The Exchange: After The Firm

Chapter 19

The United Arbitration Board was headquartered on the fifth floor of the Palais de Justice in downtown Geneva. Its twenty judges came from around the world and served five-year terms, with the chance of being re-appointed for an additional term. Seats on the bench were quite prestigious, often lobbied for, and were doled out through the United Nations. The UAB’s docket was a dizzying collection of civil disputes from all over. Governments fighting each other; corporations from different countries suing each other; individuals seeking vast sums from foreign companies and governments. About half the cases were heard in Geneva, but the board was quick to take its show on the road. Travel was first-class, as were the expense accounts. If Cambodia wanted to sue Japan, for example, it made little sense to require the lawyers and witnesses to set up camp in Geneva, so the board would pick a more convenient venue in Asia, preferably one near a fashionable resort.

Luca had filed Lannak’s claim against Libya the prior year, in October of 2004, and requested a trial in Geneva. The chair of the board, known as the ruling magistrate, agreed.

Now she wanted a reschedule, a nuisance in every lawyer’s opinion but not an uncommon one. Mitch was of the opinion that the board was curious about the case because of its sudden notoriety. Virtually all of the other cases on its docket were exceedingly boring disputes from the other side of the world. Nothing could match a half-billion-dollar fight that involved a bridge in the desert, four beheadings, several related murders, and the saga of a missing Scully associate. When Mitch first received the notice to appear for the reschedule, he thought seriously about asking for a postponement, which was standard practice. A thirty- to ninety-day continuance would have been granted. However, after conversations with Lannak, it was agreed that the hearing in Geneva would be a better time and place to meet and discuss the lawsuit.

Mitch and Stephen flew to Rome and visited with Luca in his villa. Two weeks had passed since Giovanna’s abduction and there was still no word from her captors. The days were getting no easier for Luca. He seldom ate or slept and was losing weight. He was due for another round of chemo but simply wasn’t up to it. He was bickering with his doctors and unhappy with the home nurses. He was, however, pleased to see Mitch and even had a glass of wine, his first in days.

With Roberto Maggi, the team spent two hours in Luca’s home office going over strategies, then flew to Geneva where they met the men from Lannak: Omar Celik, the CEO and grandson of Lannak’s founder; Denys Tullos, his chief lawyer and Mitch’s principal contact; and Omar’s son, Adem, a graduate of Princeton and the future owner of the company. They were not Muslim and enjoyed alcohol. After cocktails in the hotel bar, they walked to a restaurant and settled in for the evening. Joining them late was Jens Bitterman, a Swiss lawyer who was part of the team and handled the dealings with the UAB.

Omar had been close to Luca for over twenty years and was concerned about his friend. He had met Giovanna on a number of occasions as she was growing up. Several times Luca and his family had vacationed at the Celik beach estate on the Black Sea. Omar was, of course, angered by the fact that the Libyans owed him $400 million for the bridge, money he was determined to collect, but he was much more concerned about Giovanna’s welfare.

In one of their many conversations, Denys Tullos told Mitch that the company was financing private security deep inside Libya in an effort to find her. Mitch relayed this to Darian Kasuch at Crueggal, who was not surprised. “Join the crowd,” he said.

The hearing was scheduled for 2 P.M., Thursday, April 28. Mitch and his team spent the morning in a hotel conference room with the Celiks and Denys Tullos. They reviewed Luca’s timetable and looked for ways to streamline the mountain of discovery still to be done. They debated the strategy of amending the lawsuit to include damages for the deaths of the four security guards and Youssef, all Lannak employees. Early on, Omar took control of the meeting and proved why he was regarded as a tough corporate boss who didn’t back down. He had been fighting with the Libyans for over twenty years, and while he usually got paid he was fed up. No more projects there. He doubted the regime was responsible for the ambush and bloodshed because it had always promised to protect foreign workers, especially those with Lannak. It was clear to Omar that Gaddafi was losing control of much of his territory and could no longer be trusted. Omar certainly wanted the lawsuit expanded to cover the deaths, to hold the Libyan government responsible, but agreed with Mitch that more time was needed. Walid would likely be found with his throat cut. No one could predict what would happen to Giovanna. At the moment there were too many unknowns to map out strategies.

After a sandwich for lunch they taxied to the Palais de Justice and went to the courtroom on the fifth floor. Waiting outside in the vast, empty hall were two reporters. One, with a camera hanging from his neck, was with a London tabloid, the other from a broadsheet. They asked Mitch if he had time to chat. He offered a polite no, kept walking, and entered the courtroom.

It was a wide, tall room with soaring windows, plenty of light, and enough seating for hundreds of spectators. But, there were none — only small groups of lawyers huddled here and there, whispering gravely as they watched each other from across the room.

The bench was an imposing piece of furniture, at least eighty feet long and made of some dark, rich wood that had probably been harvested two hundred years earlier. It stood six feet tall, and behind it were twenty leather rockers that swiveled and rolled. They were identical, deep burgundy in color, and exactly the same height so that the magistrates, when court was in session, looked down at the lawyers and litigants from positions of great knowledge and power.

All twenty were empty. A clerk led Mitch, Stephen, Jens, and Roberto to the plaintiff’s table on one side of the room. They unpacked thick briefcases as if they might be there for hours. Across the way another team of grim-faced lawyers marched to their table and also unpacked. The Reedmore firm, from London, Libya’s favorite firm, a notorious bunch of arrogant boys who seemed to relish their reputations as world-class assholes.

Reedmore had only 550 lawyers, not even enough to crack the top twenty-five in size, and limited its business to only a handful of countries, primarily in Europe. The firm had been in bed with the Libyan regime for many years. Luca said that was probably why they had such a sour outlook on life.

Along with its wealth of talent, ambition, skills, and diversity, one great asset of working at Scully & Pershing was its sheer size. It had been the largest firm in the world for a decade and was determined to stay on top. Its lawyers were known to often walk with a little swagger because of the firm’s remarkable reach and depth. There had never been a bigger law firm. Size did not always equal talent, nor did it guarantee success, but in the world of Big Law, being number one was the envy of firms two through fifty.

The Reedmore lawyers were formidable foes and Mitch would never take them lightly, but at the same time he wasn’t impressed by their aloofness. Jerry Robb was the attorney of record for the State of Libya. He’d brought with him a couple of younger guys, and all three wore matching, impeccably tailored navy suits. They seemed incapable of smiling.

However, since there was bad news at the other table, Robb felt compelled to pick at the scab. He walked over, stuck out a hand, and said, “Good afternoon, gentlemen.” He was stiff as a board and shook hands like a twelve-year-old.

Nose up a bit, he said, “I spoke with Luca last week. I hope he’s doing well, in spite of.”

In spite of. In spite of the fact that he’s dying of cancer and his daughter is being held hostage by some really unpleasant people.

“Luca’s fine,” Roberto said. “In spite of.”

“Any word on Giovanna?”

Mitch refused to take the bait and shook his head. No.

“Nothing,” Roberto said. “I’ll tell him you asked.”

“Please do.”

Any further conversation would have been just as stilted, but a clerk by the bench began bellowing and Robb went back to his table. In English, the clerk called things to order. He sat down, and another one stood and did the same in French. Mitch glanced around the vast room. There were two pockets of lawyers seated far apart with a few clients sprinkled in between. The two British reporters were in the front row. He doubted anyone in the room spoke French, but the court had its procedures.

Three judges entered from behind the bench and took their seats. The ruling magistrate was in charge and she sat in the middle. Her two colleagues were at least twenty feet away. Seventeen of the thrones were empty. The reschedule docket did not warrant full participation by the board.

She was Madam Victoria Poley, an American from Dayton, a former federal judge who’d been one of the first women to finish at Harvard Law. It was acceptable to address her as Madam, Magistrate, Judge, Your Honor, or Lord. Anything else was problematic. Only lawyers from the British Isles and Australia dared use the word “Lord.”

To her right was a judge from Nigeria. To her left was one from Peru. Neither wore headphones, so Mitch assumed there would be no delays for the interpreters.

Madam Poley welcomed everyone to the afternoon session and said there were only a few matters on the docket. She glanced at a clerk who stood, called the Lannak case, then proceeded to read its history, beginning with the filing of the complaint in October of the prior year. It would be next to impossible to make such a reading anything but dull, but the clerk’s monotone cast a heavy pall over the courtroom. She went on, flipping pages as her voice grew flatter and flatter. Mitch’s last thought before he fell into a coma was, I hope they don’t do this again in French.

“Mr. McDeere,” a voice called out, and Mitch snapped back to life. Madam Poley was saying, “Welcome to the court and please give my regards to Signor Luca Sandroni.”

“Thank you, Your Honor, and he sends his regards as well.”

“And Mr. Robb, always nice to see you.”

Jerry Robb stood, bent slightly at the waist and made an effort at a grin, but said nothing.

“You may be seated and feel free to remain so.” Both lawyers sat down.

Madam Poley said, “Now, a trial date has been scheduled for February of next year, almost a year away. I’ll ask each of you if you can be prepared for trial by then. Mr. McDeere.”

Mitch stayed in his chair and began by saying yes, of course, the plaintiff would be ready. The plaintiff had filed the complaint and it was always incumbent upon the plaintiff to push hard for a trial. A plaintiff rarely backed away from a trial date. Regardless of how much work was yet to be done, Mitch was confident he was on schedule. His client wanted a trial sooner than February, but that issue would be raised another day.

Madam Poley was curious about discovery and asked how it was going. Mitch thought it should be wrapped up in ninety days. There were more depositions to take, more documents to haggle over, more experts to pin down, but ninety days should be enough.

Mr. Robb?

He wasn’t much of an actor and did a lame job of pretending to be surprised that counsel opposite would be so optimistic. There were at least six hard months of discovery left, maybe more, and a trial in less than a year was simply not possible. Using the standard defense playbook, Robb checked off a handful of reasons why much more time was needed. After rambling on for too long, he finished with “And I can only imagine how much more complicated our issues will become in light of recent events in Libya.”

As if waiting for an opening, Madam Poley said, “Well, let’s talk about recent events. Mr. McDeere, do you foresee amending your complaint to ask for additional damages?”

The answer was yes but Mitch wasn’t about to say so in court. He feigned frustration and said, “Your Honor, please, the situation in Libya is fluid and can change dramatically on any day. I can’t possibly predict what will happen and what the legal consequences will be.”

“Of course not, and I understand your position. But, given what has already happened, it’s safe to say that the issues will only become more complicated, right?”

“Not at all, Your Honor.”

Robb saw an opening and jumped in with “Your Honor, please, you are indeed correct. Events beyond our control are muddying the water, so to speak. It’s only fair that we agree on an extension of time and not force ourselves to rush to an unworkable deadline.”

Mitch came back with “The deadline works, Your Honor, and I can promise the court that the plaintiff will be ready by February, if not sooner. I can’t speak for the defense.”

“Nor should you,” retorted Robb.

“Gentlemen,” Madam Poley said firmly before the debate dissolved into bickering. “Let’s see how things play out down there and discuss it later. Now I’d like to move on and take up some of the issues already raised in discovery. By my count, the plaintiff has listed eight potential experts who might testify at trial. Six for the defense. That’s a lot of testimony and I’m not sure we need that much. Mr. McDeere, I’d like a brief summary of each of your experts’ testimony. Nothing fancy. Off the cuff.”

Mitch nodded and smiled as if he would like nothing better. Roberto was quick off the mark and handed him some notes.

By the time he finished discussing his third expert, an expert in cement, he was certain all three judges were asleep.