Outside the courtroom, David spent time with three reporters, patiently answering their questions. When he was finished, he drove to the apartment of Soe and Lwin, where he met with his three Burmese clients and broke the news that they would soon receive checks for $40,000 each. The message wasn’t clear in translation, and Soe repeated himself several times to convince the men. They laughed and thought it was all a joke, but David refused to laugh along. When reality set in, two of the three began crying. The third was too shocked. David tried to make the point that they had earned the money with their sweat and labor, but this, too, did not translate well.
David was in no hurry. He had been away from his new daughter for all of six hours, a record, but she wasn’t going anywhere. He sipped tea from a tiny cup and chatted with his clients, glowing in his first major victory. He had taken a case that most lawyers would refuse. His clients had bravely stepped out from the shadows of illegal immigration to confront a wrong, and David had coaxed them into it. Three little guys a million miles from home, abused by a big company with plenty of big friends, nothing between them and more abuse except a young attorney and a court of law. Justice, with its flaws and ambiguities, had prevailed in a magnificent way.
Driving to the office, alone, David was filled with immense pride and a sense of accomplishment. He hoped to have many great wins in the future, but this one would always be special. Never, in five years with the big firm, had he ever felt so proud of being a lawyer.
It was late and the office was deserted. Wally was on vacation, checking in occasionally with the latest Krayoxx update. Oscar was AWOL for a few days, not even Rochelle knew where he’d gone. David checked his phone messages and mail, puttered around his desk for a few minutes, then got bored with it. As he locked the front door, a police car pulled to a stop in front of the building. Friends of Oscar’s, keeping an eye on the place. David waved at the two officers and headed home.
CHAPTER 32
Fresh from a long Labor Day weekend, Wally wrote to his client Iris Klopeck:
Dear Iris:
As you know, our trial is set for next month, October 17 to be exact, but this is not something to worry about. I spent most of last month negotiating with the attorneys at Varrick, and we have arrived at a very favorable settlement. The company is in the process of offering a sum in the neighborhood of $2 million for the wrongful death of your husband, Percy. This offer is not official, but we expect to receive it in writing within the next fifteen days. I know this is considerably more than the $1 million I promised, but, nonetheless, I need your approval to accept this offer when it is formally put on the table. I’m quite proud of our little boutique firm. We are like David battling Goliath, but right now we’re winning .
Please sign the attached form authorizing the settlement and mail it back.
Sincerely,
Wallis T. Figg
Attorney and Counselor-at-Law
He sent similar letters to the other seven clients in his wonderful little class of death cases, and when he finished, he kicked back in his swivel rocker, placed his shoeless feet on his desk, and once again contemplated the money. His dreams were interrupted, though, when Rochelle buzzed in with a curt “That woman is on the phone. Please talk to her. She’s driving me crazy.”
“Okay,” Wally snapped and stared at the phone. DeeAnna was not going away quietly. During the drive home from Lake Michigan, he had picked a fight with her and managed to escalate it to the level of some serious name-calling. In the heat of the battle, he had announced that they were through, and for two tranquil days thereafter they did not speak. Then she showed up at his apartment, drunk, and he relented and allowed her to sleep on the sofa. She was apologetic, even pitiful, and managed to offer some manner of sexual adventure every five minutes. Wally had declined, so far. Now she was calling at all hours and had even appeared at the office several times. But Wally was determined. It had become clear to him that his Krayoxx money wouldn’t last three months with DeeAnna in the picture.
He picked up the phone and offered a brusque “Hello.” She was already crying.
T he windy, gloomy Monday would long be remembered at Zell amp; Potter as the Labor Day Massacre. No holiday was being observed-they were professionals, not laborers, not that it mattered. Holidays were often ignored, as were weekends. The building was open early, and by 8:00 a.m. the halls were buzzing with lawyers eagerly pursuing a variety of defective drugs and the companies that made them.
Occasionally, though, a pursuit yielded nothing. A chase went nowhere. A well was dry.
The first blow landed at 9:00 a.m., when Dr. Julian Smitzer, the firm’s director of medical research, insisted on seeing Jerry Alisandros, who really didn’t have the time but couldn’t say no, especially when the matter was described by his secretary as “urgent.”
Dr. Smitzer had completed an illustrious career as a cardiologist and researcher at Mayo Clinic in Rochester, Minnesota, and with an ailing wife headed for the sunshine of south Florida. After a few months, he was bored. By chance he met Jerry Alisandros. One meeting led to another, and for the past five years Dr. Smitzer had supervised the law firm’s medical research, at an annual salary of $1 million. It was a natural fit because he had spent most of his career writing about the evils of Big Pharma.
In a law firm full of hyperaggressive lawyers, Dr. Smitzer was a revered figure. No one questioned his research or his opinions, and his work was far more valuable than what he was paid.
“We have a problem with Krayoxx,” he said not long after he’d taken a seat in Jerry’s grand office.
After a deep, painful breath, Jerry said, “I’m listening.”
“We’ve spent the past six months analyzing the McFadden research, and I am now of the opinion that it is flawed. There is no credible statistical evidence that the consumers of the drug have a higher risk of stroke and heart attack. Frankly, McFadden fudged his results. He’s an excellent doctor and researcher, but he obviously became convinced the drug was dangerous, then tweaked his findings to fit his conclusions. The people who take this drug have many other problems-obesity, diabetes, hypertension, atherosclerosis, to name a few. Many are in terrible health, and elevated cholesterol can be expected. Typically, they take a handful of pills several times a day, Krayoxx being just one, and so far it has been impossible to determine the effects of the combinations of all these drugs. Statistically, there might, and I emphasize that word, be a slight increased chance for a heart attack or stroke by Krayoxx users, but then again there may not be. McFadden studied three thousand subjects over a two- year period-a small pool in my opinion-and found only a 9 percent higher chance of stroke and heart attack.”
“I’ve read the report, Julian, many times,” Jerry said, interrupting. “I practically memorized it before we jumped into this litigation.”
“You jumped in too fast, Jerry. There’s nothing wrong with this drug. I’ve spoken with McFadden at length. You know how heavily he was criticized when the report came out. He’s taken the heat, and now he’s backing off the drug.”
“What?”
“Yes. McFadden admitted to me last week that he should have included more subjects. He’s also concerned with the fact that he did not spend the time studying the effects of the combinations of multiple drugs. He is planning to reverse himself and try to salvage his reputation.”
Jerry was pinching the bridge of his nose as if he might crush it. “No, no, no,” he kept mumbling.
Smitzer pressed on. “Yes, yes, and his repair work will be forthcoming.”
“When?”
“Roughly ninety days. And it gets worse. We’ve studied, thoroughly, the effects of the drug on the aortic valve. As you know, the Palo Alto study seemed to link the leakage in the valve to a deterioration caused by the drug. This now looks doubtful, highly so.”
“Why are you telling me this now, Julian?”
“Because the research takes time, and we are just now learning a few things.”
“What does Dr. Bannister say?”
“Well, for starters, he says he’s not willing to testify.”
Jerry rubbed his temples and stood, glaring at his friend. He walked to a window and looked out, at nothing. Since Dr. Smitzer was on the firm’s payroll, he was precluded from testifying in any Zell amp; Potter litigation,
