The Justice Game

11

It took Jason three days to call.

The first two days, he pulled up his father’s contact information a half-dozen times and scrolled the BlackBerry wheel until it shaded his father’s phone number. But he couldn’t bring himself to place the call.

The third day, in the solitude of his apartment, Jason found the courage to push the wheel and initiate the call. The phone rang three times with no answer, raising Jason’s hopes that he might be able to just leave a message.

But then his father answered. “Jason, I’m in the middle of something. Can I call you back?”

“Sure.”

An hour later, when Jason was walking down the Avenue of the Americas, he felt his BlackBerry vibrate twice. His father’s name and number appeared on the screen.

“Hey, Dad,” Jason said.

“Hey, Jason. Sorry I had to go earlier. I was in the middle of a department meeting. What’s up?”

Justice Inc. placed a premium on confidentiality, so Jason needed to be somewhat vague, even with his father. In the past, he had described his job as “legal research for investment firms.”

His father had scoffed at the “desk job” but tolerated it because he knew Jason was making $150,000 a year, enough to take a healthy chunk out of his student debt. The unspoken assumption-at least his father’s unspoken assumption-was that Jason would take a job as a prosecutor once he finished his two-year commitment.

“Um, I’m leaving New York early, Dad. As in next week.” Jason paused-it was never easy to talk with his dad. “I finished my projects ahead of schedule, and they’re paying me the rest of my salary.”

This brought an extended silence. Jason imagined the scowl on his dad’s face-the block jaw tensing as the forehead wrinkled in displeasure. It was, in Jason’s opinion, a face that bore little resemblance to his own. “You’re not telling me something,” his dad said. “You had a two-year contract. Something must have happened.”

“Nothing happened,” Jason said. He started getting a little perturbed. Why couldn’t his father just accept that Jason had actually done something right? “I finished my research projects… ahead of schedule. They loved my work, made a ton of money off me, and now they’re going to help me get my own practice started.”

Jason held his breath, ready for the explosion. He was standing at a street crossing, waiting for the light to change, elbow-to-elbow with a couple dozen New Yorkers. It felt like everyone was listening.

“Your own practice?”

“The president of the company has some connections. He’s setting me up with a few clients and an expert witness who recently retired from her post as Virginia’s chief forensic toxicologist. I’ll have my own law office in Richmond.”

The light changed, and taxis immediately blew their horns. A large tour bus revved its engine as it went through the lower gears. Jason started walking again, moving with the masses.

His father said something but Jason had to ask him to repeat it.

“What type of clients?”

“All kinds. Trial stuff. Civil as well as criminal.”

This brought another pause. His father didn’t need it spelled out-private lawyers who handle criminal cases represent criminals. In his father’s view, only the prosecutors wore the white hats.

“Heckuva way to make a living,” his father said. “Plea bargains for rapists. Attacking cops and victims for what-a couple hundred an hour?”

Jason didn’t want to have this conversation right now. His father was stubborn, a trait Jason had inherited. “There are good lawyers on both sides, Dad. You know that.” And crooked ones too, though Jason left that part off.

“Interesting way to show your gratitude,” Jason’s father said. Jason knew the comment was coming, but it still stuck in his craw. It was a reference to the incident, the point in Jason’s life when he learned that cops could be bought and sold, with loyalty if not with money. The same event that, in his father’s eyes, indebted Jason to his dad forever.

The incident had haunted Jason for the past ten years, beginning with nightmares and bouts of depression that eventually gave way to a lingering cynicism. It was, though his father would never understand this, the reason Jason had decided to be a defense attorney.

“Matt Corey put his career on the line-his entire life’s work-so you could have a chance,” his father reminded him. “You would have never made it to law school if Matt hadn’t valued our friendship enough to do that. Why do you want to spend your life attacking men like that?”

“That’s not what I’ll be doing, Dad.” It was a small lie, but Jason just wanted off the phone.

“Are you calling to ask me about this or tell me about it?”

Jason took a breath and stepped to the edge of the sidewalk, out of the traffic flow. “I’m going to do this, Dad. And I’m going to do it the right way. I’ve made up my mind.”

Jason’s father didn’t respond immediately, perhaps hoping that the uncomfortable silence would cause Jason to change his mind. If so, he was wasting his time.

“There is no right way,” Jason’s dad eventually said. And with that parting comment, he hung up the phone.