Fatal Convictions

8

Unlike most attorneys, Alex had no law school diploma hanging on the vanity wall of his office. Virginia was one of the few states where a lawyer could still “read the law,” pass the bar, and receive a law license. Under Virginia’s law reader program, an aspiring attorney could study under an approved lawyer and qualify for the bar exam once he had completed certain prescribed courses. Thomas Jefferson had become a lawyer that way. As had Patrick Henry. Several generations later, Alex’s grandfather had followed in their steps.

Alex became a law reader more out of frustration than tradition. He had attended Richmond Law School for a year, but he hated the endless debates on esoteric legal theories and the word parsing that seemed to dominate his law school curriculum. Alex wanted to be a trial lawyer, quick on his feet like his grandfather. But his classes seemed to emphasize intellectual mind games. Some of his professors had never seen the inside of a courtroom.

Having worked in his grandfather’s law firm during the summer after that first year, Alex felt like he learned more about the practice of law in three months than he had in his first full year of formal education. His grandfather, no fan of law schools himself, said he was not surprised. He suggested that Alex consider reading the law while he made some money working at the firm.

Two years later, Alex became one of the handful of Virginia lawyers who passed the bar without graduating from law school. He framed his law license with no small amount of pride, though the phrase “law reader” also came with a little baggage and a huge chip for the shoulder. Like his grandfather, Alex would have to go through his career proving that he belonged.

Taking the place of a law school diploma on Alex’s vanity wall was a framed piece of yellow legal paper with his grandfather’s sloppy handwriting on it. The page was labeled: Madison and Associates-Competitive Edge

His grandfather had written the list the day he told Alex that he was dying from cancer. “I guess you’ll take over this firm a little sooner than we planned,” John Patrick Madison had said. “Here’s a few things you need to keep in mind.”

He wrote down ten items, talked to Alex about them for thirty minutes, and then told Alex they needed to get back to work. Not one tear was shed. It was like every other teaching session Alex ever had with his grandfather. No nonsense. Keep it real. Can the drama. His grandfather had faced death with the same level of fear he exhibited before a big case. In other words… none.

Alex kept the list and had it framed after his grandfather passed away.

The first sentence was characteristically blunt: Good lawyers don’t advertise.

Alex thought about that advice as he stopped to chat with the news crews in front of the Virginia Beach courthouse. His grandfather never paid for advertising, but he also never turned down a free interview. He told Alex that only legal dinosaurs turned up their noses at the media. “I’m an advocate for my client,” he explained. “And sometimes I want to send a message to the jury before we get into the courtroom.”

Alex handled a few questions while Aisha stood next to him. He waited until somebody asked whether they were going to appeal before he made his announcement.

“We’ve decided not to appeal,” Alex said, “because if we win, Aisha would end up working at Atlantic Surf Shop, and it’s pretty obvious they don’t want her there. But fortunately for her, not all surf shops have a Look Policy that forces you to check your religious beliefs at the door. In fact, the owners of Burke’s Surf on Laskin Road believe strongly that the surf culture wants people just to be who they are. They’ve therefore offered Aisha a job for the summer, hijab and all.”

A few reporters congratulated Aisha, and she gave them a beautiful white smile. She told them how excited she was to start at Burke’s. Alex even added that most locals preferred Burke’s to the Atlantic Surf Shop anyway. By the time the interview ended, it was hard to tell who had won and who had lost the court battle just a few minutes earlier.

Alex smiled for the cameras as well but would be kicking himself all the way back to the office. He should have checked Aisha’s Facebook page. He had been complacent. His grandfather would have never missed that important detail.

Alex had not just lost the case. He had violated principle number five on his grandfather’s competitive edge list, a sentence he knew by heart, just like every other sentence on that yellow sheet of paper: Never get outworked by an Ivy League lawyer.