He typed the motion himself, and when it was finished, he stared at it for a long time on his desktop. Finally, with his door locked and his shoes off, Wally punched the Send button and said farewell to his fortune.
He needed a drink. He needed oblivion. Alone, broker than ever, his dreams dashed, his pile of debts higher, Wally finally cracked and started crying.
CHAPTER 35
Not so fast, said Ms. Karros. Her prompt and sharply worded response to what Wally thought was a routine motion to dismiss was startling. She began by declaring that her client insisted upon a trial. She went into great detail describing the torrent of bad press Varrick Labs had endured for over a year—much of it created and fanned by the plaintiffs’ bar—and she attached to her motion a binder three inches thick and filled with press clippings from around the country. Every story was driven by some loudmouthed lawyer (including Wally) flaying Varrick over Krayoxx and screaming for millions. It was now grossly unfair to allow these same lawyers to cut and run without a word of apology to the company.
Her client really didn’t want an apology; it wanted justice. It demanded a fair trial before a jury. Varrick Labs didn’t start this fight, but it certainly planned to finish it.
Along with her response she included her own motion, one that had never been seen around the offices of Finley & Figg. Its title—Rule 11 Motion for Sanctions—was frightening; its language was enough to send Wally back to rehab, David back to Rogan Rothberg, and Oscar into an early, unfunded retirement. Ms. Karros argued, quite persuasively, that if the court granted the plaintiff’s motion to dismiss the case, then the filing of the case was purely frivolous in the first place. The fact that the plaintiff now wanted to dismiss was a clear sign the case had no merit and should never have been filed. However, it was filed, some nine months earlier, and the defendant, Varrick, had no alternative but to vigorously defend itself. Therefore, under the sanctions provision of Rule 11 of the Federal Rules of Civil Procedure, the defendant was entitled to be reimbursed for the costs of fighting back.
So far, and Ms. Karros was blunt about the fact that the meter was still running at full throttle, Varrick Labs had spent approximately $18 million defending itself, with at least half of that attributable to the Klopeck case. A huge sum no doubt, but she was quick to point out that the plaintiff had demanded $100 million when the lawsuit was filed. And given the nature of mass tort litigation, with all the elements of a stampede, it was, and still is, imperative that Varrick Labs successfully defend the first trial at all costs. The law does not require a party to select the cheapest law firm or look for a bargain. With so much at stake, Varrick Labs wisely chose a law firm with a long history of success in the courtroom.
She went on for pages giving details of other frivolous cases in which federal judges had thrown the book at the less than scrupulous lawyers who filed all this junk, including two from the sacred courtroom of the Honorable Harry L. Seawright.
Rule 11 provides that sanctions, if granted by the court, are to be borne equally by the lawyers and their client.
“Hey, Iris, guess what? You owe half of $9 million,” David mumbled to himself, hoping to find a bit of humor in another depressing day. He read it first, and by the time he finished, he was sweating around the neck. Nadine Karros and her small army at Rogan Rothberg had cranked it out in less than forty-eight hours, and David could visualize the young grunts pulling all-nighters and sleeping at their desks.
When Wally read it, he quietly left the office and was not seen for the rest of the day. When Oscar read it, he shuffled to a small sofa in his locked office, eased off his shoes, and stretched out, his eyes covered with an arm. After a few minutes, he not only appeared to be dead; he was actually praying for the end.
———
Bart Shaw was a lawyer who specialized in suing other lawyers for malpractice. This little niche in the crowded market had earned him the reputation, among the bar, as a pariah. He had few friends in the profession, but he had always considered that to be a good thing. He was smart, talented, and aggressive, just the man Varrick needed for a job that appeared to be a bit shady but was actually well within ethical guidelines.
After a series of phone conversations with Judy Beck, Nick Walker’s cohort in the legal department at Varrick, Shaw agreed to the terms of a confidential representation. His retainer was $25,000 and his hourly rate was $600. Any fees earned from the potential malpractice cases would be kept by Shaw.
His first call was to Iris Klopeck, who, with a month to go before trial, was drifting in and out of a state that vaguely resembled emotional stability. She wanted no part of a conversation with another lawyer, a stranger, but did admit she wished she had never met that other one. After she abruptly hung up, Shaw waited an hour and tried again. After a cautious “Hello,” Shaw plunged in.
“Are you aware that your attorney is trying to dismiss your case?” he asked. When she couldn’t respond immediately, he continued. “Ms. Klopeck, my name is Bart Shaw. I’m a lawyer and I represent people who get screwed by their own lawyers. Legal malpractice. It’s all I do, and your lawyer, Wally Figg, is trying to weasel out of your case. I think you may have a lawsuit against him. He has malpractice insurance coverage and you might be entitled to recover some money.”
“I’ve heard that somewhere before,” she said softly.
It was Shaw’s game, and he talked nonstop for the next ten minutes. He described the motion to dismiss and Wally’s efforts to unload not just her case but seven others as well. When she finally spoke, she said, “But he promised me a million dollars.”
“He promised?”
“Oh yes.”
“That’s highly unethical, but then I doubt if Mr. Figg worries too much about ethics.”
“He’s pretty sleazy,” she observed.
“How, exactly, did he promise you a million dollars?”
“Right here at the kitchen table, first time I laid eyes on him. Then he put it in writing.”
“He what? You have it in writing?”
“Got a letter from Figg a week or so ago. Said they were about to agree on a $2 million settlement, which was a lot more than the $1 million he had promised. Got the letter right here. What happened to the settlement? What’s your name again?”
Shaw kept her on the phone for an hour, and both were exhausted when the conversation was over. Millie Marino was next, and, unmedicated, she grasped the issues much more quickly than poor Iris. She knew nothing about the collapse of the settlement plan, or the dismissal, nor had she spoken with Wally in several weeks. As with Iris, Shaw convinced her to hold off contacting Wally right away. It was more important for Shaw to do so, at the right moment. Millie was thoroughly bewildered by the conversation and the turn of events and said she needed some time to gather her thoughts.
Adam Grand needed no such time. He began cursing Wally immediately. How could the little worm try to dismiss the case without telling him? Last he heard they were about to settle for $2 million. Hell yes, Grand was ready to go after Figg. “How much malpractice insurance coverage does he have?” he asked.
“The standard policy is $5 million, but there are many variations,” Shaw explained. “We’ll know soon enough.”
The fifth firm meeting took place after dark on a Thursday night, and Rochelle skipped it. She could not handle more bad news, and there was nothing she could do to help the miserable situation.