Sherwood sighed and moved out from behind his desk. He put a hand on the outside of Lassiter’s arm. Lassiter stared at him, through him. “We’ve had a good run, Andrew. And I hope we can still be friends. But I’ve got a fiduciary duty to our shareholders and the board, not to mention the clients.” He gave Lassiter a squeeze on the arm. “I could have had our HR department do this, but I felt like I owed it to you to do this myself. I really am sorry.”
Lassiter stared for an awkward few seconds, saying nothing. He blinked, took a sideways step, and headed toward the door.
“Wait a second,” Sherwood said. “I need the computer.”
Lassiter looked down at his laptop and back at Sherwood, his mouth open in disbelief. Sherwood held out his hand. “I need it now.”
Lassiter cradled it like a football. His eyes took on a wild look, as if he might explode at any second.
“There are folks in your office packing all your personal stuff as we speak,” Sherwood said. He kept his voice steady, like he was talking a person down from a ledge. “Rafael is waiting right outside to escort you out of the building. I need your computer and keys. Don’t make it any harder than it already is, Andrew. You know our policies.”
Lassiter hesitated for another few seconds, his face twisted in pain, before he handed the computer to Sherwood. He reached in his pocket and retrieved a key ring. With trembling hands, he removed his office keys.
He looked so pathetic. Tears welled in his eyes. It was as if Sherwood had just ordered him to the electric chair rather than offering him a multi-million-dollar severance package.
“Are you going to be all right?” Sherwood asked.
Lassiter stared at him for a moment, as if he couldn’t believe that Sherwood had the audacity to ask such a question.
“This isn’t right,” Lassiter said. There was no throat-clearing this time. “It’s just not right.” He turned, as if in a trance, and opened the office door.
Rafael Johansen was waiting outside.
After Lassiter left, Robert Sherwood sat down at his desk and lit up a cigar. He knew that Lassiter would review the offer with a lawyer and see the light. Sherwood probably should have handled this the way other CEOs would have-let the HR guys do it. But that had never been Robert Sherwood’s style.
He took a long draw on the cigar, calming his frazzled nerves. Andrew Lassiter was a good man. Off-the- charts brilliant. Justice Inc. would never have made it without him. But Sherwood had his fiduciary duties, and he couldn’t let friendships interfere.
Sometimes he hated his job.
23
The phone message took Jason by surprise. He hadn’t heard from Andrew Lassiter since leaving Justice Inc. three months ago.
Call me as soon as possible. It’s important.
Jason returned the call from an office phone. Lassiter answered on the first ring.
“Are you alone?” Lassiter asked.
“Yes.”
“I got fired from Justice Inc. Sherwood squeezed me out. I need your help.”
Through the phone lines, Jason could hear Lassiter’s desperation. The man was breathless, spitting his words out quickly.
“They’ve got all my software, my programs, everything. Sherwood lined up the votes from the other directors and called me in yesterday. One week before Christmas. Can you believe this? He had his goons escort me out of the building.”
Jason was having a hard time processing all this. Andrew Lassiter wasn’t just an employee; he was a cofounder, the brains behind the micromarketing formulas.
“You’re a shareholder. How can the board just vote you out?”
Lassiter cleared his throat, his nervous habits on full throttle. “Technically, they can’t take away my stock. But if they don’t take the company public, my shares will be worthless. They’ll increase Sherwood’s salary, send more money to Kenya, do everything they can to eliminate year-end profits. They can manipulate the books to pay stockholders whatever they want.”
Jason knew Lassiter was overreacting a little. Minority shareholders could audit the books to ensure that profits weren’t being hidden. Still, the urgency in Lassiter’s voice was unmistakable. This wasn’t really about the money.
“What reason did they give?” Jason asked.
Lassiter spent several minutes describing his meeting with Sherwood. He got sidetracked for a few minutes explaining why the miscalculation in the drug patent case wasn’t his fault. The formulas worked fine, and his prediction would have been right if the real-life lawyers had done their job. Unfortunately, the defense lawyers had been pitiful.
Back on track, Lassiter detailed the terms of the proposed severance agreement. Two point five million might sound like a lot, but it was a pittance compared to the real worth of the company.
Jason listened patiently, asking appropriate questions as he tried to figure out what he should do. He felt a special bond with Andrew Lassiter. Others at Justice Inc. had a strictly business mind-set. They sweated over P amp;L statements, the intricacies of stock deals, budgets for the mock trials.
Lassiter, on the other hand, was more like Jason. Their obsession was figuring out what made juries tick. For Lassiter, being wrong on a jury verdict was like being unfaithful to your wife. It was a character flaw, not just a bad business prediction.
In a way, that compulsive behavior made Andrew Lassiter a kindred spirit. Normally, Jason, who had his own obsession with winning, would go out of his way to help.
But not when it meant taking on Robert Sherwood. The man had his faults, but he wasn’t the personification of evil that Lassiter was making him out to be. He was a tough business executive, and the squeeze play on Lassiter did not entirely surprise Jason. But Robert Sherwood also had a heart. He genuinely cared about social justice. And he had certainly helped Jason in the three months he had been on his own.
“What do you want me to do?” Jason asked.
“Represent me,” Lassiter said, his voice tense, a half octave higher than normal. “I need somebody to file suit-somebody who won’t be intimidated.”
“You don’t need me,” Jason protested. “You need somebody with experience in business law. Somebody who hasn’t worked for the company.”
This brought silence on the phone line, followed by the trademark throat-clearing to which Lassiter resorted under pressure. When Lassiter finally spoke, his voice was cracking, the raw emotion coming to the surface. “You’re wrong, Jason. You care about the same things I care about. This case will be tough. Other lawyers could be bought off or intimidated. I need somebody I can trust.”
Jason swallowed hard. He hadn’t asked for this-the plea of a desperate man. He felt like a kid in the middle of a nasty divorce.
“I’m not asking for a favor, Jason. I’ll pay whatever your rate is.”
Jason tried to imagine himself suing Robert Sherwood. The only way to get Andrew Lassiter reinstated would be to threaten the entire business plan of Justice Inc. Perhaps Jason could challenge the non-compete that Lassiter had signed, freeing him up to start a similar business. If other companies could use the same micromarketing formulas to predict these seminal cases, Justice Inc.’s business would take a major hit.
But Justice Inc. had treated Jason fairly. If not for Robert Sherwood, Jason wouldn’t be where he was now. His biggest clients had all been referrals from Sherwood. And what had Andrew Lassiter done for him?
“Andrew, I’m sorry. I just can’t take the case. I’ve got too many conflicting loyalties.”
Jason waited. The silence became awkward.
