doing so, he had learned much about the company. Its research was always better than that of the plaintiffs. It hired spies and invested heavily in corporate espionage. Reuben Massey loved hardball and usually found a way to win the war, even after losing most of the battles.
Alone in his office, Jerry typed an entry into his private daily log: “Krayoxx is evaporating before my eyes. Just spoke with N. Walker who plans to be here next week to sign a deal. 80-20 chance he doesn’t show.”
I ris Klopeck shared Wally’s letter with several friends and family members, and the imminent arrival of $2 million was already causing problems. Clint, her deadbeat son, who routinely went days without offering her as much as a rude grunt or two, was suddenly showing all manner of affection. He was cleaning his room, washing dishes, running errands for his dear mother, and chattering away nonstop, his favorite topic being his desire for a new car. Iris’s brother, fresh from his second stint in prison for stealing motorcycles, was painting her house (with no charge for the labor) and dropping hints about his longtime dream of owning a used motorcycle business. He knew of one on the market for only $100,000. “A steal,” he said, at which her son whispered behind his back, “He should know a steal when he sees one.” Percy’s wretched sister Bertha was letting it be known that she was entitled to a chunk of the money because she was “blood.” Iris loathed the woman, as had Percy, and Iris had already reminded Bertha that she had not attended Percy’s funeral. Bertha was now claiming she had been hospitalized on that day. “Prove it,” Iris said, and so they bickered.
O n the day Adam Grand received his letter from Wally, he was hustling around the all-you-can-eat pizza house when his boss barked at him for no apparent reason. Adam, the assistant manager, returned the favor, and a nasty row ensued. When the shouting and cursing ended, Adam either quit or was fired, and for several minutes both men argued over the exact nature of Adam’s departure. Not that it mattered-he was gone. And that didn’t matter to Adam either, because he was about to be rich.
M illie Marino had the good sense to show her letter to no one. She read it several times before the words began to sink in, and she felt a twinge of guilt for doubting Wally’s ability. He still failed to inspire confidence, and she was still angry over her late husband Chester’s will and estate, but those issues were now of fading importance. Chester’s son, Lyle, would be entitled to his portion, and for that reason he had been monitoring the litigation. If he knew how close they were to pay dirt, he might become a nuisance. So Millie put the letter under lock and key and told no one.
O n September 9, five weeks after being shot in both legs, Justin Bardall filed a lawsuit against Oscar individually and Finley amp; Figg as a partnership. He alleged Oscar used “excessive force” in the shooting and, in particular, deliberately fired the third shot into the left leg after Bardall was seriously wounded and no longer posed a threat. The lawsuit demanded $5 million in actual damages and $10 million in punitive damages for Oscar’s malicious conduct.
The lawyer who filed the case, Goodloe Stamm, was the same lawyer hired by Paula Finley to handle her divorce. Evidently, at some point Stamm tracked down Bardall and convinced him to sue, in spite of his criminal activities and the fact that he was about to spend time in prison for attempted arson.
The divorce was proving to be more contentious than Wally or Oscar had expected, especially in light of the fact that Oscar was basically walking away with nothing but his car and clothes. Stamm kept chirping about the big Krayoxx money and smelled a conspiracy to hide it.
Oscar was furious over the $15 million lawsuit and blamed everything on David. Had it not been for the wage case filed against Cicero Pipe, he and Bardall would have never met. Wally managed to broker a truce, and the yelling stopped. He contacted their insurance company and insisted it provide a defense and coverage.
With the big settlement so close, it was much easier to make peace, to smile, even to joke about the image of that little thug Bardall limping into court and trying to convince a jury he, an incompetent arsonist, should be made rich because he failed to burn down a law office.
CHAPTER 34
The e-mail was prefaced with the standard warnings of confidentiality and protected with encryption codes. It was written by Jerry Alisandros and sent to about eighty lawyers, one of whom was Wally Figg. It read: I regret to inform you that tomorrow’s settlement conference has been canceled by Varrick Labs. This morning I had a lengthy phone conversation with Nicholas Walker, chief in-house counsel for Varrick, during which I was advised that the company has decided to temporarily postpone settlement negotiations. Their strategy has changed somewhat, especially in light of the fact that the Klopeck trial is scheduled to begin in Chicago in four weeks. Varrick now thinks it’s wise to sort of test the waters with an initial trial, see how the facts play out, determine liability, and roll the dice with a real jury. While this is not unusual, I had some very harsh words for Mr. Walker and his company’s rather abrupt change of plans. I suggested they had negotiated in bad faith, and so on, but there is little to be gained by arguing at this point. Since we did not quite reach the point of agreeing on the specifics of a settlement, there is nothing to enforce. It looks as though all eyes will be on the courtroom in Chicago. I’ll keep you posted. JA
Wally printed the e-mail-it weighed a ton-walked it into Oscar’s office, and placed it on his desk. Then he fell into a leather chair and almost began weeping.
Oscar read it slowly, the wrinkles across his forehead growing thicker with each sentence. He was breathing through his mouth, heavily. Rochelle buzzed in with a call for Oscar, but he did not respond. They heard her heavy footsteps as she walked to his office door, tapped it, and when neither lawyer responded, she peeked inside and said, “Mr. Finley, it’s Judge Wilson.”
Oscar shook his head and said, “I can’t talk now. I’ll call him back.”
She closed the door. Minutes passed, then David knocked on the door, came inside, looked at the two partners, and knew the world was coming to an end. Oscar handed him the e-mail, which he read as he paced in front of the bookshelves.
“There’s more,” David said.
“What do you mean, there’s more?” Wally asked, his voice weak and dry.
“I was just online, looking at a discovery filing, when I saw the notice that a motion had been filed. Not twenty minutes ago. Jerry Alisandros, on behalf of Zell amp; Potter, filed a motion to withdraw as counsel in the Klopeck case.”
Wally’s entire body slumped a good six inches. Oscar grunted as if trying to say something.
David, himself pale and stunned, continued: “I called my contact at Zell amp; Potter, guy named Worley, and he tells me off the record that it’s a full retreat. The experts-our experts-have all collapsed on the drug and no one is willing to testify. The McFadden report won’t stand up in court. Varrick has known this for some time and has been stringing out the settlement talks so they could yank the rug out right before the Klopeck trial. Worley says the Zell amp; Potter partners are at war but Alisandros gets the last word. He isn’t coming to Chicago because he doesn’t want such a notorious loss on his great record. With no experts, the case is hopeless. Worley says there’s a good chance that there was nothing wrong with the drug to begin with.”
“I knew these cases were a bad idea,” Oscar said.
“Oh shut up,” Wally hissed.
David sat in a wooden chair as far from the two partners as possible. Oscar had both elbows on his desk with his head between his forearms, as if in a vice, as if a lethal migraine were forming. Wally’s eyes were closed and his head twitched. Because they seemed unable to speak, David felt compelled to attempt conversation. “Can he withdraw this close to trial?” he asked, fully aware that his two partners knew virtually nothing about the rules of federal court procedure.
“That’s up to the judge,” Wally said. “What are they going to do with all their cases?” he asked David. “They have thousands, tens of thousands.”
“Worley thinks that everybody will just sit tight and see what happens here, with Klopeck. If we win, then I guess Varrick will resume settlement talks. If we lose, I guess the Krayoxx cases are worthless.”
The idea of winning seemed quite remote. Minutes passed with no words. The only sounds were the labored breathing of three bewildered men. The distant sound of an ambulance approached on Beech Street, but none of the three reacted.
Finally, Wally sat erect, or tried to, and said, “We’ll have to ask the court for a continuance, for additional
