Copyrighted Material
Chapter 45
When Gary’s mediocre opposition arrived, the Payne triumvirate met.
“Not impressive,” Dee said.
Jim laughed. “Not impressive? A first-year lawyer would have done a better job. Even one of our paralegals.”
“Don’t be arrogant, Jim,” Dee warned. “We’re asking the court to make new law here and basically to slap down a Latina jurist. The Latino justice on our panel may align with her. And Suzanne Friedman has earned a reputation for winning at the appellate level.”
Jim said, “She must have owed Stockton big time to put her name on this junk. I’ll help you with the reply.”
With Jim’s help, Kurt got the reply done, made harder by Eliana and Angela bombarding him with their emotional outpourings. The bright spot in his life was Regina bending his ear with lust and romance—he savored her every twist and turn.
On September 3rd, Kurt and Jim filed their reply and served it on Gary and Judge Vega.
* * *
Scotch in hand, Gary read the reply brief and laughed. “What a crock of shit.”
He attached it to an email to Friedman. “Read this bullshit.”
He tossed the reply brief across his desk and there it stayed. The Court of Appeal had three months to issue a decision.
So far there was no notice of oral argument and that was good. An appellate oral argument was no-nonsense, intellectual, and precise—unlike the drama and dissembling of a courtroom trial, techniques at which Gary was an expert. If there was an oral argument on the writ, Friedman would have to do it and, unfortunately, he’d have to pay her.
Alarmed, Gary started his daily routine of sucking in money from his clients.
* * *
In her office, Friedman read the opposition. It was good and had gone straight over Gary’s head.
He was sunk, but she didn’t tell him. Why should she? There could be an oral argument for her and more money. That was what really mattered, after all.
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Copyrighted Material
Chapter 46
On October 5th, Justice Conti held her in-chamber meeting for that month’s docket with her two chambers attorneys and Andrews in attendance for the writ. Tentative opinions and briefs were stacked on her desk.
Justice Conti grabbed the top one. “Nancy, the writ?”
Andrews said, “Yes, it’s that lawyer refusing to work unless petitioner gave him sexual favors.”
Justice Conti saw the summary dismissal Watkins drafted. “Right. The deadbeat lying woman who doesn’t want to pay her lawyer.”
Andrews responded, “That’s a credibility issue. The facts are disputed. That requires reversal. The writ needs to be issued.”
The two chamber attorneys kept their mouths shut as they always did.
Conti tongue-lashed Andrews. “So you say. But obviously, the superior court judge had some insight here. I’m sure Justices Rios and Wu will agree this petition should be summarily dismissed.”
“Thank you, your honor.” The words choked in Andrews’s throat.
Andrews had to rely on the other justices to reign in Conti and use the proper standard of review—and it was not “judging credibility.” Rios was a wild card. He knew the standard of review but was on the board of the Latino State Bar Section. So was Judge Vega.
* * *
When Justice Conti met with Justices Rios and Wu, Rios predictably did discourage reversing a compadre. He hid his predisposition to support Judge Vega with irrelevant legal mumbo jumbo.
Justice Wu smiled. “Ramon, come on, we have to reverse under our standard of review. The rights of parties to trials are primary. Granting summary adjudication motions requires that they set forth and are based on undisputed facts. No way are the facts undisputed here.”
Justice Rios said, “Sorry, but I can’t sign off. It’s too harsh on Judge Vega as a jurist.”
Justice Wu tried to placate Rios. “Perhaps, but sexual harassment is not acceptable in an attorney-client relationship.”
Justice Rios “I’ve had enough of this sexual harassment crap. What happened to ‘just say no?’”
Justice Conti asked, “What do we do? Should we have oral argument?”
“God no,” Justice Wu said. “The papers say it all with no grandstanding.”
Justice Wu took charge and called Nancy in. “Nancy, can you salvage any of Judge Vega’s dismissal?”
“Not really. Once dismissal of one of those causes of action falls the rest have to follow. They’re interrelated. Domino effect and all.”
“Then can you draft a reversal that gives more deference to Judge Vega?”
Nancy nodded and left.
Justice Rios got up to leave. “You two get together. That’s all you need is two. Count me out. You women are going nuts with all this sexual harassment stuff.”
Conti interjected. “I’m still leaning against granting the writ, Ramon. I’m just willing to give Andrews another chance to convince me otherwise. If we do issue the writ, will you be writing a dissent?”
“And go against the half the populace? Women? No way.”
* * *
Working late into the night, Nancy drafted a more neutral reversal and circulated it.
The next day, a flurry of emails and meetings between Justices Conti and Wu followed. Conti finally focused on the issues and saw that Andrews and Wu were right. The opinion they finally approved, crafted entirely by Andrews, artfully reversed Judge Vega because credibility was not a proper subject for summary adjudication, and the facts were disputed. The reversal was primarily designed to please the Women Lawyer’s Association’s stand against sexual harassment—an association instrumental to both Wu and Conti’s elevations to the appellate court.
After the writ was finalized, Wu caught Conti in the hallway just outside Nancy’s office as they both let for home.
Nancy overheard their interchange.
Justice Conti’s political instincts to promote herself were keen. “Anne, I’ve decided that I’ll publish the Thurston writ opinion it if you prefer. It’s a groundbreaker.”
“No,” Conti instinctively blocked Wu as of right because she was the assigned lead justice on the case. “I told Nancy I was planning on publishing it.”
In her mind only, Nancy angrily bridled. You liar. You legal mental midget.
Conti hadn’t even thought of publishing it, but when Wu announced her intention to do so, Conti cut her off at the knees. Wu was politically savvy and followed the drumbeats of her supporters.
Conti instinctively usurped the advantages Wu sought. She aspired to get to the California Supreme Court or snag a Federal court appointment at any cost—even if it meant pretending Eliana Thurston might be credible in her whining.
Justice Rios wrote no dissenting opinion for this hot potato—but noted his dissent. He simply refused to endorse extending malpractice into “all this popular sexual harassment malarkey.” He’d had enough of that by now. He was tired of the societal paint brush now smearing all males as sexual predators.
Nancy was elated. The decision should have been unanimous and the opinion stronger. At least the pig divorce lawyer had to face a trial now, and Conti had been cornered into publishing the opinion. Soon that the whole world would know, not just the parties, who usually received an unpublished opinion not to be cited, denying future clients the opportunity to cite it in their cases.
Nancy got the decision out before the end of the day Friday.
Passing through the normal distribution channels, it went unseen by Friedman, Stockton, Townsend’s team, and Judge Vega until the following Monday, November 8th.
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Copyrighted Material
Chapter 47
On Monday, Kurt eagerly consumed the shiny guillotine of legal words gently but decisively lopping off the head of Judge Vega and putting Stockton back in his cross-hairs. The opinion, an unambiguous victory for Payne and Eliana, had force, clarity, cha
racter, and the wisdom clearly born of life experience—that of Nancy Andrews.
The writ attorney who wrote this has the whole package, Kurt thought.
Even thinking that, though, Kurt didn’t envy attorneys who ghost wrote for the black-robed politicos for little money and no recognition. He thought they were chumps.
No chump him. He was a highly paid primary researcher and writer for law firm partners and on the partnership track to the big money with his name often second on the legal papers. He had fought to earn votes to assure making partner in seven years, working as a hired gun in training. For his fat salary and bonuses, he applied his considerable writing talents to slaughtering uncountable other egotistical assholes slaving away in the other sleek office towers surrounding Payne, Jenkins, Mullin & Stein in downtown Los Angeles.
Kurt called Dee and conferenced Jim in.
The three relished their triumph, and agreed to a celebratory lunch at Checkers, a power lunch hangout for expense-account-worthy movers and shakers.
* * *
When Kurt got back to his office he called Eliana.
“We won?” She shrieked.
“A total victory. We’ll win the trial too… a jury trial now and finish Stockton off.”
“Wait. A jury again? With men?”
“Of course.”
“No. I’m not saying all that stuff in front of a bunch of … men?”
Kurt could barely contain his frustration and anger. He steadied himself.
“After what that damn Judge Vega did to you Eliana, we can’t risk letting her decide your case now the whole thing is back.”
“Oh. Oh. Okay. I mean, well … probably not. Can’t we settle?”
“I doubt it. Stockton’s ignorance is only exceeded by his arrogance.”
“Okay. I guess.”
You guess? Kurt was seething.
Recovering her equilibrium, Eliana’s Greekness reasserted itself. “We have to have a celebration … a victory dinner tonight. You, me and Angela? Mom, too? It’ll be great. Deal?”
“Sure. You call Angela. Set it up. Seven.”
Not only would Kurt be subjected to a Greek-fest, he’d have to pay for it too, and watch Angela revert to her heritage.
* * *
Kurt needed to speak to someone who understood the significance of his win. He needed Regina. He called her to share the glory.
Then he phoned Judge Vega’s clerk. He got a new trial date for February, reserving seven court days since there would be a jury. He sent a notice to Gary as required. He superfluously added that seven days were necessary because the appellate court had reinstated Eliana’s right to a jury trial on all of her causes of action. The addition was unnecessary, but Kurt was angry and wanted to confront Stockton with his loss as often as he could, and wherever he could.
* * *
At noon at Checkers, the victorious Payne lawyers had a gourmet lunch on the firm’s expense account. Dee loved lunching at Checkers after a big win. All three had prime rib with all the fixings. Dee, as thin as she was, downed her entire blood rare haunch of meat.
At dessert, Dee raised her espresso. “To us. Having a win like this on the books is what makes it all worthwhile.”
Jim raised his latte. “Yes, though an oral argument on this one for you would have been great.”
“I know.” Dee couldn’t hide her disappointment at a lost opportunity to show off.
Kurt raised his coffee cup. “A special thank you to Dee.”
The three downed their caffeine. The days of three-martini lunches were nonexistent in this cutthroat contemporary legal world. Besides, their inhuman working hours meant they were all desk jockeys. They had to watch their calories or they’d be watching their guts grow and their fighting trim diminish.
* * *
On the walk back, Kurt asked. “Do you think Stockton’ll file a petition for review with the Supremes in Sacramento?”
Jim answered, “No. Too much money for that. The odds of review are too low and the prospect of a reversal is non-existent.”
“I agree,” Dee added. “I’ve only ever had one petition accepted by our Supreme Court, and I’ve filed at least a dozen. I did win. But I had to. Some old liberals Jerry Brown had appointed in his first term as governor Division Five of the Second District here in L.A. published an egregious result-oriented travesty that had to be reversed.”
Showcasing his new appellate knowledge, Kurt added his own thought. “We’ll know soon enough. He only has ten days to file.”
Dee concurred and shared another appellate war story. Kurt feigned interest but thought about the evening looming with Angela, Eliana, and their intensely Greek mother who spouted old school tears of sadness and elation. Worse, when Angela was in the threesome, she reverted to her drama-ridden Hellenic upbringing.
“What’s wrong, Kurt,” Jim asked.
“Post-war letdown?”
Kurt just shook his head. “Just daydreaming for a second.”
He wouldn’t share the horror he faced that evening. He had grown to like Jim, the tall thin vicious sidewinder. He considered him a friend—a professional friend.
Professional friends were all Kurt had, and all he wanted—them and his lifesaver Regina.
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Copyrighted Material
Chapter 48
On Monday the full text of the decision appeared in the Los Angeles Daily Journal, California’s largest legal news provider with publications statewide. The article hit all law offices and other news outlets, in both its print and online editions. The opinion was also published in the official reporter.
The finding of malpractice based on sexual harassment sent a seismic shock wave through the legal community—particularly the too-numerous nefarious divorce lawyers who indulged in consensual, and, too often, nonconsensual sex acts with their clients.
The published appellate ruling immediately mushroomed from the legal world to other media, not just mainstream but the myriad places on the internet where scandal, salaciousness, and mendacity were microscopically reported and savored. Like an atomic bomb with far-reaching fallout the opinion was debated, extolled, maligned, praised, condemned. It was fodder for every media channel in the nation and for social media’s drumbeat condemning sexual harassment.
Sexual harassment was “big” these days—as if it were new and hadn’t been endemic since Adam and Eve populated the earth. In this climate, the hunt for sexual harassers had become a public feeding frenzy—the cleansing of the predators, big or small, real or exaggerated, was rabid.
* * *
With the popularity of the decision, Conti undeservedly peacocked around the appellate court taking full credit for the opinion. Her reputation for justice and legal acuity—totally unearned—catapulted her appellate judicial profile and enhanced her potential upward mobility on the judiciary ladder. All because this “baby” justice had been forced to acknowledge the correct standard of review by Andrews, a court staff attorney, and shamed into publishing the opinion by Justice Wu.
* * *
Eliana’s vindication not only humiliated Gary but threatened his livelihood and freedom. He spent hours nervously brooding. Now, his dirty little secret San Bernardino life with its potential civil and criminal liability had been exposed for all the world to see. She had very publicly brought him to his knees, even before any trial. He was Gary Stockton, he brooded. He wasn’t meant to be on his knees. His bitches were.
* * *
Suzanne Friedman, however, was not humiliated. In her eyes, she had entered the big time by defending an indefensible client—a move always respected by avid defense lawyers.
She lusted after publicity—the more controversial the better for her business. Her loss was lauded by the Appellate Bar as a good try for a very bad client with impossible facts. She was the brave female attorney who balanced Eliana’s accusations against Gary’s brand of truth. Friedman earned even more absolution from many male sectors because they feared the new cau
se of action: it was now malpractice to refuse services unless the client rendered sexual favors.
Friedman had gotten involved with just the right case to give her a major career boost. The best lose/win scenario imaginable for her.
* * *
Gary was angry. He had paid Friedman for her name, the fact she was a woman, and a ten percent courtesy fee discount. In Gary’s view, she had failed him. An opinion he shared with her freely over the phone, yelling at the top of his lungs.
“Back off, Gary,” Suzanne met fire with fire. “You wrote the damn thing … not me. You asked for very little input. You didn’t want to spend the money for me to do more. Remember?”
“You said it was fine.”
“I said it was okay if we got the right justices. We did get one who dissented, after all.”
“So what? We lost. You’re not the one looking at big damages and criminal exposure now.”
“You should have thought of that when you diddled around with your client.”
* * *
Gary stopped the tongue-lashing, but only because he needed Friedman. Whatever it cost him. She was a spin doctor extraordinaire with the media. He had seen it. And only he knew it was “clients,” plural, and that he’d done far more than diddle—he had murdered.
“You’re right, Suzanne. I apologize. I’m just at sea here. How could I not be? What should we do?”
“If you want me to keep working for you, we could file for review with the Supreme Court. But I have to warn you, it would be expensive. It also has about a one in twenty-five chance of being accepted, and in today’s feminist climate, an even smaller chance of prevailing.”
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