The Rooster Bar Read online

  sales pitch a dozen different ways, but had yet to snare a decent client. And she was weary from the effort. It was so deceitful, and every time she zeroed in on some poor, injured soul she felt like a predator. Away from the boys, she was spending more time in federal courtrooms, watching real trials and appellate arguments. She found it fascinating, but also a bit depressing. Not too many years earlier she had started law school with the dream of becoming a real lawyer. Now she could only watch them and wonder what happened.

  “Will this Mossberg guy get half the fee?” she asked over lunch.

  “I don’t know,” Mark said. “Like most areas of our practice, this is something new. I suppose the fee split will be decided by him and Jeffrey Corbett.”

  “Corbett hasn’t signed on yet,” Todd added.

  “No, he hasn’t. We see him on the nineteenth.”

  “We?” Todd asked.

  “Yes. I want you to go with me and take notes.”

  “So, you’ll be the trial lawyer and I’ll be the paralegal?”

  “Junior associate.”

  “Gee, thanks. What if Corbett says no?”

  “We have an appointment two days later with Sully Perlman, the second-best med mal lawyer in town. If Corbett doesn’t work out, we go to Perlman. Otherwise, we cancel with Perlman.”

  “You sound like you know what you’re doing,” Zola said.

  “Have no idea but I’m getting real good at faking things,” Mark replied.

  Todd asked, “Well, how are you going to fake it when someone in Corbett’s firm or Mossberg’s firm digs an inch or two just under the surface and realizes that we’re not exactly licensed to practice law in the District, or anywhere else for that matter? That’s what I don’t like about this. We’re fairly safe over in the criminal courts because no one seems to notice us anymore and our clients damned sure don’t care if we’re faking it. But this is something else. This is big-time litigation where a lot of smart people will be paying attention.”

  “Agreed,” Zola said. “Here’s an idea. I have no clue whether it will work, because, hey, we have no clue about anything, right? We’re from Foggy Bottom. But let’s say that one day the case settles for two million, the max in Virginia. The lawyers get one-third off the top.”

  Mark held up a hand and said, “Sorry to interrupt, but it’ll probably be 40 percent. I’ve read some cases where 40 percent was approved by the court because there were a lot of lawyers involved and the case was complicated. You can bet Corbett and Mossberg will go for 40 percent. Ramon will have no choice.”

  She said, “Great, let’s say 40 percent. Corbett and Mossberg split evenly, so $400,000 to each firm. We get half of Corbett’s, so $200,000 in our direction. Here’s the crazy idea: What if we sit down with Corbett and offer to sell him our interest right now, up front, and get out of it before someone gets curious and starts digging?”

  “How much?” Mark asked.

  “Half. Discount it by half, and we walk off with a hundred thousand.” She snapped her fingers. “Just like that. We get our money now, don’t have to fool with the case, don’t worry about getting caught.”

  “Brilliant,” Todd said. “I like it. Can you sell an interest in a lawsuit?”

  “I’ve looked pretty hard and found no ethical prohibition against it,” she said.

  Mark said, “Not a bad plan. We can discuss it with Corbett.”

  —

  MORGANA NASH WITH NowAssist wrote,

  Dear Mark Frazier: It’s me again, just checking in. How are classes going this semester? Any plans for spring break? I hope you’re headed to Florida or a beach somewhere. When we last chatted you were down in the dumps and less than enthused about law school. I hope things are better now. We need to discuss a repayment plan in the very near future. Please drop me a line at your convenience.

  Last installment: Jan. 13, 2014 = $32,500. Total due, principal and interest: $266,000.

  Sincerely, Morgana Nash, Public Sector Representative

  Mark eventually wrote back:

  Dear Ms. Nash: In my last e-mail I politely asked you to leave me alone because I’m in therapy and my therapist really doesn’t like you. He says that because my loans are so enormous and my debt so suffocating I could be on the brink of a serious emotional breakdown. He says I’m fragile. Please, please go away or I’ll have no choice but to ask my therapist to contact your lawyer.

  Sincerely, Mark Frazier

  Todd heard from Rex Wagner at Scholar Support Partners:

  Dear Mr. Lucero: I’ve had the privilege of helping hundreds of students with their loans, so I’ve seen it all. It’s not uncommon for someone like you—unemployed—to try and ignore me. Sorry, but I’m not going away, nor is your debt. We must talk about a repayment plan, if only to agree that one will be delayed until you find meaningful employment. Please contact me as soon as possible.

  Last installment: $32,500, Jan. 13, 2014; total principal and interest: $195,000.

  Sincerely, Rex Wagner, Senior Loan Counselor

  To which Todd promptly responded,

  Dear SS Senior Loan Counselor Wagner: When you feel the trapdoor closing, you think of ways to get out. Desperate ways, one of which is to quit school and go hide. Another is to face default head-on and get it over with. So I go into default? What’s the big deal? As I’m sure you know, over a million students defaulted last year. They all got sued but not a single one was executed. So, you can sue me but you can’t kill me, right? You can ruin my credit for the rest of my life, but here’s the deal: after dealing with you and your company and the law school, I’m done with debt. Finished, forever. I will live the rest of my life debt-free.

  Your friend, Todd Lucero

  —

  TILDY CARVER AT LoanAid sent Zola an e-mail that read,

  Hello, Zola. Only two months to go and I know you must be excited about graduation. You deserve it! Your hard work and perseverance have brought you to this point and you are to be commended. Congratulations! I know your family is proud. How about an update on the employment front? We need to talk and begin the process of putting together a rough outline of your repayment plan.

  I’m here for you. Sincerely, Tildy Carver, Senior Loan Adviser.

  Last installment, January 13, 2014: $32,500; total due: $191,000.

  Zola waited a couple of days and finally replied:

  Dear Ms. Carver: I’m afraid there’s nothing to report. I can’t buy a job. I’ll keep interviewing until I graduate, and then interview some more. If my bad luck continues, I’ll probably get a job with an accounting firm. If so, I’ll let you know immediately.

  All best, Zola Maal

  26

  Jeffrey Corbett’s firm occupied the top two floors of a handsome glass building near Thomas Circle. In the plush lobby, a uniformed doorman escorted Mark and Todd to “Mr. Corbett’s elevator,” an exclusive lift that serviced only floors seven and eight. When it opened, they walked into a stunning reception area filled with minimalist furniture and contemporary art. A comely young lady greeted them with handshakes and asked if they wanted coffee. Both watched her walk away. When she was back with the coffee, in fine china, they followed her around a corner to a conference room with a sweeping view of downtown. She left them there, and they watched her walk away for the second time.

  The table was long and wide and covered with burgundy leather. Sixteen sleek leather chairs were around it. The walls held even more art. So far, the place had the seductive feel of serious success and wealth.

  “Now, this is how you practice law,” Todd said, admiring the decor.

  “Well, we’ll never know.”

  Mr. Corbett had his own way of doing things. At 3:00 p.m., Mark and Todd would meet with an associate named Peter and a paralegal named Aurelia. They would spend an hour or so reviewing Ramon’s stack of medical records, along with the report from Dr. Koonce. The records and the report were still in Mark’s briefcase. He had offered to send them over but that was not their pr
otocol.

  If the preliminary meeting went well enough, then Mr. Corbett would tear himself away from his schedule and close the deal.

  Peter walked in and introduced himself. He was about thirty-five, still an associate according to the website. The firm had fifteen lawyers, about half of them partners, but it was clear, at least online, that there was only one boss. Peter was dressed casually in an expensive cashmere sweater and khaki pants. Aurelia, the paralegal, wore jeans. Everyone got themselves properly introduced.

  Peter was curious about their firm, and within seconds both Mark and Todd were treading water. They gave their usual spiel—three friends who got fed up with the bigger firms and decided to make a go of it on their own. As soon as possible, Mark said, “So you guys do a lot of bad-birth cases, right?”

  “That’s all we do,” Peter said smugly as Todd passed across copies of the report from Dr. Koonce. Aurelia had yet to speak and it was already obvious she would say as little as possible.

  “May I see the medical records?” Peter asked, staring at them on the table in front of Mark.

  “Certainly.”

  “You brought how many copies?”

  “Just one.”

  “Okay. Mind if we run another copy real quick? Aurelia and I will skim through these and make notes. It goes faster if we both have a copy.”

  Mark and Todd shrugged. Whatever.

  Aurelia left with the records. Peter left to tend to pressing matters in his office. Mark and Todd checked their phones and enjoyed the view of the city. Ramon had already left two voice mails.

  Fifteen minutes later, Aurelia was back with two stacks of records. Peter returned and everyone took their seats. Peter said, “This might take an hour or so, for the first read-through. You’re welcome to stay or you can go out for a walk.”

  Todd wanted to ask if he could go sit with the secretary out front, but let it pass. Mark said, “We’ll stay.”

  Peter and Aurelia began plowing through the records and making dozens of notes. Todd stepped into the hallway to make a call. Mark sent e-mails from his phone. The minutes passed slowly. It was obvious to them that Peter and Aurelia knew a lot about medical records.

  After half an hour, Peter left the conference room. He returned with Jeffrey Corbett, a slim gray-haired man of about fifty. Mark and Todd had read so much about him they felt as if they already knew him. He spoke in a rich, velvety voice, one that jurors supposedly found almost hypnotic. His smile was warm and charismatic. This was a man you could trust.

  He took a seat at the head of the table and stopped smiling. He frowned at Mark and Todd and said, “You guys have really screwed up.”

  Mark and Todd stopped smiling too.

  Corbett said, “You signed a contract with Mr. Ramon Taper on February 10. You hired Dr. Koonce two days later, and on February 19 he gave you his report, dated on that day. Six days later, February 25, the statute of limitations expired. It’s a Virginia case, and Virginia has a two-year statute of limitations. Three in Maryland, five here in the District. But only two in Virginia.”

  Mark managed to say, “Sorry, but the delivery was last year, February 25, 2013. It’s right there on the top page of the admissions log.”

  Looking down his nose, Peter replied, “Yes, but that date is incorrect. It’s the first date you see when you look at the records, and evidently it was the only date you noticed. You and Dr. Koonce, I presume. Someone wrote ‘2013’ instead of ‘2012,’ and off you went. The baby was born on February 25, 2012.”

  For no apparent benefit, Corbett added, “Koonce is a quack, by the way, a professional testifier because he couldn’t make it as a real doctor.”

  Well, he gave us your name, Mark almost blurted, but was too stunned to say anything. With all of the wonder and ignorance of a first-year law student, Todd looked at Corbett and asked, “So, what are you saying?”

  Corbett jabbed a finger in his direction. “I’m saying, son, that you and your little law firm sat on the case while the statute of limitations ran out, and there’s no way to revive this lawsuit. You committed malpractice, and you can bet your sweet ass you’ll get sued by your client. You have no defense, no way out. It’s a lawyer’s worst nightmare and it’s inexcusable. Period. Yes, your client sat on his case for almost two years, but that’s not all that unusual. You had plenty of time to prepare and file a quick lawsuit to stop the clock. That didn’t happen.” Corbett rose to his feet and kept pointing. “Now, I want the two of you to take these medical records and get out of my office. I want no part of this. The record is clear that you contacted my office February 27, after the statute of limitations had expired. When the lawsuit lands, there can be no doubt that my firm did not see this case until it was too late.”

  Peter and Aurelia stood too. Mark and Todd looked up at them, then slowly got to their feet. Mark managed to mumble, “But the admissions records say it was last year, 2013.”

  Corbett was unsympathetic. “If you had studied the records, Mr. Upshaw, you would have realized it happened in 2012, over two years ago.”

  With a bit of drama, Peter slid the original records across the table, as if surrendering the smoking gun. Mark looked at them, bewildered, and asked, “So what do we do now?”

  Corbett said, “I have no advice, never been in this spot before. But I suppose you should notify your errors-and-omissions carrier, put them on notice. What’s your coverage?”

  Errors and what? Coverage? Mark looked at Todd, who was already looking at him; both were thoroughly stupefied. “I’ll have to check,” Mark said, still mumbling.

  Corbett said, “You do that. Now please leave and take your records with you.”

  Peter walked to the door and opened it. Mark picked up the stack of records and followed Todd out of the room. Someone slammed the door behind them. The comely secretary was not at her desk on the way out. The oak-paneled elevator seemed stuffier on the ride down. The doorman wasn’t as friendly as they left the building. Not a word passed between them until they were safely locked in Todd’s car, with Ramon’s medical records flung across the backseat.

  Todd gripped the wheel and said, “Well, that’s the last case we refer to that prick.”

  From somewhere, Mark found humor and began laughing. To keep from crying, Todd laughed too, and they managed to keep it going until they parked behind The Rooster Bar.

  —

  ZOLA FOUND THEM in their booth, empty mugs on the table. One look into their eyes and she knew they had been there for a spell. She slid into a spot next to Mark and looked across at Todd. Neither spoke. She finally asked, “Okay, how’d it go?”

  Todd asked, “You ever heard of errors-and-omissions insurance? For lawyers?”

  “Don’t think so. Why?”

  Mark said, “Well, it appears as though every lawyer with a license carries malpractice insurance that’s commonly referred to as errors-and-omissions. And this insurance comes in handy when the lawyer screws up and does something really bad like sit on a case until the statute of limitations runs out and the case evaporates, forever. The client gets pissed off and sues the lawyer, and the lawyer’s insurance company comes in to defend. It’s really smart insurance.”

  “Too bad we don’t have any of it,” Todd said.

  “We could sure use it. We missed the statute of limitations, Zola, in Ramon’s case. It ran out on February 25, two years after the baby died. Two years in Virginia. Did you learn that in law school?”

  “No.”

  “That makes three of us. Six days after I met with Koonce and two days before I made the first call to Corbett, the statute ran out. There’s no way around it, and there’s no one to blame but me.”

  “Us,” Todd said. “The firm. All for one and one for all, right?”