by Scott Turow
“There are just always so many people like him, Pops, who get away with so much crap. I mean, that case ended up as a total shit show. I’ve been listening to you the last couple weeks. Do you realize who the only person is who’s going to serve time in jail?”
There is no one, so far as he knows.
“Anahit,” says Pinky. “The stockbroker.”
“Ah,” says Stern. He is struck, both because of the purchase Pinky is developing on his world, and because she is, in all probability, correct. When Moses accepts that he can’t extradite Kiril, that he doesn’t quite have the goods on Innis or the Neucrisses, he’ll be left with his unequivocal evidence against young Ms. Turchynov. Wrong is wrong for Moses.
“Is that right, Pops? I mean, are you okay if that’s the result of your last case?”
He takes his final puff, and in that dizzy instant decides his answer is yes. He is at peace with the limitations of the law. It is not unjust that Anahit Turchynov be convicted, even if her greed was dwarfed by Innis’s, for example, or her deceptions and destructiveness by Lep’s. Justice is good in its own right and makes life among other people more dependable. Yet Stern accepted long ago that even perfect justice will not change who we are. The law is erected on many fictions and perhaps the falsest one of all is that humans, in the end, are rational. Without doubt, our life—so far as we can tell—is one of cause and effect. That is what science depends on. But our most intimate decisions are rarely based on the kinds of calculations of pluses and minuses Jeremy Bentham, or the free-market economists for that matter, have wanted to believe in. We are fundamentally emotional creatures. In the most consequential matters, we answer faithfully to the heart’s cry, not the law’s.
“I mean, it’s just not fair, Pops. Life isn’t fair.”
“Well, dear Pinky,” he says, again taking her hand, “it has been far fairer to me than many other people. And to you, too, I dare say, although it may not always seem like that. But in the end, Pinky, we must heed the response of a revered philosopher—I forget his name—who was famously asked by a student if he believed life was fair.”
“What did he say?”
Stern stubs out the cigar, tightening his grip somewhat on Pinky’s soft fingers.
“He answered, ‘Compared to what?’”
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Acknowledgments
For many reasons, the regulatory framework that governs the clinical testing and approval of new medications is one of unrivalled complexity that makes even the Internal Revenue Code seem straightforward. The pharmaceutical regulatory scheme defies easy understanding—at least by me, despite practicing law for more than forty years—and inevitably by readers, who are seeking the pleasures of fiction rather than the drudgery of a text. My goal has been to avoid outright mistakes and misrepresentations about that process, but readers should be aware that the preceding pages have substantially simplified what happens in practice.
In understanding that system, I have had the help of several persons. Among them, I owe special thanks to Shawn Hoskins, who was generous with his time.
I had the benefit of incisive readings of earlier versions of this book with extended commentary from Rachel Turow and Julian Solotorovsky—as well as my first reader and untiring champion, Adriane Turow. Dan Pastern, Duane Quaini, Stacee Solotorovsky, and Eve Turow were also kind enough to read the manuscript and share their reactions. I am also indebted to Liz Turow, who provided valued opinions on related issues.
I am very grateful to my editor at Grand Central, Ben Sevier, for his patient guidance and sound suggestions, as he nudged me toward making this a better book across multiple drafts, and to his chief lieutenant, Elizabeth Kulhanek, for the careful attention she gave countless details, including her thoughtful line-editing of the manuscript. The copy editor, Rick Ball—and the senior production editor, Mari Okuda—saved me from several blunders. (Remaining errors—including in my questionable Spanish—are entirely my fault.) And as always, I have had the benefit of the wisdom of the World’s Greatest Literary Agent, Gail Hochman.
I again want to thank my friends at Farrar, Straus and Giroux for allowing me to steal from myself and republish a few short passages, albeit a bit changed, that originated in my first novel in which Sandy was the central figure, The Burden of Proof.
I initially started writing about Sandy Stern in the mid-1980s, and he has appeared as a character, sometimes center stage, usually in the background, in every novel I have published. I feel like thanking him, too, for the pleasure of living again in his skin.
About the Author
Scott Turow is the author of eleven bestselling works of fiction, including Testimony, Identical, Innocent, Presumed Innocent, and The Burden of Proof, and two nonfiction books, including One L, about his experience as a law student. His books have been translated into more than forty languages, sold more than thirty million copies worldwide, and have been adapted into movies and television projects. He has frequently contributed essays and op-ed pieces to publications such as the New York Times, Washington Post, Vanity Fair, The New Yorker, and The Atlantic.
For more information, you can visit:
www.ScottTurow.com
Twitter: @ScottTurow
Facebook.com/scottturowbooks
ALSO BY SCOTT TUROW
Testimony
Identical
Innocent
Limitations
Ordinary Heroes
Ultimate Punishment
Reversible Errors
Personal Injuries
The Laws of Our Fathers
Pleading Guilty
The Burden of Proof
Presumed Innocent
One L