No Legal Grounds (12 page)

The last Friday in July beat down on Los Angeles like Lucifer’s jackhammer. Sam was therefore very thankful for the favor of federal air conditioning.

The courtroom was the domain of Judge Raul Manuel. It was like the others in the downtown federal courthouse — large, majestic, wood paneled, austere. And cool. State buildings tended to be smaller, reflective of tight budgets. Summer cooling systems could sometimes be a little less than effective. The Feds were very much into refrigeration in the summer months and had the budget to do it right.

Sam and Lew took their place at the plaintiff’s table. Stuart Hoch sat in the front row of the gallery, giving the pair barely a nod. He was reading a
Daily Journal
and didn’t look like he wanted to be disturbed.

Of course, if Sam and Lew lost this motion, Hoch would be very disturbed. But not as much as Appleby.
Sam immediately poured himself a glass of water from the glass pitcher on the counsel table. His throat was a Sahara of uncertainty, because a motion for summary judgment under Rule 56 was a defendant’s smart bomb.
The motion was a message to a judge that said there were no facts at issue. Nothing for a jury to decide. Instead, the defendant contends, the law offers no basis of recovery for the plaintiff. The plaintiff has no law on his side. Therefore, the case should be dismissed.
Blown up. Gone for good.
The government’s lead lawyer, Ralph Bass, came over to shake hands. Sam had only met him once before. Bass was in his forties and wore a gray suit with understated blue tie. He was a legal powerhouse, the head of the LA office of one of DC’s biggest firms.

The last time he’d gone to court, late last year, he’d successfully defended a CEO who was facing twenty-five years in prison for fraud. The entire country, including Jon Stewart and David Letterman, had the CEO in stripes.

“Today’s the day, gents,” he said good-naturedly. He exuded confidence.
“You trying to talk smack to my boy?” Lew said.
“Should I? Throw him off his game?”
“He doesn’t get thrown.”
Bass smiled and waved at the courtroom. “Just remember, boys, this is my house.”
And he walked back.
“Thanks, Lew.”
“What?”
“No pressure.”
“You the man. Just pretend it’s the eighteenth hole at the Masters, and you have a three footer for the win over Tiger.”
“Thanks again.”
“Three feet! You can do it in your sleep.”
Sleep was exactly what Sam needed. Only his adrenal glands were keeping him going.
Then it was time for Judge Raul Manuel to make his entrance. He was a Latino in his early fifties, had been appointed to the district court during the Clinton administration. He had the rep of leaning a little to the left, which could be good or bad. It depended on whether he felt less sympathy for big government or big business. And maybe that depended on what he’d had for breakfast.
Judge Manuel put everyone on the record and called for statement of appearances, then asked Ralph Bass if he’d like to address the court.
He said, “No, Your Honor. We’ll submit on the written motion.”
Which completely took Sam by surprise. He was expecting Bass to talk a little in support of the motion, giving him time to gather his thoughts.
Instead, Judge Manuel was asking whether he or Lew was going to argue. Sam went to the podium, where he promptly dropped his notes.
They scattered on the floor.
Behind him, somewhere in the courtroom, someone laughed.
Face burning, Sam got everything back onto the podium. “Excuse me, Your Honor,” he said.
“Ready to go?” Judge Manuel said.
“Yes.”
But before he could say another word, the judge jumped in. “I’ll tell you right now, Mr. Trask, that I’m not buying the reverse alter ego theory. That’s a cute argument, that your client can pierce its own corporate veil, but I don’t see it supported by your points and authorities.”
“If I may, Your Honor — ”
“So I don’t want to hear any more on it. You’re left with an integrated operation theory, and that’s what this matter is going to be about. So address your arguments to that.”
Sam swallowed and felt like one of his legs had been chopped off. Now he had only one gun to fire, and it had better work.
“If Your Honor please, FulCo and its subsidiaries form an integrated operation, one unified entity. This is clear from the web of interlocking agreements to provide services and products among the companies — ”
“Doesn’t this just fly in the face of basic, black-letter corporate law?”
“I don’t — ”
“I mean, corporations are separate entities, as are the subsidiaries here. They have individual privileges, immunities, and responsibilities, including the rights to sue and be sued, on their own.”
“Unless they form one family of — ”
“And that’s what I have yet to be convinced of.”
Sam felt his throat constricting. His right kneecap started jiggling. Life was not cooperating with him. He’d never been this nervous before. Oh, maybe the first time he’d tried a case in front of a jury. But that was long ago. It was everything else — Nicky, Linda, Heather — but he couldn’t very well request a continuance to take care of family trouble.
He turned quickly in his notes to the recent Sixth Circuit case involving the integrated operation. His voice sounded like it was coming from an external sound system, piped through his body. He went around and around with Manuel for fifteen minutes, until Manuel announced that he’d had enough.
When Sam returned to the counsel table he was as spent as if he’d run five miles. He saw Hoch sitting in the first row with concern etched all over his face.
Bass was given rebuttal time. He was as smooth as Sam was nervous. Manuel hammered Bass as well, but not like he had Sam. At least that’s how it seemed.
And Sam couldn’t help feeling that he’d lost. Big time.
That was exactly the mood after Manuel adjourned the proceedings. Hoch hardly spoke to Sam before leaving the courtroom.
Lew tried to buck him up. “Well, good buddy, I guess those three footers are harder than they look.”

Lew Newman stood at Sam’s office door. Sam was midsip on his third cup of coffee, but it wasn’t helping clear the cobwebs from his brain. He hadn’t slept at all last night. It was starting to catch up with him.

“Come on in.” Sam knew he must look like death on stilts. He had steamer trunks under his eyes.
Lew closed the door behind him. Sam didn’t even try to read his expression. He couldn’t read a postcard at the moment.
“I’ve known you a long time, pal.” Lew sat in a client chair. “You want to tell me what’s going on?”
Sam closed his eyes. “How much do you want to know?”
“How much do you want to tell me?”
“Can I ask what prompted this?”
“I’ve always been up front with you, Sam. I won’t stop now. Hoch practically chewed my ear off. Says your argument was pathetic.”
“Nice guy.”
“He’s the guy who tells the guy who writes the checks what to do.”
“Is that what this is about, Lew? The old bottom line?”
“It’s about you, Sam. Your health. What is happening?”
Sam paused, for a moment unable to gather his thoughts. “You’re right. I’ll tell you. I’m being hit hard. My daughter is determined to ruin her life and there’s nothing I seem to be able to do.”
“Drugs?”
“Who knows? She certainly is ripe for them. I’m worried sick. I haven’t been sleeping. And yeah, it affects my work a little.”
Lew said nothing.
“And then Friday night, I took Linda to dinner at Hazlitt’s.”
“Nice.”
“Two hundred dollars worth of nice. And two of my credit cards were denied.”
“What?”
“Because there’s a guy out to mess up my life.”
Lew frowned. “Who?”
“A guy I went to college with. He just showed up a couple weeks ago, first by email. Wants to see me. Old times and all. But then he gets weird. He won’t take no for an answer. He won’t stop contacting me. He shows up at Max’s Little League game. Just to make trouble.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know! My friend, he’s a DA, says the guy’s a sociopath. I think he’s right. And I think he got hold of my credit card numbers somehow.”
“How could he?”
“I don’t know. Computers? Maybe he hacked in.”
“Where, at home?”
“Or here.”
“We have a firewall.”
“There are ways through anything. We’re all at risk.”
“I’ll get our tech guy on it, he can check. Did you report this?”
“Yeah, the fraud department at both companies. I hope the FBI gets involved.”
Lew stood up and put his hands in his pockets. He went to Sam’s window, looked out on a hazy morning in LA. “What’s this doing to you, Sam?”
Sam didn’t really know. That’s what he realized then. He was lost in a fog of unknowing.
“You think I’m hurting our chances with FulCo?”
Lew turned. “Sam, look — ”
“No, I mean it.”
After a long pause, Lew spoke slowly. “Maybe you ought to take some time off. Get away from all this — ”
“But how? We’re at the crucial stage.”
“You don’t think lawyers have breakdowns at crucial stages?”
Sam sat up abruptly. “Is that what you think? That I’m having a breakdown?”
“I shouldn’t have used that word.”
Sam leaned back in his chair, exhausted. This is what abject defeat must feel like, he thought. Not any little setback. The question was could he get out of it anytime soon? Could he reach down to his bootstraps, like his father always wanted him to? Dad, who was as tough as they came, ex-Marine. When he was around, he was a solid inspiration. But he wasn’t around anymore, and Sam didn’t know where his bootstraps were.
“Maybe I could cut back a little,” Sam said.
“Sure,” Lew said. “I can call the placement office at UCLA Law, see if we can find us an associate.”
“You think?”
Lew shrugged. “It’ll be stopgap. You just take care of you for now.”
“How long?”
“Take a month.”
“I should keep Harper, though.”
Lew paused. “If you settle it.”
Settling was probably the best idea yet. How much good work could Sam do on the case? And Lew had carried him on it, gone along all this time.
“I’ll think about it,” Sam said.
“Sure. It’s your call. And if things get better sooner, come on back in. You have somebody you can see? A doctor?”
“What, a shrink?”
“I was only — ”
“Practice law, Lew. Not medicine.”
But then again, maybe seeing someone wasn’t such a bad idea.