“Calm down,” he said, becoming serious. “This is no big deal, Kathy.”
“Really?”
“Really. Look, when we go in, you go up by the witness stand, the clerk will swear you in and you sit down in the witness chair. I’ll ask you a series of questions, mostly yes and no type stuff, and that’ll be that. It’s no big deal. Nothing to it. Takes ten minutes.”
“Are you sure? Okay I mean, it’s just, I’ve never been in court before and I’m a little nervous.”
“I understand. Trust me. There’s nothing to it. Just don’t start laughing. Tears are alright but no laughing. I had a client do that once.”
“Are you serious?”
“Yeah. She was having a great time divorcing the jackass she was married to. I had all I could do to keep her calmed down. By the time I got her out of there, she was practically rolling on the floor,” he said telling her a true story he liked to tell nervous clients to help ease the anxiety and relax them.
“I won’t laugh, I promise. I can’t believe anyone could. Is that true or are you just telling me that?”
“True story. I swear. It was pretty funny actually. Um, Kathy, about your bill,” he continued.
“Oh, yeah, that’s right. How much is it?” she asked reaching into her purse and retrieving her checkbook.
“With today’s deal and the little bit left to finish it up, eleven hundred dollars,” Marc said.
“That much? Okay. Listen, I’ll give you half today and half next month, Okay?”
“Kathy, you promised me you’d pay it all today and clear it up. Remember? I know you have the money.”
“Oh, all right I will. You’re right. I just don’t like writing a check for that much.”
“I didn’t earn it?”
“Every penny, and more. Thanks again for making that cheating asshole pay”
“More? Well, let’s see. . .”
“Forget it,” she laughed as she began to write the check.
Marc breathed an inaudible sigh of relief as he watched her make out the check. Well, I can pay my apartment and office rent for another month, he thought. Now I can work on next month’s child support for Karen and my other bills. She tore the check from her checkbook and handed it to him. He took it from her hand and handed her the receipt he had already prepared in anticipation.
“Thanks,” he said.
“No, really Marc,” she said placing a hand on his arm. “Thank you. You’ve been a big help.”
“My pleasure,” he said, “Listen, Kathy, there’s something else I need to tell you. Warn you about.”
“What?” she asked, her apprehension rising again.
“Relax. I just need to, kind of, warn you about something. It’s possible, just a little, that the judge might not accept the deal. He may kick us out and not grant the divorce.”
“Why? “
“Take it easy. I said it’s only slightly possible. Because the agreement that we shoved down your husband’s throat is so grossly one-sided.”
“Listen,” she hissed, “that asshole deserves everything he gets. Cheatin’ on me for three years with that bimbo. He’s lucky I didn’t cut off his. . .”
“I’m not arguing,” Marc said holding up his hands in protest and laughing.
“Playing on his guilt is how we did this. Let me explain. Just listen for a minute, okay?
“Divorces are supposed to be fair to both parties. The judge is supposed to be neutral, look it over and make sure that, as best as possible without taking into account any marital misconduct, the divorce is fair and reasonable for both people.”
“It is,” she interrupted, emphatically.
“It is not,” Marc said, “and you know it. You’re getting the kids and over fifty percent of his income, plus the house, all of the furniture and personal property, half of his pension plus the business property. This stuff is supposed to be divided up, as close as possible, fifty-fifty,” he said as he ticked off the items on his fingers. “He’s basically getting his car, his clothes, half his pension and, after you get your cut, barely a thousand bucks a month to live on.”
“Screw him,” she said.
“Not my job,” Marc said, which made her smile.
“Not mine anymore, either,” she chuckled. “He wasn’t worth a damn at that either.”
“Let me put this away,” he continued. “If I was sitting here with your husband, and we had the same deal with him getting everything you’re getting, and you getting his share, no way would the judge accept it.”
“Really?”
“Not a chance. He shouldn’t accept it. Hell, I wouldn’t have even submitted this deal on behalf of a man. Wouldn’t even try it.”
“So, you think he’ll throw us out?” she asked, now becoming very concerned.
“No, not at all. This is Hennepin County. I think he’ll sign it without batting an eye.”
“Why do you say that?” she asked, obviously relieved.
“Because this is Hennepin County and I’m sitting here with the wife, not the husband,” Marc said sarcastically.
“Yeah but, everything you see on TV and in the papers, the woman always gets screwed in the divorce,” she said again with emphasis. “So, it’s only fair that it goes the other way once in a while.”
Marc laughed heartily at this last statement and said, “Well, don’t you believe everything you see in the papers. It aint so. Look,” he continued, “it might be true of wealthy people, in fact, it probably is, and for the poor. But for them, divorce is always a lousy deal simply because they’re poor and don’t have enough money to go around. But, for the vast majority of people in the middle, if anyone gets screwed, it’s going to be the husband, every time.”
“Do you really believe that?” she asked.
“That’s certainly been my experience. And I’ve talked to a lot of women lawyers about this and every single one of them agrees. That crap in the papers is basically feminist nonsense. Usually, no one makes out in the divorce. Both parties suffer. But financially, at least in the short term, the husband is going to get it worse. As far as the courts are concerned, the husband’s role in divorce is to pay. Write the checks.”
“You think we’ll be okay today?”
“Yeah, I think it’ll go through but I figured I better warn you there’s a very slim chance it won’t. In fact, if the courts were really fair, it wouldn’t. But, like I said this is Hennepin County, so, I think it will,” he said with a resigned shrug. “You look nice today. You wouldn’t believe the way some people come dressed to court. Dirty jeans, t-shirts. It’s like they’re children and you have to tell them to wash their hands before dinner. Unbelievable sometimes.”
“Well, thanks,” she said laughing. “I figured I could at least put on a dress. Do we have to tell him how old I am? I mean, in front of everybody.”
“Kathy, c’mon. Relax. You’re a lovely woman. Besides, he already knows and, knowing this judge, he may take a shot at you.”
“Hey, that might not be so bad. Judges make pretty good dough, don’t they?”
“He’s an old geezer. In fact, I don’t know how this got assigned to him. Normally, we’d be in front of one of the Family Court Referees. I don’t know why it got sent to a judge.”
“Is that bad?”
“Kathy relax. It’s not anything. It’ll be okay, trust me,” he said as the court deputy stepped into the hall and called her name.
They followed the deputy into the almost empty courtroom. Marc stopped at the table, placed his file on it and pointed to the place where his client was to go. She was placed under oath, took her seat on the witness stand and, after a few preliminary remarks by the judge, calmly answered Marc’s questions to build a factual record for the divorce. After seven or eight minutes of questions about the parties, their children and property, Marc walked up to his client with the court’s copy of their agreement and had her testify to its fairness for both parties, during which he somehow managed to keep a straight face.
&
nbsp; He finished up, returned to his seat at the table and patiently waited for any possible remarks from the bench.
The judge, a gray headed man with many years experience, looked down at Marc’s client from his soft, high-backed, leather chair. He leaned toward her as close as he could, smiled brightly at her as she looked back and, watching the exchange, Marc began to wonder if the old boy was going to hit on her right there in open court, on the record.
Instead, Marc listened for the next two minutes as the man glowingly praised Marc to his client for what a wonderful job he had done. What a good lawyer she had and what a great settlement he had gotten for her. The whole time Marc quietly sat, his hands folded on the table, his best poker-face expression in place, patiently waiting for the judge to finish.
Finally, the judge looked directly at Marc and said, “Mr. Kadella, you’ve done an excellent job for your client and I’ll gladly accept the agreement and grant the divorce. Ms. Sanders,” he continued turning back to the witness, “you may step down and good luck to you.”
“Thank you, your Honor,” Marc and Kathy said, in unison.
When they got out in the hall, they turned to head for the elevators and she said to Marc, “I thought you said there could be a problem. He thought it was a great deal.”
“Hennepin County. What can I tell ya’?” he answered as he pressed both the up and the down buttons for the elevators. “I have to go upstairs to see someone. I’ll let you know when I get the final papers,” he said as a down elevator arrived and opened its doors.
“Thanks for everything, Marc. I’ll talk to you later,” she said as she entered the empty car.
TWENTY-ONE
As he walked into the office entryway he saw Chris Grafton leaving the big office of Connie Mickelson, heartily laughing. Connie was Marc’s landlord, the woman on the lease from whom the others rented space.
“What’s so funny?” Marc asked.
“Marc, c’mon in here,” he heard Connie call through the open door. Connie was In her sixties, did divorce and personal injury work and made a good living at both. Divorced four times herself, she clearly knew family law and had a good reputation in the Cities, especially for helping women through difficult divorces. She had been in practice for over thirty years, beginning long before women lawyers became fashionable, and it was the rare case she could not get a judge to nail a husband for a big chunk of her fees.
“You gotta hear this,” Chris said as he jerked a thumb at the open door. “This could be one for the top ten list.”
Marc went into Connie’s office, took one of the client’s seats at her desk, Carolyn and Sandy following him through the door.
“You won’t fuckin’ believe this,” said Connie. It always amused Marc to listen to Connie because the woman could out cuss any sailor in the fleet.
“What a dumb broad this one is.”
“What?” Marc asked, knowing this would be good.
“Woman calls with a personal injury question, right? So, I take it and she says she wants to sue the cable company that services her apartment building. Says it’s their fault she tore up her knee. I ask her to tell me how it happened and she says they didn’t install the cable right.
“She says when they put in the cable for the TV they put the cable outlet on the wall on the opposite side of her living room from her TV set. So, she gets a friend of hers to run a cable from the outlet box to her TV. A couple days ago she trips over the cable and fucks up her knee and now she wants to sue.”
“How is this the cable company’s fault?”
“Well, of course, that was my first question. She says they’re to blame ‘cause they shoulda put the outlet on the wall by her TV so she wouldn’t have to have the cable on the floor. I said, ma’am, why didn’t you just move the TV closer to the outlet? Now get this, she says, ‘Oh, you mean I could’ve done that?’.”
“Good god,” Marc said amid the laughter from Carolyn and Sandy. “I’m amazed some of these people can even feed themselves.”
“Yeah, and she wanted to sue for a hundred grand. Believe that? I, politely, explained to her that it really wasn’t the cable company’s fault that she tripped over the cable that her friend put in. I wished her luck.”
“There’s one for the list,” said Marc.
“What list?” asked Sandy.
“The top ten dumbest clients list,” Carolyn answered.
“Trouble is, that list keeps growing. Ten isn’t nearly enough,” said Connie.
“She’ll call around ‘til she finds a lawyer hungry enough to take a shot at it,” Marc said.
“No one’s that hungry,” answered Connie. “Even if she does find someone, he’ll learn. Sooner or later the cable company’s lawyers will stick it right up his ass anyway, as they should.”
“As they should,” agreed Marc.
“How’d your default go?” Connie asked, referring to Marc’s divorce case. “Old homey Barney Curran let it right through, didn’t he?”
“Went fine,” Marc answered. “In fact, he spent two full minutes praising me, on the record in front of my client. I couldn’t believe it.”
“I’m not surprised,” she said as she motioned to Marc to close the door after the secretaries had gone back to their work stations. Marc closed the door and took his seat again in front of Connie’s desk.
She leaned forward on her desk as a breeze came through the window behind her, rattling the venetian blinds slightly, and whispered to Marc, “Did I ever tell ya’, I banged his old ass a couple of times?”
“I don’t wanna hear this, Connie,” Marc said, laughing. “This is an image I don’t want to have.”
“Oh, it’s no big deal,” she continued, waving her hand at him. “It was a few years back and I was between husbands. Thought it might not hurt me in court. The old fools been on the family bench, off and on, forever. I’ll tell ya, I think it has done me some good, too. I get some pretty good results in front of him.”
“What are you saying, I should sleep with him?” Marc asked, sarcastically.
“Might not hurt,” she said, laughing.
“I beg to differ. I think it would hurt.”
“Hey! That’s not a bad idea. Get on down to his club and do a pick-up-the-soap routine in the shower. Knowin’ old Barney, he’d take the shot.”
“Will you stop.”
“What about Tennant? You get in her pants yet?”
“That’s none of your business.”
“You haven’t, huh? Too bad. She’s a good lookin’ broad.”
“You’re a piece of work, Connie. You know that?”
“Yeah, but I have my fun. Life’s too short to take it too seriously. Anything new on Karen’s tax case?”
“No. We go see the judge on the twenty fifth. I’ll find out then, I guess.”
“Well, good luck. I hope you stick one right up the IRS’s ass.”
“Me too. Besides, I can always use the money.”
“Did you tell Karen? About her liability being lifted.”
“Yeah, she was pretty pleased.”
“Did she at least thank you?”
“Yes, Connie. She did.”
“Hey, don’t get defensive. She should thank you. You worked hard for her and did a helluva job. She should appreciate it.”
“Well, I’m not sure she appreciates it but she did thank me. No, wait a minute,” he continued waving his hands as if in protest. “she appreciates it, I’m sure. It’s a helluva weight off her shoulders. It’s been quite a nightmare for her. For both of us, really.”
“What do you mean?” asked Connie as she leaned back in her leather covered swivel chair and placed both feet up on the desk. “How did this happen, anyway?”
“Many years ago, almost ten now, Karen worked for a restaurant up Northeast. She managed the dining room, did some bookkeeping that kinda stuff. She was put on the signature card at the bank for the owners’ convenience ‘cause the guy who was running the place had to take a job.”
“How many owners were there?”
“Four total. But, one of them was in the restaurant as a sort of General Manager. He’s the one that took the job. Anyway, he’d come in in the morning to open up and tell Karen what deliveries and bills to pay. She signed the checks but what’s important here is, she had no independent decision making authority. Time goes by and these knotheads aren’t paying the taxes.”
“That’s not as unusual as you might think. People do that just trying to keep the business going. They’re not trying to screw the government. Just trying to stay afloat. Did Karen know they weren’t paying the taxes? “
“Sure, she knew. She filled out the quarterly returns. Even signed them. She’d tell the owners that taxes were owing and they’d tell her it would be taken care of.”
“She signed tax returns? No wonder they found her liable.”
“Actually, it wasn’t that that got her into the soup. It was signing checks. The IRS told her: Because you signed checks, you decided to pay other creditors before the IRS and, therefore, you’re responsible,” he said in a bureaucratic, officious sounding voice which provoked a laugh from Connie.
“It’s bullshit and they know it. What really happened was the General Manager died, left no estate for them to grab so, the guy doing the investigation got lazy and just laid it on Karen. It wasn’t a real big case for him so, he took the easy way out and nailed the bookkeeper.”
“What about the other owners?” she asked.
“He hit a couple of ‘em for a little of it. I found out they settled out for five grand. Karen got hit for the rest.” Marc answered.
“Asshole,” she said.
“He’s just a lazy bureaucrat. Small potatoes to him. You know the type. Lay it on someone, anyone will do, get the file off your desk and get on to other things. Lazy and careless.”
“Must’ve made your lives hell,” Connie said sympathetically.
“You don’t know the half of it,” he replied.
“Didn’t you appeal the guys decision?” she asked.
“Oh yeah, we did. What a joke that was. We go downtown St. Paul, to the IRS office in the federal building. We go into this pissant size office with this kid behind a desk. He couldn’t have been more than twenty-five. Tells us he’s a lawyer with the IRS. This is no bullshit. The guy looks at Karen and says: ‘Ya’ know, I didn’t know you could be liable for taxes just by signing checks. My wife signs checks where she works and, when I get home tonight, I’m gonna tell her to get off that signature card. But, for your case, sorry it’s right here in our rules and there’s nothing I can do.’ I swear, that’s exactly what happened. The whole thing took two, maybe three minutes. That was our appeal. Fool that I was, I assumed this pipsqueak knew the law since he claimed he was a lawyer with the IRS.”
(2012) The Key to Justice Page 11