name?”
“Rebecca.”
Rachel and Rebecca. Biblical names.
“I’m sorry,” Kelly said. She folded the paper carefully, as if handling a priceless artifact, and handed it back to Blake.
The news media had reported that Rachel was pregnant, so that part was no surprise. But actually seeing the ultrasound and hearing the name somehow made it real. A person. A tiny baby in the safest place imaginable, violently slaughtered.
These were the kinds of thoughts Kelly had been carefully avoiding the past seven years. This case, if the screening committee let her pursue it, could be tougher and more personal than any Kelly had tried yet.
14
Four days later, on a cold Friday morning in November, Kelly presented her proposal to the stone-faced B&W screening committee.
Despite all of its marketing and recruiting pitches to the contrary, B&W was still firmly entrenched in the “good-old-boy culture.” The five unsmiling faces on the screening committee belonged to old, male, white, Ivy League–credentialed lawyers. They were also five of the most conservative and pessimistic partners in the firm, strategically placed on this committee because the firm believed that the best time to fire troublesome clients was five minutes before signing an agreement to represent them.
Kelly made it about halfway through her presentation before the questions started.
“What about the theory of independent superseding cause? Don’t the actions of this guy… what’s his name?”
“Jamison.”
“Right. Don’t his criminal actions cut off the right to pursue MD Firearms?”
Before Kelly could answer, another member of the committee piped in. “She’s not proposing a negligence theory. She’s saying this company creates a public nuisance by selling to rogue dealers. Causation is analyzed differently under a nuisance theory.”
“Actually,” Kelly said, “I’m proposing both.”
“Even if we take this on a contingency fee, who’s going to pay the out-of-pocket costs?”
“I’m proposing that our firm would advance them.”
“Could be a hundred thousand or more,” somebody murmured.
“Have you seen the polls on gun control?” one of the members asked. “A majority of Americans support the Second Amendment.”
“What’s that got to do with anything?” countered another committee member. “We’re not attacking the Second Amendment.”
“That’s semantics,” the first member shot back. “You know as well as I do this is just a backdoor way to take guns out of the hands of American citizens.”
And so it went. The pro-gun members arguing with the anti-gun members and Kelly hardly getting a word in edgewise. The men staked out their positions early, and nobody changed anyone else’s mind. At the end of the meeting, the committee authorized Kelly to take the case by a 3–2 vote.
There was an unexpected twist, however. John Lloyd, the chairman of the committee and a vote in favor of the case, proposed that B&W take the case pro bono instead of on a contingency fee basis.
At first, Kelly hated the idea. If the firm handled the case on a contingency fee basis and obtained a large verdict, the money collected would count toward her billable hour requirement. But pro bono cases were extra—community service work done above and beyond the normal oppressive billable hour quota.
“If we take the case on a contingency fee,” Lloyd said, “the media will portray us as a bunch of ambulance-chasers trying to profit from gun violence. If we take it pro bono, they’ll applaud us as principled advocates for reform.”
“And we might leave a million dollars on the table,” somebody protested.
Lloyd motioned toward Kelly. “We’re gonna have our firm’s prettiest face all over The Today Show and Nightline and 20/20 —no
“Rebecca.”
Rachel and Rebecca. Biblical names.
“I’m sorry,” Kelly said. She folded the paper carefully, as if handling a priceless artifact, and handed it back to Blake.
The news media had reported that Rachel was pregnant, so that part was no surprise. But actually seeing the ultrasound and hearing the name somehow made it real. A person. A tiny baby in the safest place imaginable, violently slaughtered.
These were the kinds of thoughts Kelly had been carefully avoiding the past seven years. This case, if the screening committee let her pursue it, could be tougher and more personal than any Kelly had tried yet.
14
Four days later, on a cold Friday morning in November, Kelly presented her proposal to the stone-faced B&W screening committee.
Despite all of its marketing and recruiting pitches to the contrary, B&W was still firmly entrenched in the “good-old-boy culture.” The five unsmiling faces on the screening committee belonged to old, male, white, Ivy League–credentialed lawyers. They were also five of the most conservative and pessimistic partners in the firm, strategically placed on this committee because the firm believed that the best time to fire troublesome clients was five minutes before signing an agreement to represent them.
Kelly made it about halfway through her presentation before the questions started.
“What about the theory of independent superseding cause? Don’t the actions of this guy… what’s his name?”
“Jamison.”
“Right. Don’t his criminal actions cut off the right to pursue MD Firearms?”
Before Kelly could answer, another member of the committee piped in. “She’s not proposing a negligence theory. She’s saying this company creates a public nuisance by selling to rogue dealers. Causation is analyzed differently under a nuisance theory.”
“Actually,” Kelly said, “I’m proposing both.”
“Even if we take this on a contingency fee, who’s going to pay the out-of-pocket costs?”
“I’m proposing that our firm would advance them.”
“Could be a hundred thousand or more,” somebody murmured.
“Have you seen the polls on gun control?” one of the members asked. “A majority of Americans support the Second Amendment.”
“What’s that got to do with anything?” countered another committee member. “We’re not attacking the Second Amendment.”
“That’s semantics,” the first member shot back. “You know as well as I do this is just a backdoor way to take guns out of the hands of American citizens.”
And so it went. The pro-gun members arguing with the anti-gun members and Kelly hardly getting a word in edgewise. The men staked out their positions early, and nobody changed anyone else’s mind. At the end of the meeting, the committee authorized Kelly to take the case by a 3–2 vote.
There was an unexpected twist, however. John Lloyd, the chairman of the committee and a vote in favor of the case, proposed that B&W take the case pro bono instead of on a contingency fee basis.
At first, Kelly hated the idea. If the firm handled the case on a contingency fee basis and obtained a large verdict, the money collected would count toward her billable hour requirement. But pro bono cases were extra—community service work done above and beyond the normal oppressive billable hour quota.
“If we take the case on a contingency fee,” Lloyd said, “the media will portray us as a bunch of ambulance-chasers trying to profit from gun violence. If we take it pro bono, they’ll applaud us as principled advocates for reform.”
“And we might leave a million dollars on the table,” somebody protested.
Lloyd motioned toward Kelly. “We’re gonna have our firm’s prettiest face all over The Today Show and Nightline and 20/20 —no
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