by Dave Gerard
“Your Honor,” Bock said, “Ms. Ashley Marcum is in possession of extremely valuable and sensitive property belonging to Rockweiller Industries. We are seeking a temporary restraining order and immediate return of the property, as well as damages, sanctions, and other penalties against Ms. Marcum and her attorney.”
“What?” I spluttered. “Your Honor—”
“Counselor,” the Judge said sharply, “please don’t interrupt until Mr. Bock is finished.”
Loudamire and Quinto smirked at me from across the room. What the hell was going on here?
Bock held up a sheaf of papers and continued. “I have with me sworn affidavits attesting that the several dozen gold coins in Ms. Marcum’s possession in fact belong to Rockweiller Industries,” he declared. “They were stolen by her brother, David Marcum. I also have records, if the Court wishes to see them.”
Quinto dashed forward and handed the records to the Judge, as if he was scoring a goal. Then he stalked over to me and gave me a dog-eared copy. I thanked him, but he only looked at me with distaste.
“In addition,” Bock continued, “I have Mr. Stanley Stuttgardt, a corporate representative of Rockweiller Industries, to testify about the matter.”
A nondescript, middle-aged man stood up. He was dressed in a gray suit and stodgy black shoes.
Judge Gleeson appraised him for a moment. “Very well,” said the Judge. “I will hear his testimony.”
Bock nodded to Stuttgardt, who walked up to the witness stand and sat down.
The court reporter faced him. “Please raise your right hand,” she said. “Do you swear to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, so help you God?”
“I do,” said Stuttgardt.
“Mr. Bock, you may proceed,” the Judge said. Bock walked to the witness stand and faced Stuttgardt.
“Please state your name for the record, sir,” he said.
“Stanley Stuttgardt.”
“Mr. Stuttgardt, what is your job title?”
“Executive Vice President for Rockweiller Industries.”
“How long have you been working for Rockweiller Industries?”
“About ten years.”
“Are you knowledgeable regarding the operations and records of Rockweiller Industries?”
“I am.”
I half listened as Bock went through the preliminaries and established Stuttgardt’s familiarity with the records. I used the time to quickly flip through the documents they had handed me. There were several affidavits (sworn statements) which did no more than list the name and title of a Rockweiller employee and say that, to their personal knowledge, the gold coins belonged to Rockweiller Industries.
Then I turned to the records, which were some type of corporate logs or property forms. They were heavily redacted. The only thing that wasn’t blacked out was the fact that thirty-seven gold coins of indeterminate origin allegedly belonged to Rockweiller Industries.
Eventually, Bock got to the point. “Mr. Stuttgardt,” Bock said, “who do these coins belong to?”
“Rockweiller Industries.”
“And who stole them?” Bock continued.
“David Marcum,” Stuttgardt replied. I felt Ashley tighten up beside me.
“How do you know that?”
“Based on my conversations with witnesses and review of relevant documents.”
“Could you identify the coins if you had them in front of you?”
“Yes.”
Bock turned to the Judge. “Your Honor,” he said, “If Mr. Carver has the coins, I would request that he display them to Mr. Stuttgardt.”
The Judge looked at me. “Counselor?” he said.
Ashley looked at me questioningly. I saw the bulge in her purse and nodded. She took out the envelope with the coins and handed it to me. I walked to the table in the center of the room and carefully emptied the coins onto on to it. They sat there heavily, looking almost reddish in the dim courtroom light. Even with all the grime and the bad lighting it was obvious what they were. The Judge craned his neck over the bench to see, captivated. Bock said something to him.
“Eh?” said the Judge, distracted.
“I said, may we proceed, Your Honor?” said Bock.
“Yes. Ahem. Proceed.”
“Mr. Stuttgardt, do you recognize these coins?” Bock questioned.
Stuttgardt spent a few minutes examining them, and counted them too.
“Yes,” he said.
“Do these coins belong to Rockweiller Industries?”
“They do.”
“Are they the ones that were stolen by David Marcum?”
“They appear to be. But…one is missing.” Bock frowned. This was off script. “I count thirty-six coins here,” said Stuttgardt. “But I believe there were thirty-seven.”
I felt my face flush. I reached into my pocket and dug out the coin that I had given to Dr. Avoulay. “My apologies, Your Honor,” I said. “I forgot that I had one of the coins.” I thought about trying to explain, but decided to shut up. I placed the coin on the table with the others. Everyone glared at me, including the court reporter. I felt damned.
“Your Honor,” Bock announced, “The evidence establishes that these coins belong to Rockweiller Industries. The Court should order their immediate return to prevent further harm to Rockweiller’s interests.”
“Very well,” said the Judge. Then he addressed me. “Any cross-examination, counselor?” he asked.
My heart was racing as I stood up. It was game time. “Yes, Your Honor,” I said shakily. Stanley Stuttgardt faced me politely.
“Good morning,” I said.
“Good morning,” he replied.
“Mr. Stuttgardt,” I began, deciding to take a chance, “did Rockweiller Industries report the theft of these gold coins to the police?”
Stuttgardt paused for a moment. He looked at Bock. Bock gazed back at him, his face impassive. “No, we did not,” said Stuttgardt.
“Why not?”
“Because the existence of the coins is a secret. Any public reports about them could be…damaging to the company’s interests.”
“The existence of the coins is a secret?” I repeated. I looked sideways at the Judge. His interest was piqued.
“Yes,” said Stuttgardt.
“Why?” I asked.
“I can’t disclose that information.”
“Ah. You can’t disclose it. I see. Where are the coins from?”
“That’s confidential.”
“Uh huh. How did David Marcum steal them?”
“I’m afraid that’s confidential as well.”
“When did he steal them? Who saw him steal them? Why did he do it?”
Stuttgardt grimaced. “Regrettably, on the advice of our attorneys, all of that is confidential as well.”
“I see.” I clasped my hands behind my back and paced around the room, as if I was thinking. “So let me get this straight,” I said, furrowing my brow. “You’re telling the Judge that David Marcum stole these coins. But you can’t tell him when, where, why, or how, and you don’t have a single witness here who saw him do it. Do I have that right?”
Stuttgardt didn’t answer. The Judge stared at him, clearly troubled.
I walked back to my table and I flipped through the documents. I was buying some time, thinking about what to ask next. Ashley flashed me a smile. I smiled back, taking confidence from her. Then I turned to Stuttgardt once more.
“Mr. Stuttgardt, do you know that David Marcum was killed while in the employ of Rockweiller Industries?” I said.
This seemed to take the Judge aback. They hadn’t told him about that. Stuttgardt hedged. “I am aware that he is deceased. I am not aware of the…particulars of the situation.”
“Uh huh. And do you know that Rockweiller won�
�t tell us how he died?”
Stuttgardt fidgeted, clearly uncomfortable. “As I said, that information is confidential.”
“Right. So instead of telling us how he died, you’re here trying to take his sister’s property. The last thing he left her. Isn’t that right?”
“I…” Stuttgardt trailed off. I was rolling now. I turned back ready to hit him with another question.
But Bock wasn’t about to let me build any momentum. “Objection!” he said, jumping to his feet. “Irrelevant. This hearing isn’t about David Marcum’s death. It’s about the coins.”
The Judge frowned at him uncertainly.
“Your Honor,” I protested, “It is totally relevant. How can Rockweiller try to take these coins from my client without even telling us how he got them, or what happened to her brother?” The Judge turned back to Bock for an answer.
Instead of speaking, Bock reached his hand back smoothly. Kathleen Loudamire slapped a remote control into his palm. Then Lucius Quinto clicked on a screen that I hadn’t even realized was there. He loaded up a PowerPoint presentation. It had thirty slides.
“Your Honor,” said Bock formally, “Rockweiller deeply regrets the death of David Marcum, even though it bears no liability for it. But, be that as it may, that is not the subject of this hearing. Mr. Carver may make inquiries through the proper channels, and if necessary, file a lawsuit regarding Mr. Marcum’s death. Indeed, he has already opened a probate case regarding the matter.
“The sole issue before the Court today is the stolen property that belongs to Rockweiller Industries. I’ve prepared a presentation with supporting authorities to explain the law regarding ultra-sensitive commercial matters. If you will indulge me.”
The Judge nodded, and Bock then launched into a lengthy legal argument, spending about thirty minutes walking through his presentation. He talked about other judges that had went his way, and court opinions that said what he wanted them to. By the end of it, I was damn near persuaded, and I could see the Judge was getting there too. Somehow, Bock had changed the conversation, and the basic unfairness of the situation seemed to fade away.
At the close of the presentation, the Judge turned back to me for a rebuttal. I did my best to make a few points that I had jotted down. But I couldn’t respond to Bock’s well-prepared legal argument on the spot. I asked the Judge for more time so I could put together a real response. There was no harm in letting us hold on to the coins for a few more days, I said. But I saw on the Judge’s face that it wasn’t enough.
At the close of my rebuttal, Bock turned back to the Judge. “Your Honor, in light of the evidence that the coins belong to Rockweiller Industries, and the lack of any evidence to the contrary, I move that the coins be returned to Rockweiller Industries immediately. If there is further dispute, the coins can be given back. But at this time, the preponderance of the evidence shows that they belong to my client.”
The Judge nodded. “I agree. The coins are hereby ordered to be returned to Rockweiller Industries.” I cursed under my breath.
“Thank you, Your Honor,” said Bock. “Now, I would like to turn to the matter of sanctions and attorney’s fees—”
“No,” said the Judge. “I’m not going to entertain a motion for sanctions or fees. Mr. Bock, Mr. Carver, thank you for your argument. That will be all. Have a pleasant day.” Judge Gleeson banged his gavel and departed the bench.
I stood there, dumbfounded, as Bock & Co. gathered their things. Quinto and Loudamire smirked at me on their way out. Bock didn’t even deign to give me a glance.
Two hours later, I was back in the office, sprawled out in my chair. I was exhausted. I sighed and picked up a small globe that I kept on my desk. I had bought it after Harder gave me flak for not having any decorations in my office. It had cost me ten dollars from Target. I spun the globe idly as I dwelled on the hearing.
I had gotten rolled. I tried to think of what I could have done differently. Asked better questions. Objected to the evidence. Had better legal arguments. Figured out a way to jam up the hearing and give me more time to prepare.
Ashley had taken it well. She thought we had been sandbagged, and that I had done a great job under the circumstances. Usually, it was supposed to be the lawyer propping up the client after a loss. But I was grateful. I knew I was going to get an earful from Kruckemeyer, and knowing that Ashley appreciated my efforts felt good.
I turned to my computer and looked up Zachary Bock, the lead attorney from the hearing. There were a number of articles, awards, and publications mentioning him. He was listed in Super Lawyers and some other prestigious directories. There was a recent profile about him in a legal magazine. I clicked on it.
Coming in at number seven on our up-and-coming list of New York super litigators is Zachary Bock, of Badden & Bock, LLP, the New York megafirm known for its high-stakes Wall Street work. Mr. Bock is a scion of the Bock family, the grandson of founder Cornelius Bock, who started the firm in the early 1930s. But don’t think he got into the firm on his connections. According to Mr. Bock, his father was the black sheep of the family.
That didn’t stop Zachary Bock, who is back at the firm that bears his name with a vengeance. Mr. Bock went to Harvard Law School and clerked for the Second Circuit Court of Appeals in New York. After accepting a job offer at Badden & Bock, Mr. Bock quickly made partner, and has been making his way up the ranks ever since.
Colleagues say Mr. Bock is a workaholic and a brutal opponent, someone you want at your back and not on the other side of a case. The word at the firm is he’s a rising star, tapped for executive management in the future.
I also looked up Bock’s associates, Lucius Quinto and Kathleen Loudamire. They were stars too. They had studied at Harvard and Yale, respectively, and received top marks and coveted honors like law review, moot court, and mock trial. They had both clerked for federal judges for a year after law school, which was a mark of distinction. Loudamire was on the chess team. To my amusement, Quinto actually did play lacrosse.
I felt better after reading about my opponents. There was no shame in being beaten by a super litigator. I just wished that Kruckemeyer had been there, or someone else who knew what they were doing. Then we might have had a fighting chance.
I was idly scrolling through a list of Quinto’s lacrosse tournament victories when my door blew open, revealing the grinning faces of Harder and Vijay.
“How’d your hearing go?” asked Vijay. Vijay Gagnasetti was an associate too, around the same year as Harder and me. Vijay was tall and well muscled and played a lot of sports. He was a cool guy. He was an independent contractor, like me, but no one doubted he would be full-time soon.
“Not well, I hear,” said Harder, smiling broadly. He waved a piece of paper at me, which turned out to be a signed copy of the TRO.
“It could have gone better,” I said, snatching the TRO from him. “How did you get that?”
“Could have gone better?” Harder said incredulously, ignoring my question.
“That sounds like an understatement to me, Rich,” Vijay remarked.
“I’ll say. How do you even lose a TRO like that?” said Harder.
“Yeah, bro,” echoed Vijay. “How do you even lose that? My ninety-year-old grandma could have won it. And she’s not even a lawyer. As a matter of fact, she’s dead. But she still would have won.”
“Nice,” I muttered.
“But seriously,” said Harder. “You realize that Kruckemeyer’s going to kill you, right?”
I flipped him the bird and we went at it for a while longer. But our rough camaraderie was interrupted when Kruckemeyer himself walked in, holding up a paper of his own.
Bob Kruckemeyer was sixty years old. He had a thick mane of hair that he dyed reddish-blond, and big shoulders from his days playing college football. The shoulders were stooped now, but he still had an imposing presence. In his moods, Kruckeme
yer alternated between crotchety old man and boyish good humor. For some reason, he was currently in the latter.
“Oh ho,” he said with a chuckle. “What’s this? Are you giving our star litigator here a hard time?”
“Just a little bit, Mr. Kruckemeyer,” said Harder, grinning at me and waiting for the inevitable. But Kruckemeyer didn’t look angry. In fact, he was smiling.
“Now, now,” Kruckemeyer said. “He did a good job. In fact, he did a great job. Badden & Bock just faxed over a settlement offer. It seems that our boy’s performance shook them up. They’re waving the white flag.”
“A settlement offer?” I said, sitting up straight.
“That’s right.”
“How much?”
“A quarter million dollars.”
“Holy shit!” I said. Harder and Vijay’s mouths fell open.
“Didn’t I say you could do it?” said Kruckemeyer. “Must have been my sage tutelage.”
“Must have been,” I said, taking the paper in disbelief. There it was:
In consideration for a mutual release of all claims between the Estate of David Marcum (“the Estate”) and Rockweiller Industries, Inc. (“Rockweiller”), Rockweiller hereby offers the sum of two hundred and fifty thousand dollars ($250,000) to the Estate. This offer will remain open for one week from today.
There was a bunch of boilerplate, and it was signed by Zachary Bock.
“Wow,” I said. I was shocked to see these kinds of numbers in a pro bono case. “What do we do now?”
“Now you call up your client and present the offer. Give her the good news. Nice work, Jack. You did good,” Kruckemeyer said.
I accepted Harder’s grudging congratulations and a backslap from Vijay that nearly knocked me out of my chair. Then I called Ashley, basking in the feeling of victory. Moments ago I had felt like a loser. But now, I felt like my loss had really been a win. I’d showed my mettle to Badden & Bock, and now they wanted to settle. Ashley picked up right away.