The Justice Game

by Randy Singer

Jason spent the weekend looking for a temporary office and a place to live for the next few months. He was hoping for something affordable near the beach.

  The weather took a nasty turn on Saturday, with steady rain and biting winds from the northeast making for a deserted boardwalk. Still, Jason could imagine this place in the summer—teeming with tourists, surfers, and beach cruisers. He learned that the oceanfront economy relied on summer labor from nearly six thousand international college students who were in the country on temporary four-month visas. He also learned that most of them were women.

  Moving to the beach permanently was not out of the question.

  Each day, he approached his hunt for an apartment and office with the same level of discipline he would bring to bear on a major case. He scoured newspapers and the Internet for possible locations, mapped them out over morning coffee, and drove by later in the day. That way, he could eliminate prospects from his list without talking to somebody on the phone or, worse yet, being subject to an interminable sales pitch. He would go inside only if the place had real promise.

  Each night for dinner, he returned to the Purple Cow, where his waiter or waitress would put him in touch with another table of locals looking for a free meal. On Monday night, the locals delivered the first defense verdict, and the owner of the restaurant was so excited for Jason that she comped the family’s meal on the spot.

  “It’s all part of the dining experience,” the owner said. “Good burgers, purple shakes, a crazy defense lawyer. What could be more American?”

  On Tuesday morning, Jason closed two deals. A one-year office lease on Laskin Road and a month-to-month residential lease for a “cottage”—the Virginia Beach term for a small detached residence located on the same property as the main house. This particular cottage was a small apartment located over a boathouse on a waterfront estate in the Bay Colony area. The house and cottage shared a backyard that looked out over a body of water called Linkhorn Bay and were located less than a mile from the ocean.

  A spry widow named Evelyn Walker lived alone in the main house, except in the summers, when she rented rooms to a number of international students. She was looking for someone to help keep an eye on things, especially during the off-season when the college students weren’t around.

  The cottage was the perfect size for a young single guy. It had one room on the main floor that served as a combined kitchen and living room. A bathroom and bedroom were upstairs, hanging out over the water in the boathouse. The decor was vintage 1980s. Fluorescent colors dominated—an orange carpet and lime green walls in the living room and a hodgepodge of paintings, beach trinkets, and abstract art for decorations. It wasn’t exactly a plush penthouse condo overlooking the ocean, but the price was right.

  On the drive back to Richmond, Jason finally garnered the nerve to return a phone call he had received on Monday. Actually, two phone calls on Monday and one on Tuesday morning, all relegated to voice mail when Jason saw the caller ID.

  “Thanks for calling,” said Andrew Lassiter. Jason thought he could still detect a tinge of panic in Andrew’s voice. “I need to get together with you for a few minutes. It’s urgent.”

  It was exactly what Jason didn’t need. He had already made it clear to Lassiter that he didn’t want to get involved in his dispute with Robert Sherwood.

  “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

  Lassiter responded quickly. Tersely. “It’s not what you think. It doesn’t have anything to do with Sherwood. He’s screwed me over; I’ll deal with that. This is about something else.”

  “Can we talk about it over the phone?”

  Lassiter’s sigh signaled his exasperation. “How far are you from your office?”

  “Thirty minutes.”

  “Call me back from your office phone,” Lassiter said. “I don’t want to talk on this line.”

  Jason called precisely thirty minutes later, and Lassiter answered on the first ring, sounding every bit as tense as he had earlier. He was trying to put the Justice Inc. controversy behind him, Lassiter said. He needed to launch out in a new direction. Perhaps Jason could help.

  Jason would need a jury consultant on the Crawford case, and nobody knew more about picking juries than Andrew Lassiter. He would consult with Jason for free, just to get the marketing push that would come from such a high-profile case. From there, Lassiter could develop his own consulting business.

  Jason was intrigued, but red flags shot up everywhere. “Aren’t those micromarketing formulas the property of Justice Inc.?”

  “They’re my formulas,” Lassiter snapped. “But that’s another matter. I’m talking about developing new formulas, better formulas, just for this case.”

  “Didn’t you sign a non-compete?”

  “I’m not competing, Jason. I know for a fact that Justice Inc. is going to invest based on the outcome of this case. If they’re playing games with the gun companies’ stocks, they couldn’t possibly serve as a jury consultant—it’d be a conflict of interest.”

  What he said made sense, but Jason still had reservations. He felt like a referee stepping between two angry heavyweight boxers. “I don’t know, Andrew. It just doesn’t feel right. I wouldn’t even be in this case if it wasn’t for Mr. Sherwood.”

  Lassiter didn’t respond for several uncomfortable seconds. When he did, his voice seemed calmer, more resigned than the fevered pitch of just a few seconds before. “I’m going to tell you something in absolute confidence,” he said. “I need your promise that this goes nowhere.”

  “Okay,” Jason said, though he wasn’t really sure he wanted to hear it. The less he knew about the dispute between Sherwood and Lassiter, the better.

  “Kelly Starling worked at Justice Inc. several years before you did,” Lassiter said. “You won’t be able to tell it from her résumé, because it only lists the New York firm that contracted her out to Justice Inc. for an override on her time. Same setup as you had, just a different firm. She’s an alum, Jason. I’d rather work your side, but if you’re not willing to do this, she’d hire me in a second.”

  The revelation stunned Jason. His adversary had received the same cutting-edge training that he had? It was like learning your soccer coach was secretly training the other team.

  Lassiter would have no reason to lie about this. He had been there. He would have known Kelly Starling.

  “Interesting coincidence,” Jason said, after taking a few seconds to process it.

  “Hardly,” Lassiter countered. “Justice Inc. got her involved in the case just like it did you.”

  “I was being sarcastic,” Jason said. “But why do they want alumni on both sides?”

  “It makes our models—their models—more accurate. It takes some of the unpredictability away if you know the lawyers and their tendencies. It’s something Sherwood started doing after a couple cases went south due to poor lawyering.”

  Jason supposed this information should have been flattering. He was in the case because Justice Inc. trusted him to aggressively represent MD Firearms. But it was a little disconcerting to realize that Sherwood felt the same way about his opponent. It made him feel like a puppet, his strings being pulled by the executives in New York.

  “Plus,” Lassiter added without prompting, “they know that both you and Kelly are not afraid to try a case. They don’t make money if the case settles.”

  This information changed the trajectory of Jason’s thinking. Robert Sherwood wasn’t just helping Jason’s career; he was orchestrating the next big case. And if somebody like Andrew Lassiter ended up working for the other side, the results could be disastrous.

  Still, Jason had that uneasy feeling of a mortal stepping onto the battlefield of the gods. He didn’t want either Lassiter or Sherwood angry with him.

  “Let me call Robert Sherwood and let him know we’re thinking about this,” Jason suggested. “That way, he won’t find out from somebody else and get all fired up.”

  “We don’t owe Sherwood anything,”
Lassiter insisted. “They used us, Jason. Especially Sherwood. They’re still using you.”

  Jason kept his voice steady, but he was unmovable. He wanted Andrew involved, but he didn’t want to take on Justice Inc. He assured his friend that he would present his involvement to Sherwood as a done deal rather than asking for permission. “I don’t want him to find out from someone else and assume I’m out here doing stuff behind his back,” Jason said.

  “You don’t owe him anything,” Lassiter repeated. “But suit yourself.”

  When they hung up, Jason sighed deeply. He could feel himself getting pulled into a nasty fight between two men he highly respected. One or the other of them was going to be disappointed in him.

  He worried about calling Robert Sherwood and rehearsed the conversation several times in his head. With each passing minute, he thought up another reason to delay the call.

  When he finally pulled out his cell phone to call Sherwood, he received an incoming call with an Atlanta area code before he could dial out. He decided to take it. Any call would be preferable to talking with Sherwood.

  35

  “Jason, it’s Matt Corey.”

  Detective Corey didn’t make casual calls. A lump formed in Jason’s throat.

  “What’s up?”

  “It’s about your dad, Jason. Things are getting worse. It’s really started to affect his work.”

  Jason stared at the wall in his office. He knew his father’s drinking had worsened. But he always assumed that his father could handle it, would draw a hard line between booze and the job he loved.

  “It was pretty bad at Christmas,” Jason admitted. “But I thought he kept it off-hours.”

  “I don’t want to go into the details on the phone. He’s in some trouble at the station, and there’s some stuff that nobody knows about. Point is—he needs help.”

  “Okay. But he won’t listen to me.”

  “I’ve already talked to Julie. She’s willing to come home next week if you can make it too. The department has this formal intervention program, but I know your dad. He would react badly to it. My thinking is that the three of us—you, me, and Julie—could find a counselor who knows his stuff and work an intervention at your dad’s house. Keep it away from the department. We could have a detox facility on standby, and I could work ahead of time to get his cases reassigned. Take away his excuses for not going.”

  Jason took a deep breath. The thought of confronting his father like this made him physically ill. “He’s stubborn, Detective Corey. I don’t know if it’ll work.”

  “I’d slap you in the head if I could reach you,” Detective Corey said. “How many times have I told you to call me Matt?”

  Jason didn’t answer. This topic had annihilated his sense of humor.

  “Jason, I know this is hard. And I know you and your dad never had a great relationship.…”

  The words, spoken kindly and matter-of-factly, still cut like a razor. They were heartbreaking and undeniable at the same time.

  “But we can’t do this without you. They say an intervention doesn’t stand a chance if there’s somebody important in the person’s life who’s missing.”

  Jason could feel his heart beat faster just thinking about it. A headache would soon follow.

  “He respects you, Matt. He adores Jules.”

  And he can’t stand me, Jason wanted to add. But he didn’t; vulnerability was not his thing. “He and I have some serious issues.”

  “I can’t force you, Jason. And I know he’s hurt you in the past. But right now… he needs you.”

  There was a long pause as Jason processed this. He didn’t see an intervention ending well, but how could he say no? The man was his father.

  “All right,” Jason said. “I’ll try.”

  * * *

  The next morning, Jason ignored a call from Andrew Lassiter. There was no sense talking with Andrew again until Jason first talked with Robert Sherwood. Jason had left a message yesterday afternoon and was waiting for a return call.

  The call came that afternoon. After Jason gave an update on the case (Sherwood was pleased about Jason’s plans to move to Virginia Beach), Jason summoned the nerve to talk about Andrew Lassiter.

  Andrew had called and volunteered his services as a jury consultant, Jason explained. But Jason knew that Andrew had left Justice Inc. on contentious terms, and Jason wanted to make sure that Andrew wouldn’t be violating a non-compete if Jason hired him.

  “There is a non-compete,” Sherwood said. “And it’s very broad. It would certainly include jury consulting, since that would inevitably require the use of our software or some derivative program.”

  “Okay,” Jason said tentatively. He wanted to tread lightly here; the last thing he wanted was a big argument with Sherwood. But he didn’t want Andrew working for the other side.

  “Can you make an exception for this case?” Jason asked. “It would help me a lot.” He chose his next words carefully—just a hint that Jason might know something about Kelly Starling, just enough to make Sherwood wonder. “I’ve got a hunch you’re betting my side on this one, though both sides are well represented,” Jason said. “With Lassiter’s help, I might be able to cover your bet.”

  “I see,” Sherwood responded, mulling it over. “Did Andrew tell you we’ve had some experience with your opponent as well?”

  Jason felt like an animal who had just heard the trap clang shut, its pain about to register. The question was cleverly worded so as to admit nothing. And Jason’s answer would either be a lie or a violation of his promise to Andrew.

  Stymied, Jason said nothing.

  “Don’t play games with me, Jason. I’m sure Andrew talked to you about Kelly Starling.”

  “Yes, sir. He did.”

  “We try to get our own people hired on these cases, Jason. That way we know the lawyers will try a good case. We’re not attempting to influence the outcome—you won’t hear a word from me about how to try it. We’re just trying to take out some of the guesswork that comes with incompetent lawyers.”

  Sherwood paused, as if weighing whether he should say anything more. “Kelly was a decent lawyer, Jason. But she wasn’t so good that we asked her to leave the program early.

  “And I’m a gun enthusiast,” Sherwood continued. “That’s why I tried to get you hired to defend MD Firearms. And, by the way, we didn’t use any undue influence; we just helped MD Firearms see the need for a different kind of lawyer.”

  “I know that,” Jason said.

  “Here’s what I’m going to do,” Sherwood said, his voice authoritative. The man always seemed to be a step or two ahead. “If you can get Lassiter to sign something that would guarantee this is a one-shot thing, so he’s not just using it for a springboard to build a business like ours, I’ll let him do it.”

  “I’ll try,” Jason said. “But I think you’re probably right. He wants to build a business out of this.”

  “Then he can’t do it,” Sherwood said emphatically. “Tell him he either signs something promising to abide by the non-compete and acknowledging that this is one-time exception, or he can’t do it.”

  “I’ll talk to him,” Jason promised.

  Jason hung up and talked himself out of immediately dialing Lassiter’s number. He had three other phone calls he needed to return first. Lassiter could wait his turn.

  Ten minutes later, Sherwood’s number appeared again on Jason’s screen. He took the call.

  “Have you called Lassiter yet?” Sherwood asked.

  “No, sir.”

  “Good. Forget what I said earlier. Tell him he can help you win this case.”

  “Okay. But if you don’t mind me asking—what changed?”

  “My thinking. That little jerk is going to sue us; there’s no doubt about that. Our lawyers say it wouldn’t hurt to have him involved in a clear violation of the non-compete. Plus, it will make this case even easier to analyze, because we’ll know precisely the type of jury you guys are going to pick.�
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  Not exactly the most noble reasons, thought Jason. But he didn’t really care. Anything to get out of this mess.

  “I’ll tell him,” said Jason. “Not about the reasoning of course. Just about what a gracious guy you are.”

  “You’ve got good instincts, kid.”

  “I appreciate that. But honestly, I would love to see you and Andrew patch things up. You’re both way too talented and smart to get involved in a war of attrition like this.”

  Sherwood was silent for a moment; he probably wasn’t used to someone being so blunt. “Jason, I would have loved nothing more than to part with Andrew on good terms. Did you know we paid him $2.5 million and let him keep his 15 percent share in the company?”

  Jason didn’t respond. Maybe Sherwood was fishing to see if Lassiter had been talking about details of the deal. Maybe there was a confidentiality agreement.

  “That’s what I figured,” Sherwood said. “He didn’t tell you that. Go ahead and work with him, Jason, but be careful. He internalizes everything, and then suddenly, like a coiled snake, he lashes out.”

  Jason almost chuckled at the description of Lassiter as a snake. The man would have trouble stepping on a cockroach.

  “I’ll keep that in mind,” Jason said.

  36

  Jason picked up his prototype MD-45 from Richmond Sporting Goods on Wednesday morning. At the store, he paid careful attention to the paperwork. He was required to fill out ATF Form 4473. He also had to produce a government-issued photo ID and a bill showing his address, then wait for the National Instant Criminal Background Check to clear his name.

  The bulk of Form 4473 consisted of a “Certification of Transferee,” containing a number of questions that Jason had to answer and a space for him to sign. The very first question was the most important: Are you the actual buyer of the firearm(s) listed on this form? The question was followed by a boldfaced warning: You are not the actual buyer if you are acquiring the firearm(s) on behalf of another person. If you are not the actual buyer, the dealer cannot transfer the firearm(s) to you. (See Important Notice 1 for actual buyer definition and examples.)