you’ve won, in the hopes your opponent buys it and gives up a sure win because he believes he’s already lost?”
Victor knew I was right—I could see it in his face—but he dismissed it. “As you said, we’ve had this argument before.”
“And I won it, remember? You decided to trust me.”
He put his hands in his pockets, as he always did when he had something he ought to say but wouldn’t.
I toned down my severity a bit, tried to play it more gently. “Look, here’s what’s really going on. They’re playing this case like a poker game, like they could potentially have been dealt some winning card you can’t see, and you’re playing along. But it’s all misdirection—we’re not actually playing poker. We’re playing chess. Nothing is hidden. There’s nothing on the board you can’t see. If you follow the lines of possible response to every one of their possible moves, you can evaluate every possible outcome. And we are one move—one move—away from checkmate. This is literally their last play.”
He stood there and shook his head. “That’s what you said when they filed formal charges. But now they’ve come up with something else.”
“I know. I promised this case would never go to trial, and yes, depending on how the meeting goes today, it still may not have to. But since you called it, not them, you’re going to look like the desperate one. All you have to do is move your queen to the winning square by letting me take this case to the hearing tomorrow. That’s it. We win. If you make a different move, if you don’t ignore them, if you meet with them on the defensive, you’re adding in a whole other set of completely unnecessary moves that may involve completely unnecessary sacrifice.”
“The risk is higher in not meeting with them.”
“I disagree. This hearing is not only a win for us, it’s a double win—the fact that it’s this much sooner means there’s even less time for bad PR to take off any further. It’s effectively eliminating the opposition’s biggest strength. They are not celebrating right now, trust me. They are crushed. They are absolutely terrified you’re going to ignore them and go ahead to the hearing. Since the last time I was here, not one thing has changed except for the better.”
Victor stared off toward the ocean as I spoke.
I opened my briefcase and took out a few pages. “Here’s the draft of my statement for the hearing tomorrow. I’m going to keep working on it, but I think it should convince you pretty thoroughly that you have nothing to worry about. Not even an unreasonably sympathetic judge.”
He looked at it for a second, then at me, and then took it, but said nothing.
“Call me when you need me.” I left him there on the path as I went into the house. If he gave in and decided to waste enormous money on these completely ridiculous plaintiffs, that was his choice. I was his attorney, nothing more, and I had done my job advising him. His stubborn fear of imaginary risk had begun to sour his attractiveness.
~
Sometime around lunch I got a text from Nick. Before I read it I had a feeling I knew what it said, but I went into my ostentatious bedroom to read it anyway.
“I can’t go back to the old us,” it said. “We talked about doing this as a new us, didn’t we?”
I texted back, “We did. That won’t happen overnight, though. It may take time, for both of us.”
A few minutes later, more agonizing minutes that I wished they would be, he wrote, “How much time?”
I had no answer to that, and the question itself carried a very clear message that there was such a thing as too much, as a transition too long to be worthwhile. I agreed with that. The question was whether we were already so quickly at the point of diminishing returns—whether we were compatible in more than the short term, and how willing each of us was to do whatever was necessary for the long haul.
I finally wrote back, “If you’re willing to
Victor knew I was right—I could see it in his face—but he dismissed it. “As you said, we’ve had this argument before.”
“And I won it, remember? You decided to trust me.”
He put his hands in his pockets, as he always did when he had something he ought to say but wouldn’t.
I toned down my severity a bit, tried to play it more gently. “Look, here’s what’s really going on. They’re playing this case like a poker game, like they could potentially have been dealt some winning card you can’t see, and you’re playing along. But it’s all misdirection—we’re not actually playing poker. We’re playing chess. Nothing is hidden. There’s nothing on the board you can’t see. If you follow the lines of possible response to every one of their possible moves, you can evaluate every possible outcome. And we are one move—one move—away from checkmate. This is literally their last play.”
He stood there and shook his head. “That’s what you said when they filed formal charges. But now they’ve come up with something else.”
“I know. I promised this case would never go to trial, and yes, depending on how the meeting goes today, it still may not have to. But since you called it, not them, you’re going to look like the desperate one. All you have to do is move your queen to the winning square by letting me take this case to the hearing tomorrow. That’s it. We win. If you make a different move, if you don’t ignore them, if you meet with them on the defensive, you’re adding in a whole other set of completely unnecessary moves that may involve completely unnecessary sacrifice.”
“The risk is higher in not meeting with them.”
“I disagree. This hearing is not only a win for us, it’s a double win—the fact that it’s this much sooner means there’s even less time for bad PR to take off any further. It’s effectively eliminating the opposition’s biggest strength. They are not celebrating right now, trust me. They are crushed. They are absolutely terrified you’re going to ignore them and go ahead to the hearing. Since the last time I was here, not one thing has changed except for the better.”
Victor stared off toward the ocean as I spoke.
I opened my briefcase and took out a few pages. “Here’s the draft of my statement for the hearing tomorrow. I’m going to keep working on it, but I think it should convince you pretty thoroughly that you have nothing to worry about. Not even an unreasonably sympathetic judge.”
He looked at it for a second, then at me, and then took it, but said nothing.
“Call me when you need me.” I left him there on the path as I went into the house. If he gave in and decided to waste enormous money on these completely ridiculous plaintiffs, that was his choice. I was his attorney, nothing more, and I had done my job advising him. His stubborn fear of imaginary risk had begun to sour his attractiveness.
~
Sometime around lunch I got a text from Nick. Before I read it I had a feeling I knew what it said, but I went into my ostentatious bedroom to read it anyway.
“I can’t go back to the old us,” it said. “We talked about doing this as a new us, didn’t we?”
I texted back, “We did. That won’t happen overnight, though. It may take time, for both of us.”
A few minutes later, more agonizing minutes that I wished they would be, he wrote, “How much time?”
I had no answer to that, and the question itself carried a very clear message that there was such a thing as too much, as a transition too long to be worthwhile. I agreed with that. The question was whether we were already so quickly at the point of diminishing returns—whether we were compatible in more than the short term, and how willing each of us was to do whatever was necessary for the long haul.
I finally wrote back, “If you’re willing to
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