The Justice Game

22

One week later

Robert Sherwood wanted to wring Andrew Lassiter’s scrawny little chicken neck but instead gave himself twenty-four hours to calm down. The drug patent verdict was the second time in three months that Justice Inc. had called it wrong. Sherwood’s clients were lighting up the phone lines. His efforts to calm them met with limited success. Felix McDermont, Sherwood’s largest and most unpredictable client, was beside himself.

“Take me off your list,” he told Sherwood. “I can flip a coin and get the same results.”

“Don’t do anything precipitous. We’re still batting over 90 percent.”

“Being forty million short based on your recommendation was precipitous,” McDermont replied. “Ending our relationship is not.”

After the phone call, Sherwood had begun polling his board members. When he had garnered the votes, he’d arranged a meeting with Andrew Lassiter for this morning.

The timing was lousy, but what options did he have? His entire life, Sherwood had made it a habit to deal with problems as soon as they reared their ugly heads. Problems only got worse with time, never better. Besides, if he waited until January, Lassiter might catch wind of the plan. He would lobby the board members, and they might soften once the heat from the patent verdict dissipated.

Sherwood had the votes now. There was no guarantee he would have them in January. He couldn’t change the fact that Christmas was only one week away. No doubt he would become legendary for this, the comparisons to Scrooge almost too easy.

But he had no choice. Lassiter could no longer be trusted.

“He’s here,” Olivia said.

Sherwood blew out a huge breath. If he listened carefully, he could hear the songs of the season echoing up from the street. The lobby of Justice Inc. was decorated with a large tree and the politically correct amount of white Christmas lights. The two failed predictions had cost the firm’s clients a lot of money, but the firm itself had been immensely profitable this year. Sherwood had just signed some hefty bonus checks.

Now this.

Olivia showed Lassiter into the office and closed the door. The two men shook hands. Lassiter was hunch-shouldered and red-eyed, wearing a ratty navy blue sweater and jeans, his laptop tucked under his arm. Sherwood had seldom seen Lassiter without the laptop. Lassiter’s hair looked like he had just rolled out of bed, and he blinked a couple of times behind his thick glasses. Why are the brilliant ones always so socially inept?

The two men had initially made a formidable team. Lassiter had developed the software and micromarketing formulas to predict jury verdicts, while Sherwood had worked the venture capitalists for financing and developed the hedge fund clients who paid so handsomely for Justice Inc.’s service.

As the company grew, Sherwood became the face man for interacting with board members, investors, and clients. Lassiter obsessively focused on the study of the human mind, constantly refining the formulas and models for predicting jury behavior.

But now he had lost his touch. And Sherwood was the one who got stuck cleaning up the mess when Lassiter was wrong.

“Have a seat,” Sherwood said. He motioned to the navy blue chair. He knew the rumors about the chair and had never done anything to discourage them. It was a useful way to signal bad news without actually saying anything. People could brace themselves.

Lassiter’s eyes reflected confusion and hurt, like a loyal dog tossed out of the house when a new baby comes home.

He twitched once and stepped to the side. He took a seat in the other chair facing Sherwood’s desk, the brown leather chair.

Interesting.

Sherwood took a seat behind his desk.

Without prompting, Lassiter started in, the blinking on overdrive. “I watched the mock trial deliberations again last night and tweaked the program. Part of it was the limited voir dire that Judge Davis allowed in the real case. Plus, the defense lawyers alienated the jurors when they attacked every witness who took the stand. We can’t factor in for bad lawyering, especially when the reputation of that firm was so strong.”

Sherwood kept his tone businesslike. “But Andrew, all three shadow juries came back with a defense verdict. The real jury found patent infringement and $325 million in damages. Our clients don’t want excuses; they want results.”

“We have given them results, Robert. It’s science, not a guessing game. Let me show you a couple of things.”

Lassiter moved his glasses to the top of his head and opened his computer. Sherwood knew what was coming-detailed explanations of formulas and micromarketing techniques, a mishmash of algorithms and spending preferences and consumer psychology. There were others in Sherwood’s organization who could apply the models but didn’t have half the baggage.

“Put the computer away, Andrew. We’re beyond that point.”

Lassiter looked up at Sherwood with alarm bordering on panic. “What do you mean?”

Sherwood leaned forward. He hated doing this, but Lassiter’s reaction was confirming his decision. “The company needs to move on without you, Andrew. Our clients are losing confidence in us. These last few months have been tough. The board agrees that it’s time for change.”

Sherwood paused so the words could sink in. It was clear he had stunned Lassiter. The man stared into space for a moment and then gingerly placed his computer on the floor, as if continuing to hold its weight was more than he could bear.

“I’m sorry,” Sherwood said. “I know this is terrible timing, but I’ve gone to bat for a good severance package.”

Lassiter started to speak but couldn’t. He looked like he might break down at any second. “You had a board meeting already?” he finally managed.

“I’ve spoken to every member.”

For the next several minutes, Sherwood explained the details of the proposed severance deal. The payout was $2.5 million. In addition, Lassiter would keep his 15-percent stake in the company and could cash in if the company went public. In return, Justice Inc. needed a signed release and confidentiality agreement.

By the time Sherwood finished, Andrew Lassiter had regained some of his composure. The glazed-over look had faded. He put on his glasses, picked up his computer, and stood. He cleared his throat. Once. Twice. “You can’t do this,” he said. “I designed virtually every program we use.”

“Those are all works for hire.” Sherwood’s voice was more emphatic now. He stood as well. “You know that, Andrew. This is the best way.”

Lassiter was trembling but had his jaw set. “I’m not your employee, Robert. We’re partners. We started this company together.”

“You don’t want this fight, Andrew.”

“I’m going to see a lawyer.”

Sherwood sighed and moved out from behind his desk. He put a hand on the outside of Lassiter’s arm. Lassiter stared at him, through him. “We’ve had a good run, Andrew. And I hope we can still be friends. But I’ve got a fiduciary duty to our shareholders and the board, not to mention the clients.” He gave Lassiter a squeeze on the arm. “I could have had our HR department do this, but I felt like I owed it to you to do this myself. I really am sorry.”

Lassiter stared for an awkward few seconds, saying nothing. He blinked, took a sideways step, and headed toward the door.

“Wait a second,” Sherwood said. “I need the computer.”

Lassiter looked down at his laptop and back at Sherwood, his mouth open in disbelief. Sherwood held out his hand. “I need it now.”

Lassiter cradled it like a football. His eyes took on a wild look, as if he might explode at any second.

“There are folks in your office packing all your personal stuff as we speak,” Sherwood said. He kept his voice steady, like he was talking a person down from a ledge. “Rafael is waiting right outside to escort you out of the building. I need your computer and keys. Don’t make it any harder than it already is, Andrew. You know our policies.”

Lassiter hesitated for another few seconds, his face twisted in pain, before he handed the computer to Sherwood. He reached in his pocket and retrieved a key ring. With trembling hands, he removed his office keys.

He looked so pathetic. Tears welled in his eyes. It was as if Sherwood had just ordered him to the electric chair rather than offering him a multi-million-dollar severance package.

“Are you going to be all right?” Sherwood asked.

Lassiter stared at him for a moment, as if he couldn’t believe that Sherwood had the audacity to ask such a question.

“This isn’t right,” Lassiter said. There was no throat-clearing this time. “It’s just not right.” He turned, as if in a trance, and opened the office door.

Rafael Johansen was waiting outside.

After Lassiter left, Robert Sherwood sat down at his desk and lit up a cigar. He knew that Lassiter would review the offer with a lawyer and see the light. Sherwood probably should have handled this the way other CEOs would have-let the HR guys do it. But that had never been Robert Sherwood’s style.

He took a long draw on the cigar, calming his frazzled nerves. Andrew Lassiter was a good man. Off-the-charts brilliant. Justice Inc. would never have made it without him. But Sherwood had his fiduciary duties, and he couldn’t let friendships interfere.

Sometimes he hated his job.