Authors: Gene Grossman
“
How much are we talking about, Peter?”
“
Well, as a matter of practice, we always use first class on any trip over five hundred miles, so taking the air fare, hotel and miscellaneous expenses into consideration, including shipping the bodies back and funeral arrangements, I’d say that an extra ninety thousand should handle it.” He gives me the typical lawyer answer: he’ll check with his client and get back to me. We both know it was all baloney, but those are the dues his client will have to pay for a quick settlement, so that their hidden agenda, whatever it is, can stay hidden.
In addition to the possibility of getting some more money out of them, I hope that this delaying tactic will give me more time to locate any relatives of L. Martin. As it turns out, I may not need the time.
While preparing the documentation that the defense firm wants, I take a closer look at the death certificates. If what I’m looking at is correct, this will be one of the most amazing coincidences I’ve ever encountered. L. Martin Unger’s full name appears on his passport and on both his birth and death certificates: his first name is ‘Label.’
*****
Chapter
10
Label isn’t exactly a common name, so the question has to be asked: can this really be Stuart’s boat-owning uncle Label? Does this mean that Stuart will now inherit the boat of my dreams, the yacht that my ‘family’ is now living on? How can this be happening? I call Stuart. His answering machine picks up, but he must be monitoring the calls because as soon as he hears my voice he cuts in: “Peter, what a pleasant surprise. I’m glad you called. I wanted to tell you about a new weight-loss product I’ll be marketing. This one really works. All you…”
Rude as it is, I cut him off mid-sentence with only one question: “Stuart, please tell me your uncle Label’s last name.”
It’s true. L. Martin Unger is Stuart’s uncle, and Stuart has no idea what happened in Thailand, or that he might have a million dollars coming his way. This is the kind of information that’s better served in person. We make arrangements to meet at Lido Pizza on Victory Boulevard in Van Nuys. It’s right off the San Diego Freeway and not far from Stuart’s Valley apartment. They serve a delicious whole-wheat egg-free rigatoni there.
Taking one look at him waddling through the restaurant’s door makes me happy to hear that he’s now involved in a weight loss program. I insist that he have a couple of glasses of wine first, because I’ve got some unpleasant news to give him. I think I need the wine more than he does, because breaking news like this to people is not my specialty. We talk about his uncle and I finally get the nerve up to let him know about the fatal plane crash. He takes the news about it much better than I expected, and tells me that he was Label’s only living relative. After another few minutes of conversation he pops the question: “Pete, do you think anyone responsible should be made to pay for my uncle’s death? I mean, I’m not looking to get rich offa this or anything, but if it was someone’s fault, shouldn’t there be some penalty?”
Stuart doesn’t miss very much. I finish another mouthful of rigatoni and signal Nick the waiter for a side order of anchovies.
“
Stuart, I looked into the matter. We conducted an investigation in Thailand and found a defective airplane part that was traced to an American corporation. There’s a good possibility that a settlement can be made with them.” As a matter of practice, a good lawyer never blurts out any amount to a client, because invariably, the client will never be happy with it. No matter how much you tell them is on the table, they’ll always want more. Instead, you have to subtly and professionally lead them toward the right conclusion, so that they’re mentally prepared to accept a fair amount when it’s offered.
“
In wrongful death cases, people’s lives are often measured in terms of how old they are and how much they could have been expected to earn if their life was allowed to continue to a natural end. People called actuaries calculate morbid statistics like this, and every insurance company has them on staff. In your uncle Label’s case, he was already over seventy, and other than his monthly social security check and some minor legal work he performed for a mutual friend of ours, he was almost completely retired.”
“
So how much do you think they’ll offer? A hundred thousand?” I was pleased to hear that he didn’t have ‘billions’ in mind and think that now is the time to bring the conversation to the point where he’ll be amenable to what I can actually get for him.
“
Stuart, I think in addition to the condo in Thailand and the boat in the Marina, you should wind up with a settlement much more than that.” He bit eagerly.
“
Yeah, how much do you think? A half a mil?” “Well my friend, my goal is not to stop working on them until we can get them to part with at least three quarters of a million dollars.”
Stuart turns white. “Seven hundred fifty K? Are you serious? You think we can even get close to that?”
“
It couldn’t hurt to ask. They’re a wealthy corporation and if they did something wrong, they should pay for it.” I can tell from the wheels I hear spinning in his head that he’s already spending it.
“
What would your fee be?”
“
Well Stu, normally, a wrongful death contingency is in the neighborhood of forty percent, but in your case, I’d like to be a little more creative.” His face is a blank slate waiting for me to create a work of art. “If I can get them to make a check out to you for seven hundred fifty thousand dollars, I won’t take one cent of a fee out of it. I’ll hand it over to you as a favor from one friend to the other, in exchange for one dollar from you. But then, I’d like you to do me a favor: when your uncle’s estate is settled, I’d like to buy that boat of his for the sum of one dollar.”
Stuart’s no dummy. He’s seen that boat on several occasions and knows that it’s easily worth several hundred thousand dollars, but he also realizes that if not for me, he wouldn’t be getting any money at all, and that a legitimate fee could be close to four hundred thousand. It only takes him another few seconds before he sticks out his hand. We shake on it and order some spumoni to seal the deal.
--------------
Less than two months have passed by and a series of completely predictable events has taken place: we got Court approval for Suzi’s two million dollar settlement, and her check was sent. It will be deposited into an certificate of deposit, arranged by my Farmers Insurance Agent, Murray Uniman. I was named executor of her funds and she’ll be able to withdraw a reasonable amount of the interest each year for living expenses. The CD will roll over until she reaches the age of twenty-four. The court asked me to file a written fee request and I complied. The fee I asked for was one dollar. The court happily approved it, as well as my one-dollar annual fee request for handling her trust.
--------------
Stuart just arrived at the boat because I called and told him that the settlement check came in, but I never disclosed the final amount. “Pete, did they go for it? Did we get the whole seven hundred fifty K?” This is one of those rare times when practicing law is enjoyable.
“
Sit down, Stu, let’s talk about it.” His face drops. As much fun as it is to surprise him with a big amount, I don’t want to force him into a depression along the way. “Stu, we didn’t get that exact amount, but I’m sure you’ll be happy with what I was able to drag out of them.” I hand him the envelope. He looks down at it with the same feeling of trepidation that every high school graduate gets when receiving responses to college applications. I know the feeling too. Every law school graduate gets it when that State Bar letter arrives telling you whether or not you passed the Bar exam. Now it’s Stuart’s turn. He looks at me as he slowly opens the envelope and takes out the check. His eyes are closed as he holds it up to his face. Fortunately, I have an amyl nitrate ‘snapper’ handy from the boat’s first aid kit, so that if he faints we can wave it under his nose. He slowly opens his eyes and looks at the one-million-dollar amount on the check. Silence. Tears. A big hug for the lawyer.
After the celebration winds down, true to his word, Stuart pays me my one-dollar fee by cashier’s check and further follows through on our deal by signing an option that gives me the right to purchase the boat for one dollar any time during the next five years. I think it best not to hold title to it, just in case my wife liked the first boat so much that she decides to get another one. Even worse, word of the transfer might reach the Marina office and they look down upon ownership transfers that might affect slip occupancy. It’ll only be a matter of time before Myra hears through the court grapevine about me settling several million dollars worth of cases, and her new lawyer will no doubt be sending me a letter. I want the Grand Banks safe from the battle. The foreward stateroom door is ajar and Suzi has been watching the whole show. She doesn’t look too happy. I realize what her problem is: she’s probably thinking that the boat isn’t my fee, because the case belonged to the firm. And she’s the firm. I’m just a managing partner. To make her happy, I assign the option to purchase the Grand Banks over to the firm. She glares at me. A typical female: two million with no fee paid isn’t enough – she wants the boat too. The glare persists. I look right at her. “What?”
She walks over, takes Stuart’s one-dollar fee out of my hand, and then turns around and exits towards her stateroom. Before she turns completely, I catch a glimpse of a smile on that little cupie doll face of hers.
--------------
I’ve already learned not to question things I see going on that I don’t understand, because they’re usually being orchestrated by the small person who is running the business, the boat, and most of my life – all without talking to me. This time it’s the installation of a small antenna on the radar arch over the boat’s flybridge. The techie doing the work is Don Paige, one of our dock neighbors, and tells me the thing being installed is a new device for picking up broadband wireless Internet signals. He goes on to explain that a nearby boat owner set up a wireless local network, and that people within a thousand feet of his set-up who are line-of- sight with him can be part of his network by using a password that is assigned to us.
Some people are born with certain talents. If you’re having a problem installing your stereo set, VCR, DVD player, computer, modem, or any other electrical device, not to worry, help is at hand. All you have to do is go outside and look for any teen-aged male wearing a baseball cap on backwards. Offer him a Snickers bar and he’ll fix all your electrical hook-up problems. There’s no need to ask him in advance if he can handle your type of problem, because all male children born after 1990 have that knowledge. It’s a special technical gene embedded in their DNA genome. I have a feeling the little princess also has it.
Don is a nice guy who I’ve had some conversations with in the past. I bump into him on the dock and he lets me know how lucky I am “Hey Pete, that’s one heck of a little girl you’ve got there. She knows as much about my wireless network as I do. She talked me into letting your boat in on it. The doc’s got it too.” I can’t figure out how they were able to communicate. She certainly doesn’t speak to me. Maybe these techie people have some new language that I don’t speak. Technalese?
*****
Chapter
11
Beverly
Hills’ Wilshire Boulevard has more banks and law offices per mile than any other street in the world, and Los Angeles County’s premier deputy district attorney, my ex-wife, is now in the office of one of them. She’s huddling with her new attorney Daniel Vincent, a lawyer well known for his aggressive legal tactics. “Let me get this straight Mizz Scot, you claim that your ex-husband sold you a burnt-out hull for forty-thousand dollars?” He tries to keep a straight face. “And after promising you half of his law practice income for the next two years, he gets suspended and stops practicing law?” Acting the victim, she admits to the truth of both statements. “And in exchange for that burnt-out hull, you waived your right to any share of his future law practice earnings?” Silence. “Well, you seem to have arranged things in a nice order. Exactly what do you want me to do for you?” Now it’s her turn, and she comes to life.
“
First of all, he’s gotten his license back, due to the incompetence of my first attorney. Second, I hear that he got involved in some big wrongful death cases. I want you to take this agreement he’s holding me to, in which I waived my rights to a share of his income in exchange for that burnt out piece of crap boat of his, and I want you to shove it so far up his rear end that it hits his tonsils. I want to nail his ass to the wall for that burning boat stunt he pulled on me, that cost me the loss of a sweet deal. Any questions?”
He’s taken aback by her aggressive attitude. “Well, it seems that you’re quite serious about this matter. I’ll see what I can do.”
Vincent gets the point. He doesn’t like her very much, but that’s never been a requirement in the legal profession.
I remember something that happened many years ago when I was a law student clerking in a law firm. One of the attorneys I worked for gave me the transcript of a deposition to read. When I was finished, he asked me what I thought of the person being deposed. I candidly remarked: “he’s an asshole.”
To which my boss replied “yes, but he’s
our
asshole.” The moral of the story is that you can’t pick your relatives or your clients; you take ‘em as you find ‘em. This means that the games will now begin. Much like combat between wild animals, there’s a certain amount of circling and snarling that takes place before the fight actually begins. With lawyers, it’s more like a chess game. Each player makes his move with a carefully worded letter that contains the minimum amount of facts and the maximum amount of threats. I’ll get my first letter from him soon enough.