Later, in a phone call to Reuben Massey, Nicholas Walker would report, “She’s very attractive, Reuben, long dark hair, strong chin and teeth, beautiful hazel eyes that are so warm and inviting you think this is the woman I want to take home to meet Momma. A very pleasant personality, quick with a nice smile. A deep, rich voice like one you’d expect from an opera singer. Easy to see why jurors are so taken with her. But she’s tough, no doubt about that, Reuben. She takes charge and gives orders, and you get the impression that those around her are fiercely loyal. I’d hate to face this woman in court, Reuben.”
“So, she’s the one?” Reuben asked.
“No question. I found myself looking forward to the trial, just to watch her in action.”
“Legs?”
“Oh yes. The package. Slender, dressed like something out of a magazine. You should meet her as soon as possible.”
It was her turf, so Ms. Karros quickly assumed control of the meeting. She nodded to Hotchkin and said, “Mr. Hotchkin and I presented your proposal to our Fee Committee. My rate will be $1,000 an hour out of court, $2,000 in court, with an initial retainer of $5 million, nonrefundable of course.”
Nicholas Walker had been negotiating fees with elite lawyers for two decades, and he was shockproof. “And how much for the other partners?” he asked calmly, as if his company could handle anything she threw at them, which in fact it could.
“Eight hundred an hour. Five hundred for associates,” she replied.
“Agreed,” he said. Everyone in the room knew the cost of defense would run into the millions. In fact, Walker and his team had already pegged their initial estimate at $25 to 30 million. Peanuts, when you’re getting sued for billions.
With the air clear on what it would cost, they moved on to the next important matter. Nicholas Walker had the floor. “Our strategy is simple and it’s complicated,” he began. “Simple, in that we pick a case from the myriad of those filed against us, an individual case, not a class action, and we push hard for a trial. We want a trial. We are not afraid of a trial, because we believe in our drug. We believe, and we can prove, that the research being relied upon by the tort boys is deeply flawed. We are convinced that Krayoxx does what it is supposed to do, and it does not increase the risks of heart attack or stroke. We are certain of this, so certain that we want a jury, one right here in Chicago, to hear our evidence, and soon. We are confident the jury will believe us, and when the jury rejects the attack on Krayoxx, when the jury finds in our favor, the battlefield will change dramatically. Frankly, we think the tort bar will scatter like leaves in the wind. They’ll cave. It might take another trial, another victory, but I doubt it. In short, Ms. Karros, we hit them hard and fast with a jury trial, and when we win, they’ll go home.”
She listened without taking notes. When he finished, she said, “Indeed, that’s pretty simple, and not altogether original. Why Chicago?”
“The judge. Harry Seawright. We’ve researched every judge in every Krayoxx case filed so far, and we think Seawright is our man. He’s shown little patience for mass torts. He despises frivolous lawsuits and junk filings. He uses his Rocket Docket to ram cases through discovery and get them to trial. He refuses to allow cases to gather dust. His favorite nephew uses Krayoxx. And, most important, his close friend is former U.S. senator Paxson, who now has an office on, I believe, the eighty-third floor here at Rogan Rothberg.”
“Are you suggesting we could somehow influence a federal judge?” she asked, with her left eyebrow slightly arched.
“Of course not,” Walker said with a nasty grin.
“What’s the complicated part of your plan?”
“Deception. We create the impression that we intend to settle the Krayoxx cases. We’ve been down this road before, believe me, so we know quite a lot about mass settlements. We understand the greed of the tort bar, and it is enormous beyond imagination. Once they believe that billions are about to hit the table, the frenzy will get much worse. With a settlement looming, the preparation for a major trial will become less important. Why bother to prepare when the cases are about to settle? We—you—on the other hand, are working diligently to get ready for the trial. In our scheme, Judge Seawright will crack the whip, and the case will move along quickly. At the perfect moment, the settlement negotiations will collapse, the mass tort bar will be in chaos, and we’ll be staring at a trial date that Seawright will refuse to move.”
Nadine Karros was nodding, smiling, enjoying the scenario. “I’m sure you have a case in mind,” she said.
“Oh yes. There’s a local divorce lawyer named Wally Figg who filed the first Krayoxx case here in Chicago. Not much of a lawyer, three-man firm, nickel-and-dime stuff down on the Southwest Side. Almost zero trial experience, and absolutely none in the mass tort arena. Now he’s hooked up with a lawyer in Fort Lauderdale named Jerry Alisandros, a longtime nemesis whose goal in life is to sue Varrick at least once a year. Alisandros is a force.”
“Can he try a case?” Nadine asked, already thinking about the trial.
“His firm is Zell & Potter, and they have some competent trial lawyers, but they rarely go to trial. Their specialty is forcing companies to settle and raking in enormous fees. At this point, we have no idea who would show up here and actually handle the trial. They might bring in a local lawyer.”
To Walker’s left, Judy Beck cleared her throat and began, somewhat nervously, “Alisandros has already filed a motion to consolidate every Krayoxx case into an MDL, multi-district litigation, and—”
“We understand MDL,” Hotchkin broke in sharply.
“Of course. Alisandros has a favorite federal judge in southern Florida, and his MO is to create the MDL, get himself appointed to the plaintiff’s steering committee, then control the litigation. He, of course, receives extra compensation for being on the committee.”
Nick Walker took up the narrative. “Initially, we would resist all efforts to consolidate the cases. Our plan is to select one of Mr. Figg’s clients and convince Judge Seawright to assign it to his Rocket Docket.”
“What if the judge in Florida orders consolidation of all cases and wants them down there?” Hotchkin asked.
“Judge Seawright is a federal judge,” Walker said. “The case has been filed in his court. If he wants to try it here, no one, not even the Supreme Court, can order him to do otherwise.”
Nadine Karros was scanning a summary that had been passed around by the Varrick team. She said, “So, if I follow things, we select one of Mr. Figg’s dead clients, and we convince Judge Seawright to extract this case from the group. Then, assuming the judge goes along, we respond rather softly to the lawsuit, admit nothing, issue bland denials, take an easy approach to discovery because we don’t want to slow things down, take a few depositions, give them whatever documents they want, and sort of lead them down the primrose path until they wake up and realize they have a real trial on their hands. Meanwhile, you lull them into a false sense of security with the illusion of another jackpot.”
“That’s it,” Nick Walker said. “Exactly.”
They spent almost an hour discussing Mr. Figg’s dead clients—Chester Marino, Percy Klopeck, Wanda Grand, Frank Schmidt, and four others. As soon as the lawsuit was properly answered, Ms. Karros and her team would depose the legal representatives of the dead eight. Once they had the opportunity to observe and learn, they would make the decision about which one to isolate and push toward a trial.