THE OFFICE DRESS CODE had rapidly evolved into an anything-goes style. The tone was set by the boss who leaned toward jeans and expensive T-shirts, with a sports coat nearby in case he went to lunch. He had designer suits for meetings and court appearances, but for the moment both of those were rare events since the firm had no clients and no cases. Everyone had upgraded their wardrobes, much to his satisfaction.
They met late Monday morning in the conference room— Paulette, Rodney, and a rather rough-looking Jonah. Though she had acquired considerable clout1 in the short history of the firm, Miss Glick was still just a secretary/receptionist.
"Folks, we have work to do," Clay began the meeting. He introduced them to Dyloft, and relying on Pace's concise2 summaries, gave a description and history of the drug. From memory, he gave the quick and dirty review of Ackerman Labs—sales, profits, cash, competitors, other legal problems. Then the good stuff—the disastrous3 side effects of Dyloft, the bladder tumors, and the company's knowledge of its problems.
"As of today, no lawsuit4 has been filed. But we're about to change that. On July the second, we start the war by filing a class action here in D.C. on behalf of all patients harmed by the drug. It will create chaos6, and we'll be right in the middle of it."
"Do we have any of these clients?" Paulette asked.
"Not yet. But we have names and addresses. We start signing them up today. We'll develop a plan for gathering7 clients, then you and Rodney will be in charge of implementing8 it." Though he had reservations about television advertising9, he had convinced himself flying home from New Orleans that there was no viable10 alternative. Once he filed suit and exposed the drug, those vultures he'd just met in the Circle of Barristers would swarm11 to find the clients. The only effective way to quickly reach large numbers of Dyloft patients was by television ads.
He explained this to his firm and said, "It'll cost at least two million bucks12."
"This firm has two million bucks?" Jonah blurted13, saying what everyone else was thinking.
"It does. We start working on the ads today."
"You're not doing the acting15, are you, boss?" Jonah asked, almost pleading. "Please." Like all cities, D.C. had been flooded with early-morning and late-night commercials pleading with the injured to call lawyer so-and-so who was ready to kick ass5 and charged nothing for the initial consultation16. Often the lawyers themselves appeared in the ads, usually with embarrassing results.
Paulette also had a frightened look and was slightly shaking her head no.
"Of course not. It'll be done by professionals."
"How many clients are we looking at?" Rodney asked.
"Thousands. It's hard to say."
Rodney pointed17 at each of them, slowly counting to four. "According to my numbers," he said, "there are four of us."
"We're adding more. Jonah is in charge of expansion. We'll lease some space out in the suburbs and fill it with paralegals. They'll work the phones and organize the files."
"Where does one find paralegals?" Jonah asked.
"In the employment sections of the bar journals. Start working on the ads. And you've got a meeting this afternoon with a real estate agent out in Manassas. We'll need about five thousand square feet, nothing fancy, but plenty of wiring for phones and a complete computer system, which, as we know, is your specialty18. Lease it, wire it, staff it, then organize it. The sooner the better."
"Yes sir."
"How much is a Dyloft case worth?" Paulette asked.
"As much as Ackerman Labs will pay. It could range from as little as ten thousand to as much as fifty, depending on several factors, not the least of which is the extent of the damage to the bladder."
Paulette was working with some numbers on a legal pad. "And how many cases might we get?"
"It's impossible to say."
"How about a guess?"
"I don't know. Several thousand."
"Okay, let's say that's three thousand cases. Three thousand cases times the minimum of ten thousand dollars comes to thirty million, right?" She said this
slowly, scribbling19 the entire time.
"That's right."
"And how much are the attorneys' fees?" she asked. The other three were watching Clay very closely.
"One third," he said.
"That's ten million in fees," she said slowly. "All to this firm?"
"Yes. And we're going to share the fees."
The word share echoed around the room for a few seconds. Jonah and Rodney glanced at Paulette, as if to say, "Go ahead, finish it off."
"Share, in what way?" she asked, very deliberately20.
"Ten percent to each of you."
"So in my hypothetical, my share of the fees would be one million?"
"That's correct."
"And, uh, same for me?" Rodney asked.
"Same for you. Same for Jonah. And, I must say, I think that's on the low side."
Low side or not, they absorbed the numbers in muted silence for what seemed like a very long time, each instinctively21 spending some of the money. For Rodney, it meant college for the kids. For Paulette, it meant a divorce from the Greek she'd seen once in the past year. For Jonah, it meant life on a sailboat.
"You're serious, aren't you, Clay?" Jonah asked.
"Dead serious. If we work our butts22 off for the next year, there's a good chance we'll have the option of an early retirement23."
"Who told you about this Dyloft?" Rodney asked.
"I can never answer that question, Rodney. Sorry. Just trust me." And Clay hoped at that moment that his blind trust in Max Pace was not foolish.
"I almost forgot about Paris," Paulette said.
"Don't. We'll be there next week."
Jonah jumped to his feet and grabbed his legal pad. "What's that Realtor's name?" he asked.
ON THE THIRD FLOOR of his town house, Clay had put together a small office, not that he planned to do much work there but he needed a place for his papers. The desk was an old butcher block he'd found in an antique store in Fredericksburg, just down the road. It consumed one wall and was long enough for a phone, a fax, and a laptop.
It was there that he made his first tentative entry into the world of mass tort solicitation24. He delayed the call until almost 9 P.M., an hour at which some folks went to bed, especially older ones and perhaps those afflicted25 with arthritis26. A stiff drink for courage, and he punched the numbers.
The phone was answered on the other end by a woman, perhaps Mrs. Ted14 Worley of Upper Marlboro, Maryland. Clay introduced himself pleasantly, identified himself as a lawyer, as if they called all the time and there was nothing to be alarmed about, and asked to speak to Mr. Worley.
"He's watching the Orioles," she said. Evidently Ted didn't take calls when the Orioles were playing.
"Yes—would it be possible to speak to him for a moment?"
"You say you're a lawyer?"
"Yes ma'am, from right here in D.C."
"What's he done now?"
"Oh, nothing, nothing at all. I'd like to talk to him about his arthritis." The first impulse to hang up and run came and went. Clay thanked God no one was watching or listening. Think of the money, he kept telling himself. Think of the fees.
"His arthritis? Thought you were a lawyer, not a doctor."
"Yes ma'am, I'm a lawyer, and I have reason to believe he's taking a dangerous drug for his arthritis. If you don't mind, I just need him for a second."
Voices in the background as she yelled something to Ted who yelled something back. Finally, he took the phone. "Who is this?" he demanded, and Clay quickly introduced himself.
"What's the score?" Clay asked.
"Three-one Red Sox in the fifth. Do I know you?" Mr. Worley was seventy years old.
"No sir. I'm an attorney here in D.C., and I specialize in lawsuits27 involving defective28 drugs. I sue drug companies all the time when they put out harmful products."
"Okay, what do you want?"
"Through our Internet sources we found your name as a potential user of an arthritis drug called Dyloft. Can you tell me if you use this drug?"
"Maybe I don't want to tell you what prescriptions29 I'm taking."
A perfectly30 valid31 point, one Clay thought he was ready for.
"Of course you don't have to, Mr. Worley. But the only way to determine if you're entitled to a settlement is to tell me if you're using the drug."
"That damned Internet," Mr. Worley mumbled32, then had a quick conversation with his wife who, evidently, was somewhere near the phone.
"What kind of settlement?" he asked.
"Let's talk about that in a minute. I need to know if you're using Dyloft. If not, then you're a lucky man."
"Well, uh, I guess it's not a secret, is it?"
"No sir." Of course it was a secret. Why should a person's medical history be anything but confidential33? The little fibs were necessary, Clay kept telling himself. Look at the big picture. Mr. Worley and thousands like him might never know they're using a bad product unless they were told. Ackerman Labs certainly hadn't come clean. That was Clay's job.
"Yeah, I take Dyloft."
"For how long?"
"Maybe a year. It works great."
"Any side effects?"
"Such as?"
"Blood in your urine. A burning sensation when you urinate." Clay was resigned to the fact that he would be discussing bladders and urine with many people in the months to come. There was simply no way around it.
The things they don't prepare you for in law school.
"No. Why?"
"We have some preliminary research that Ackerman Labs, the company that makes Dyloft, is trying to cover up. The drug has been found to cause bladder tumors in some of the folks who use it."
And so Mr. Ted Worley, who just moments earlier had been minding his own business and watching his beloved Orioles, would now spend the rest of that night and most of the next week worrying about tumors growing wild in his bladder. Clay felt rotten and wanted to apologize, but, again, he told himself that it had to be done. How else might Mr. Worley learn the truth? If the poor man indeed had the tumors, wouldn't he want to know about them?
Holding the phone with one hand and rubbing his side with the other, Mr. Worley said, "You know, come to think of it, I do remember a burning sensation a couple of days ago."
"What are you talking about?" Clay heard Mrs. Worley say in the background.
"If you don't mind," Mr. Worley said to Mrs. Worley.
Clay charged in before the bickering34 got out of hand. "My firm represents a lot of Dyloft users. I think you should consider getting tested."
"What kind of test?"
"It's a urinalysis. We have a doctor who can do it tomorrow. Won't cost you a dime35."
"What if he finds something wrong?"
"Then we can discuss your options. When the news of Dyloft comes out, in just a few days, there will be many lawsuits. My firm will be a leader in the attack on Ackerman Labs. I'd like to have you as a client."
"Maybe I should talk to my doctor."
"You can certainly do that, Mr. Worley. But he may have some liability too. He prescribed the drug. It might be best if you get an unbiased opinion."
"Hang on." Mr. Worley covered the receiver with his hand and had a contentious36 chat with his wife. When he returned he said, "I don't believe in suing doctors."
"Nor do I. I specialize in going after the big corporations that harm people."
"Should I stop taking the drug?"
"Let's do the test first. Dyloft will likely be pulled off the market sometime this summer."
"Where do I do the test?"
"The doctor is in Chevy Chase. Can you go tomorrow?"
"Yeah, sure, why not? Seems silly to wait, doesn't it?"
"Yes, it does." Clay gave him the name and address of a doctor Max Pace had located. The $80 exam would cost Clay $300 a pop, but it was simply the price of doing business.
When the details were finished, Clay apologized for the intrusion, thanked him for his time, and left him to suffer while he watched the rest of the game. Only when he hung up did Clay feel the beads37 of moisture just above his eyebrows38. Soliciting39 cases by phone? What kind of lawyer had he become?
A rich one, he kept telling himself.
This would require thick skin, something Clay did not possess and was not certain he could develop.
TWO DAYS LATER, CLAY pulled into the Worleys' driveway in Upper Marlboro and met them at the front door. The urinalysis, which included a cytological exam, revealed abnormal cells in the urine, a clear sign, according to Max Pace and his extensive and ill-gotten medical research, that there were tumors in the bladder. Mr. Worley had been referred to a urologist whom he would see the following week. The examination and removal of the tumors would be by cystoscopic surgery, running a tiny scope and a knife in a tube through the penis into the bladder, and while this was purported40 to be fairly routine, Mr. Worley saw nothing ordinary about it. He was worried sick. Mrs. Worley said he hadn't slept the last two nights, nor had she.
As much as he wanted to, Clay could not tell them that the tumors were probably benign41. Better to let the doctors do that after the surgery.
Over instant coffee with powdered creamer, Clay explained the contract for his services and answered their questions about the litigation. When Ted Worley signed at the bottom, he became the first Dyloft plaintiff in the country.
And for a while it seemed as if he might be the only one. Working the phones nonstop, Clay succeeded in convincing eleven people to show up for the urinalysis. All eleven tested negative. "Keep pushing," Max Pace urged. About a third of the people either hung up or refused to believe Clay was serious about what he was saying.
He, Paulette, and Rodney divided their lists between black and white prospective42 clients. Evidently blacks were not as suspicious as whites because they were easier to persuade to go see the doctor. Or perhaps they enjoyed the medical attention. Or maybe, as Paulette suggested more than once, she had the better gift of gab43.
By the end of the week, Clay had signed up three clients who tested positive for abnormal cells. Rodney and Paulette, working as a team, had seven more under contract.
The Dyloft class action was ready for war.
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clout
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| n.用手猛击；权力，影响力 | |
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concise
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| adj.简洁的，简明的 | |
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disastrous
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| adj.灾难性的，造成灾害的；极坏的，很糟的 | |
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lawsuit
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| n.诉讼，控诉 | |
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ass
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| n.驴；傻瓜，蠢笨的人 | |
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chaos
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| n.混乱，无秩序 | |
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gathering
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| n.集会，聚会，聚集 | |
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implementing
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| v.实现( implement的现在分词 )；执行；贯彻；使生效 | |
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advertising
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| n.广告业；广告活动 a.广告的；广告业务的 | |
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viable
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| adj.可行的，切实可行的，能活下去的 | |
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swarm
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| n.(昆虫)等一大群；vi.成群飞舞；蜂拥而入 | |
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bucks
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| n.雄鹿( buck的名词复数 )；钱；（英国十九世纪初的）花花公子；（用于某些表达方式）责任v.（马等）猛然弓背跃起( buck的第三人称单数 )；抵制；猛然震荡；马等尥起后蹄跳跃 | |
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blurted
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| v.突然说出，脱口而出( blurt的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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ted
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| vt.翻晒，撒，撒开 | |
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acting
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| n.演戏，行为，假装；adj.代理的，临时的，演出用的 | |
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consultation
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| n.咨询；商量；商议；会议 | |
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pointed
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| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
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specialty
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| n.(speciality)特性，特质；专业，专长 | |
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scribbling
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| n.乱涂[写]胡[乱]写的文章[作品]v.潦草的书写( scribble的现在分词 )；乱画；草草地写；匆匆记下 | |
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deliberately
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| adv.审慎地；蓄意地；故意地 | |
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instinctively
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| adv.本能地 | |
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butts
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| 笑柄( butt的名词复数 )； （武器或工具的）粗大的一端； 屁股； 烟蒂 | |
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retirement
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| n.退休，退职 | |
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solicitation
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| n.诱惑；揽货；恳切地要求；游说 | |
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afflicted
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| 使受痛苦，折磨( afflict的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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arthritis
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| n.关节炎 | |
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lawsuits
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| n.诉讼( lawsuit的名词复数 ) | |
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defective
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| adj.有毛病的，有问题的，有瑕疵的 | |
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prescriptions
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| 药( prescription的名词复数 )； 处方； 开处方； 计划 | |
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perfectly
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| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
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valid
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| adj.有确实根据的；有效的；正当的，合法的 | |
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mumbled
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| 含糊地说某事，叽咕，咕哝( mumble的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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confidential
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| adj.秘（机）密的，表示信任的，担任机密工作的 | |
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bickering
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| v.争吵( bicker的现在分词 )；口角；（水等）作潺潺声；闪烁 | |
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dime
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| n.（指美国、加拿大的钱币）一角 | |
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contentious
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| adj.好辩的，善争吵的 | |
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beads
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| n.（空心）小珠子( bead的名词复数 )；水珠；珠子项链 | |
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eyebrows
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| 眉毛( eyebrow的名词复数 ) | |
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soliciting
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| v.恳求( solicit的现在分词 )；（指娼妇）拉客；索求；征求 | |
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purported
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| adj.传说的，谣传的v.声称是…，（装得）像是…的样子( purport的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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benign
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| adj.善良的，慈祥的；良性的，无危险的 | |
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prospective
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| adj.预期的，未来的，前瞻性的 | |
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gab
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| v.空谈，唠叨，瞎扯；n.饶舌，多嘴，爱说话 | |
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