychology. Luke Rollins is his name. From what his buddies have told me over the years, he’s the best investigator there is, and he can certainly use the work. One of his problems was that he was paying alimony to two ex-wives and could never get ahead on a deputy sheriff’s salary. Stop by the office on your way out, and I’ll jot down his phone number. And make sure he knows where you got it. I’d like him to owe me.”

  Frankie released Winkler’s leg and lowered it to the ground, looking over at Adams. “Ready to be stretched out, Ray, or have you had enough for today?”

  “How about we take it a step at a time? Let’s have a look at your schedule and see when you can fit me in, an
d we’ll work up to it,” he said.

  “Fine. You fellows get changed, and we’ll meet back in my office in five.”

  As they walked back to the locker room, Adams looked at Winkler with a grin. “Some trainer you have there. You were right, she’s no macho man, but I’d hate to meet her on a wrestling mat. She practically had you in tears.”

  “Practically?” Winkler retorted.

  CHAPTER 15

  LUKE ROLLINS ARRIVED JUST BEFORE NOON, and Emma escorted him into Winkler’s office, where he and Afzam were waiting.

  Rollins was tall, maybe six-foot-eight, with a square jaw, broad shoulders, and military-style haircut. Although well over sixty, he appeared to be in excellent physical condition. He was a rugged type, wearing a brown suede sport coat, beige twill shirt, and no tie.

  Emma had found Rollins’ CV on his website. Military service, decades ago, with an honorable discharge, followed by a four-year college degree in criminal justice, then the sheriff’s department, from which he retired. There was no mention of any achievements on his website, probably because he didn’t want to attract the attention of the criminals he’d helped send to prison, or members of their family.

  “Luke, I’m glad to meet you, and to have you aboard,” Winkler said. “You’ve already met Emma, my assistant, who’ll be keeping us all on the same page. This is Afzam, our computer research consultant for this project. Afzam’s day job is to keep the computer system running for our law firm, which keeps him pretty busy, nine to five.”

  Afzam, originally from Kashmir, smiled modestly, knowing full well Winkler didn’t have a clue how much work it really took to keep the network and more than a hundred users up and running seven days a week.

  “We’ve ordered field green salad for everyone, dressing on the side, and freshly squeezed juice and mineral water are over there on the credenza, courtesy of Emma! She believes there’s still time to make a healthy person out of me,” Winkler said with a smile, casting a brief glance in Emma’s direction. She’d been trying for years to get him to eat sensibly at lunch, and he finally seemed willing to follow her lead.