Page 66 of A Dead End Wedding

He grimaced. "I'm sorry, I'm just, well, so angry, and this is taking so long. My other attorney quit, and I need help now." He thrust a hand through his short brown hair and clenched his eyes shut for a moment. Then he blew out a breath and leaned forward, gazing intently into my eyes.

"They killed her, and I want them to pay. I want to hurt them so bad that they can never, ever do this to anybody again. They're a big drug company, and they never should have sent that insulin out without checking it or testing it or something. I had to watch her slip away in the coma, day after day."

He leaned forward and grasped both of my hands in his own. "I want to make them pay."

"Charlie, I'm so sorry for your loss. Let me help you."

I gently pulled my hands out of his and reached for my legal pad, trying to swallow past the lump in my throat. "Tell me what happened."

He slumped back in his chair. "I don't even know where to start. You've seen the commercials, I'm sure? If you're injured, call1-800- BAD INSULIN, that sort of crap?"

I nodded. Since moving back to northeast Florida a couple of months earlier, the barrage of TV ads for law firms had amazed me. I'd been staying with my aunt and uncle, and Aunt Celia liked to leave the TV on all the time. There's nothing you want to see while you're having breakfast like a commercial about bedsores and nursing home abuse. I almost tossed my Cheerios over that one just last week.

Not that I didn't think the public had a right to information about lawyers who could help them, but some ads crossed over the line into seriously tacky. The recent wave of solicitation ads for anybody injured by an allegedly defective batch of insulin were among the worst. They featured a close-up of a child in a hospital bed, surrounded by grieving relatives. I was sure that kind of thing had to be against the Florida Bar rules, but the firm airing the ads probably made enough money to scoff at any fines that might be imposed.

"Well, I called after my wife died. I'm not some kind of vulture. I mean, I don't want any money off of her death. But somebody needs to teach that company a lesson. So these lawyers told me all about how BDC was wantonly and brazenly negligent in putting that insulin on the market."

"Willfully and wantonly negligent?" I was taking notes, but I really needed to review his files. Florida's Wrongful Death Statute should be cited in the complaint. The old common-law standard was willful and wanton negligence, which translated into reckless indifference to human life. But Florida, like moststates, had codified its torts law, so we weren't still using the same system the colonists had carried over from England.

"That's right. They were wantonly negligent, and Faith died. So I agreed to sue them, and my lawyer has been working on the case for about six months. Now he's retiring, and I need another lawyer. He referred me to a guy in downtown Jacksonville, but my mother plays golf with your Aunt Celia, and she said you were somebody who really cares about your clients. So here I am."

He stopped and looked around, seeming to take in his surroundings for the first time since he'd walked in the door. My office looked pretty good. Max had insisted we spend most of the decorating budget on the seating area in front of the reception desk and on my office, because that's the part of the firm that clients would see. The doors to the file room and the kitchen were kept closed at all times, so nobody would wonder why a successful law practice housed rooms that were only slightly more elegant than your average county jail holding cells. We'd get to them when we had more money in the budget.

A mahogany desk with matching credenza and bookcase over tasteful-but-boring beige carpet—I'd won the battle with Aunt Celia over mauve — dominated the room. My diplomas were out in the lobby on the requisite ego wall, so two subdued prints hung over my office bookcases, and a framed cover of my Uncle Nathan's first mystery novel held a place of honor on the wall behind my desk.

Charlie finished his visual tour of my office and looked at me. "Is it only you?" he asked, head tilted to one side. "I mean, no offense, but this is going to be a big case fighting against a huge drug company. Do you think you can handle it on your own?"

I figuredI'll give it my best shotwasn't really what he wanted to hear. "Yes, I can handle it. Let me tell you about my background, Mr. Deaver."

"Call me Charlie."

"Charlie, then. I graduatedsumma cum laudefrom law school and then took a job with the top corporate firm in Columbus, Ohio. I spent eight years specializing in the defense of products liability cases, with a concentration on pharmaceuticals. When they offered me a partnership, I realized I didn't want to spend the rest of my career managing huge corporate clients by committee. So, yes, definitely I can handle it. In fact, of all the cases that have come across my doorstep since I opened the firm last month, yours is the one that most perfectly fits my talents and experience. Not only can I handle it, but I can't wait to dive into it."

(I was trying for assured self-confidence and hoped it didn't come off as wishful thinking.)

"Also, in mass torts like this—where many, many people are harmed by the same product—the plaintiffs' lawyers on all the cases team up and share their resources in order to best serve their clients. I imagine this litigation is on the way to being MDL'd, if it hasn't been already."

He looked a little more convinced. They taught us that in law school, use legal acronyms whenever possible to confuse the issue and impress the layperson. It's pretty effective. The ABCs of billing two-fifty or more an hour.

"What's MDL?"

"Multi-district litigation. It means that a lot of similar cases—same product, same type of injury—are brought together to be handled by one judge for judicial economy and for consistency of results. To save the court's resources, and because it wouldn't be fair if two cases with exactly the same injury and damages were decided in two different ways. Anyway, I've been following the insulin cases a bit. Evidently, the bad batch was only distributed in Florida, and the defendant's company is headquartered here,so the cases can stay in state court. That's good for us. I'll have to review your files before we get started, though."

"You're not sure you want to help me?"

"I just want to be sure that Icanhelp you. Let me read through your files and review where you are so far, to confirm your lawsuit is what I think it is. If I think you'd be better off with a different attorney, I'll tell you that up front. And there will be no charge for my initial review."

Charlie looked at me somberly for a long minute. Then he seemed to reach a decision and drew a deep breath. "OK, you're in. I think Faith would have liked you, and you seem to know what you're talking about, which is more than I can say for my other guy. He just made a fortune on some big case, anyway, so he plans to spend the rest of his life fishing. He says he'll send his files. I hope you decide to work with me."

"Thank you, Charlie. I hope so, too. I promise you, if we work together, I'll do the best job I can for you and for Faith."

We stood up, and I walked him out to the reception area. "Max, will you please take Mr. Deaver's preliminary information and the contact information for his current attorney? I'll call this afternoon and arrange for him to transfer the files to us. We'll need to file a notice of appearance, too, if the suit has been filed."

"You bet, December." My office manager, despite her sudden flair for dramatic fashion, was the best person I'd ever known for putting people at ease. She could elicit information that people wouldneverthink to tell me.

"I have to leave for my, er, appointment now. I should be back mid-afternoon."

Max grinned at me. She knew that what was left of my furniture arrived that morning from Ohio.

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