Without precedent, p.10
Without Precedent, page 10
I sat there and took it all in. Sherman was right about everything. I needed to hear it, but it wasn’t changing my mind.
“Addiction is personal,” Sherman said. “That type of discovery in this case is relevant. The judge is going to allow it, and their lawyers are not going to respect your family’s privacy at all. In fact, the more they pry, the more likely it’ll be that you’ll cave or your parents will quit. NexBeaux has an incentive to go nasty, early and often.”
“And so do I.” I leaned back, finding the resolve that I had at Allison’s grave. “I’m not going to cave. I’m at rock bottom. What can they do to me?”
“Matt, they will do whatever it takes to destroy you, and you know it.” Sherman finished his beer. “You can totally get a job. It hasn’t been that long, and you haven’t exactly tried. You were profiled in the Times, for Pete’s sake. But this case will mess all that up. You’ll look a little unhinged.”
“Now you sound like my dad.”
“No,” Sherman said. “I sound like somebody who knows you.”
“Are you bailing on me?” I asked.
“No,” Sherman said. “But I am trying to protect you, because you’re my friend. You asked for my help for a reason, and I figured the best thing I can provide is a little perspective.”
“Thank you,” I said. “Because if I’m really going to do this, and for all the reasons you just rattled off, I need you there with me. I lied about you never coming to court, like I said in your office. I need you to be all in with me in order to pull this off. I need my Clarence Darrow.”
“You had to go there.” He looked up at the sky. “That’s really low, you know that? Invoking the name of Clarence Darrow on me. I mean, that’s really, truly manipulative.” He ran his finger around the edge of his pint glass, thinking. “OK, if you really want to do this, I’m in, and I’ll make my students work for you too. If you don’t want to do this, I support that too. Maybe it’s just the Guinness talking, but I got your back. I’ll even put on a suit and tie and dance around for the amusement of a judge.”
“Excellent.” I raised my hand to get the attention of the waitress. “One more round.”
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
The night before we filed our lawsuit, we gathered in the Cahokia basement classroom for a pizza party. It had taken a few more weeks to finalize the theories of liability, but the complaint looked good. In the morning, we’d file it at the historic courthouse in downtown Saint Louis. Known as the 22nd—because Missouri was divided into circuits and the city of Saint Louis was the 22nd of 46 circuit courts—it was the busiest courthouse in the state. More lawsuits were filed and more jury trials occurred in the 22nd than anywhere else, and ours would now be one of them.
Certain legal requirements were necessary to file a lawsuit, and particular language needed to be used in the lawsuit itself. I decided to satisfy those technicalities at the end, rather than the beginning. Using eighteenth-century language in the complaint’s introduction would be difficult for nonlawyers to understand, and I wanted at least its first paragraphs to read like a press release—reporters and the general public needed to understand who we were, what we wanted, and why our claims were valid. Plus, it was never too early to begin educating potential jurors.
I stood up on a chair in the middle of the classroom. Jackson, Sherman, and the three students from Sherman’s class stood around me. “Ladies and gentlemen,” I pronounced, “tomorrow is going to be a historic day.” They all burst into applause. “I don’t know who’s going to represent NexBeaux, but I guarantee that the lawyers are going to work for a massive law firm and get paid a ridiculous amount of money to make us go away. They will call our lawsuit frivolous and our claims ridiculous, but we will press forward. Maybe the judge will agree with them, and our lawsuit will be dismissed. But while other people sit on the sidelines and complain and wonder why nobody is doing anything, we’ll go to bed at night knowing that we did what President Theodore Roosevelt encouraged everyone to do, which is to get into the arena and get dirty.”
There was more applause. “I want to thank Professor Sherman Friedman for giving me the opportunity to work with you all on such an important case. As I’ve recently gotten to know you, I’ve been impressed with your legal research and your comments. I feel pride in a way that I never felt pride while working for a law firm that shall not be named in New York City.” I raised an invisible glass. “To Professor Friedman.”
Jackson and the students shouted and raised their bottles of water and soda. “To Professor Friedman.”
“We have a few more things to do before going home,” I continued. “Sherman, I need you to follow up with the reporter from the St. Louis Post-Dispatch. Make sure she has an advance copy of our lawsuit, but remind her that she can’t make it public until after our press conference.”
To Cynthia Sanchez, one of Sherman’s students and a mother of two, I said, “Ms. Sanchez, I need you to follow up with KWMU and KMOX. See if they are sending a reporter or whether they just want to call us for an interview.”
Then I turned to Jeff Grant, a star college football player whose knee blew out his senior year, and Screw, the girl with the purple hair. “You two are in charge of reading the Rules of Civil Procedure and the local rules to make sure that we have all the documents that we need. Find out if we need to file any other forms along with our lawsuit.”
I clapped my hands like a coach who just finished giving his team a halftime pep talk. “Here we go,” I said. “There’s lots of pizza here to keep us going, and when we’re done let’s clean up the room, because this is where we’re going to have our press conference tomorrow morning at ten a.m. OK?”
Everybody gave another cheer, and I got down off the chair. As the students got busy making their phone calls, I walked over to Sherman and Jackson. “Looks like we’re really doing this.”
Jackson pulled me in for a bear hug. When I was released, he went over to talk with Cynthia and Screw. Sherman patted me on the back. “I can’t believe you sucked me into this, but I love you for it.”
“It’s getting real,” I said. “It’s crazy.”
Then Sherman whispered, “Can we talk in the hallway? Someplace a little more private.”
I nodded, and we left the party. Once we were alone, Sherman looked around, then he began with an expression of concern. “I was reviewing the documents that we’re filing tomorrow,” he said. “And we’re missing an important piece.”
I knew exactly what he was talking about. “I know,” I said. “I’ll have it tomorrow.”
“That’s not what you were supposed to say.” Sherman gave me a look of disappointment. “We’ve busted our asses over the past month to line this up. I got it cleared through the law school’s bureaucracy. You got free student labor until the end of the school year and even through the summer, work space, and now you’re telling me that your parents haven’t agreed. I thought you locked that down right away.”
“They’ve sort of agreed,” I said. “We’ve had a lot of conversations over the past few weeks, and I think they’re coming around.”
“But they haven’t signed the certificate of representation,” Sherman said. “Which tells me that they haven’t actually come around, because if they’d come around, then we’d have the certificate of representation and the retainer agreement.”
“Don’t get mad at me,” I said. “I’ll get it.”
“I thought you had it, Matt,” Sherman said. “What am I going to do tomorrow when people start showing up for a press conference about a lawsuit that doesn’t exist?”
“It will exist,” I said. “And it does exist.”
“No, it doesn’t,” Sherman said. “If it existed, we would have a retainer agreement and a certificate of representation, but we don’t.” He stepped away. He began to rub the back of his neck, kneading out the stress knots. “Matt, I know this law school is sort of a joke, which means that I’m sort of a joke, but this is my job, and I think I’m pretty good at it. You convinced me, as a friend, to help you. Now you need to get that retainer agreement and certificate of representation, and let’s make this real.”
“I agree,” I said. “I’ll get it.”
When I got home that night, my parents were in the living room watching television. My dad was in his La-Z-Boy recliner, and my mother was on the couch. I sat down on a chair off to the side. In my hand were two pieces of paper. The first was a retainer agreement. The second was a certificate of representation that I would file with the court.
I waited patiently for the television show to be over. When the final credits rolled and the commercials began, I got up and walked over to the coffee table in front of the couch. I took the remote control and turned off the television.
“What’s the deal?” Dad said. “We’re watching that.”
“I know.” I returned the remote to the table. “It’s just that I have something to talk to you about.”
“If it’s about your sister and the lawsuit again . . .” My father’s face knotted in disgust, and he looked at my mom. “And your mother doesn’t want to hear it either.” He pointed at the remote. “Give me that.”
“No, Dad.” I looked at my mother, then back at him. “I quit my job in New York because I couldn’t defend these companies anymore. The people that run NexBeaux are awful. I met them.” I pulled out my phone. “This is an email that I got from Duncan Stewart. He’s senior vice president of the company that makes Bentrax, the painkiller that Allison took after the car accident.” I cleared my throat. “Question: What does a person on Bentrax do for exercise?” I looked at my mother. “Answer: Open her eyes.” I looked at my father. “What did the Oxy addict get on his IQ test?” I paused. “Drool.” Then I read the last one. “What do a hockey player and a woman hooked on Bentrax have in common?” I waited. “Answer: They both change their clothes after three periods.”
I shook my head. “These are pharmaceutical executives. Can you believe that? They make enormous amounts of money, then they joke about people, like Allison, who get addicted to their product.” I ran my hand through my hair. “I want to file a lawsuit against them. If I don’t, I’m going to have a hard time moving forward. I have to do this for her, and I have to do this for me. I can’t just let it go.”
My mom and dad exchanged looks, and my father glanced at his watch. I figured I had about a minute before he gave up on the television, got up, and left.
“I love you two very much,” I said, pressing forward, “and I know that things have been complicated. I know it seemed like I’ve been running away from you all these years, ashamed, but now I’ve gotten a different perspective.”
I started to go on but stopped myself and tried to focus. “I’m sorry if I ever made you two feel bad. I know that I’ve made mistakes, and you’ve made mistakes, but there’s nothing we can do about it. I know you don’t understand the lawsuit. I know it’s painful to talk about Allison, but I need to tell Allison’s story. I don’t want to be silent. I want to hold somebody accountable, or at least try to.” A lump formed in my throat. “Allison wasn’t perfect, but she didn’t deserve to die.”
I took out a pen and set it on the table next to the remote control. Then I took the retainer agreement along with the certificate of representation and put both documents down next to the pen. Then I stepped back.
“I can only do this if you agree. I want to file this lawsuit tomorrow. People have worked very hard to do this. Jackson is on board, but I really need you to agree. You have to agree to let me do this for Allison. Without you, I can’t do it.”
Neither of my parents said anything, which may or may not have been a good sign. “Thank you for hearing me out, and I hope that you can trust me. I can’t guarantee that we’re going to win. In fact, we probably are going to lose, but I won’t embarrass you, and I won’t embarrass Allison. I’m not going to embarrass anyone. Especially you, Pops. Nobody down at work is going to laugh at you. The Daley family has to take a stand, and when we do, we could help a lot of people.”
That was all I had to say. I turned and went down to the basement. That night I tried to get some sleep, unsuccessfully. In the morning, I walked up the stairs to find the place empty. My mother and father had already left for work, and I had a sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach that I’d need to call Sherman and tell him that the press conference was off.
In the living room, the table was empty. I wondered whether my father had taken the retainer agreement and certificate of representation, torn them up, and thrown them away. That was certainly not out of the question.
On the kitchen table, however, at the seat where Allison had sat hundreds of times, I found the documents. Both were signed. Relief rolled through me as I realized that my parents had agreed to let me file the lawsuit. On the table was a yellow sticky note too. On it, my mom had written in her sprawling script, “We Love You.”
I called Jackson. “They did it. We’re really doing this.”
He let out a hoot. “I told you that they trusted you. What’s next?”
I thought about it for a moment. “It’s time to go to war.”
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
When I arrived at the law school, I was surprised to see Cahokia’s parking lot fuller than ever and the law school’s president, Arthur McIntosh, standing next to Sherman. They were waiting for me near the entrance to a large atrium.
McIntosh, a tall, thin man with a bushy mustache and a receding hairline, walked up to me and shook my hand. “Professor Friedman has just been telling me about how you have most graciously volunteered your time this semester to help us with our civil litigation clinic. I so appreciate the support from lawyers in the community like you.”
I exchanged a look with Sherman, unsure of what lies and exaggerations he had told his boss. Then I smiled. “You’re welcome. I think I’m actually getting more out of the experience than the students.”
“Well”—McIntosh leaned back, impressed—“what a wonderful sentiment. If you could add something like that to your remarks during the press conference, I would be eternally grateful.” He leaned in and lowered his voice as if passing along a secret. “These are challenging times for our law school, and you are doing us a great favor.”
“I was just telling President McIntosh that this is a very unique lawsuit,” Sherman said. “This is one of the first, if not the very first, lawsuits of its kind filed in Missouri. What we were hoping was for you to give President McIntosh an opportunity to acknowledge the creativity and intellect of the students who have worked on this lawsuit at some point during the press conference. I told him that you wouldn’t mind.”
“Of course,” I said. “Why don’t you go first, President McIntosh, then you can introduce Professor Friedman, then Sherman can introduce me, and then some of the students will have a turn.”
A big grin flashed across McIntosh’s face. Rarely had the Cahokia College of Law generated any good news, and he was eager to take the lead. “Sounds like a good plan to me.” Unfortunately, I was likely leading him and his students off a cliff, but that wouldn’t happen for a few months.
Then my phone vibrated. I read the text and looked up at McIntosh and Sherman. “Looks like the lawsuit has officially been filed and accepted by the clerk of courts. We should get the press conference started.”
The conference room was packed. Up front was a podium emblazoned with the college’s logo, and behind the podium hung a rich-blue fabric backdrop. I had no idea where the podium or the background had come from, but, if you didn’t know any better, it almost looked like we knew what we were doing.
Reporters from the local newspapers and television stations were gathered. We’d given each a blue folder embossed with the law school’s logo, and inside the folder were a press release; a brief biography of Sherman Friedman, the law students, and myself; and a copy of the lawsuit filed with the court that morning. Toward the back of the room were television cameras from the local stations and photographers from the Associated Press and the St. Louis Post-Dispatch. Curious students, administrators, and professors filled the rest of the space. Seeing all those people gathered in one room as a result of my work—which I’d kept telling myself was meaningful and important—almost made me cry.
I stood along the wall with the students, including Cynthia and Jeff, while President McIntosh welcomed everyone. He gave a brief history of the law school. Then he praised its students and faculty, and finally concluded. “I think you will see a different side of the Cahokia College of Law this morning, and I know that the public will be impressed by their passion, creativity, and intellect.” His moment in the spotlight complete, McIntosh introduced Sherman.
After briefly explaining the purpose of the civil litigation clinic and praising the students who chose to take that class, Sherman introduced me with a quote from Clarence Darrow. I felt my knees go a little weak as I walked to the front of the room. I had never been nervous speaking in public before, but this was different.
I adjusted the microphone, cleared my throat, and began, getting right to the point. “This lawsuit is for and on behalf of my sister,” I said. “She died of an overdose, after getting addicted to heroin after her doctor prescribed her Bentrax. Allison may be the focus and the subject of this lawsuit, but she is not alone. Over sixty-five thousand people died last year from a drug overdose, nearly a thousand of them from Missouri, and the rate hasn’t slowed this year. That’s more than the total number of Americans who died during the entire Vietnam War. In fact, about seven people will die in America today from an opioid overdose while we’re in here talking about this lawsuit. On average, seven people an hour.”
