The Justice Game

20

The inauspicious size of the building was only the first of many surprises. Melissa Davids met Jason in the lobby and gave him a personal tour of the manufacturing facility.

She was nothing like the fierce advocate he had seen on television. She knew most of the line workers by name and asked questions about their families’ Christmas plans. Even though Davids was a small and nondescript woman, her personality dominated everyone in her presence. She had this thing for calling people by their last name and somehow made that feel more informal and intimate than if she had used their first name or a nickname. The place was neat and businesslike, the kind of atmosphere you might expect to find at any top-notch manufacturing plant.

After the tour, Davids took Jason back to her office, located at the front corner of the building. It was about half the square footage of Jason’s office. Pictures of Melissa’s husband-an accountant, according to Jason’s research-and children adorned the walls. She picked up the phone and asked Case McAllister to join them.

A few minutes later, Jason’s driver came into the office, a sly smile on his face. It took a second for Jason to piece it together. Stunned, he casually shook the man’s hand.

“We’ve met,” Case said. “Had a good ride from the airport together.”

Jason felt like an idiot for failing to get the man’s name. It was probably some kind of litmus test, seeing how a lawyer would treat a lowly driver for the company. Quickly, Jason scrolled through his conversation with Case, trying to remember if he’d said anything stupid.

“Has Melissa told you the meeting rules yet?” Case asked.

Meeting rules? “No.”

“She hates meetings,” Case said. “Believes that committees and meetings are the places good ideas go to die. Any meeting at MD Firearms involving Melissa is a stand-up meeting. If we can’t finish it in a half hour, we do it off-line.”

“Good rules,” Jason said.

“How’d he do on the ride?” Davids asked.

Case checked a notepad he was holding. “A little more liberal than most of our outside lawyers. Not much of a hunter or gun aficionado. Doesn’t detest frivolous lawsuits with quite the same passion you and I might.”

Jason felt himself going a little red and started wondering how he might explain this to Robert Sherwood. I lost the client before I even got to their facility.

“Any good points?” Davids asked.

“A couple. He drives a Ford F-150 truck, and his dad’s a cop.” This elicited an approving nod from Davids. “He’s also a Georgia Bulldog fan. Graduated from UGA Law.”

“Salvageable,” Davids said.

“Barely,” Case said.

The whole exchange felt surreal, like being a draft pick and watching the front office evaluate you. They were talking past Jason, as if he didn’t exist.

But then Case McAllister addressed him. “We’ve interviewed two other prospective lawyers who both assured us we could get summary judgment based on the Protection of Lawful Commerce in Arms Act. Said they could make the case go away in less than six months. Have you looked at that issue?”

The question threw Jason even more off stride, not because he hadn’t looked at the Act but because he hadn’t known he was in a beauty contest with other law firms. He really wanted this case, and Robert Sherwood had made it sound like it was Jason’s just for the asking. But he couldn’t fudge his legal advice just to land a client.

“The way I read the complaint, it falls within an exception to the Act,” Jason said. “And if we decide to leave the case in state court, which I recommend based on the conservative nature of Virginia Beach juries, it will be almost impossible to get summary judgment. Virginia is the only state that doesn’t allow the use of depositions for a summary judgment motion. If we don’t get a judgment on the initial pleadings, which is unlikely based on my review of the complaint, then we’re going to trial.”

Jason paused for a second, trying to read how this blunt honesty was impacting his potential clients. “With respect, Mr. McAllister, you need a good trial lawyer, not somebody who’s going to waste his time filing unwinnable paper motions.”

That assessment was followed by a brief silence, and Jason still couldn’t read the faces of his hosts. Case McAllister made a check mark on his legal pad.

“I like him,” Davids said. “It’s the first honest piece of advice we’ve received on this case. Plus, Robert Sherwood assures me he’s an excellent trial lawyer.”

McAllister nodded his assent, and Jason felt his neck muscles relax. He took note of how Davids had made a point to insert Sherwood’s name into the conversation.

Melissa Davids took a half step forward and looked Jason dead in the eye, as if she was somehow measuring the strength of his character.

“They’re going to demonize us,” she said. “Make you feel like you’re literally the devil’s advocate. You’re going to have to look at that jury and tell them a poor grieving widower doesn’t deserve a dime. You’re going to have to learn about guns and the gun culture. You’re going to have to defend the Second Amendment like it’s your firstborn child. Can you do all that?”

She said it with the seriousness of wedding vows. Man, these folks are intense.

“Yes,” Jason said, setting his own jaw to show that two could play this game. “But you’re going to have to let me call the shots at trial. And let me coach you as a witness. And go along with some wild gambles I might cook up along the way. And let me-and only me-select the jury. And one more thing-you’re going to have to pay my bills on time and send in a seventy-five-thousand-dollar retainer.” He hesitated, trying to make sure he hadn’t forgotten anything. “Can you do all that?”

“I really like this guy,” Davids said to Case McAllister.