Shake the Trees (23 page)

CHAPTER 34

The Florida Bar Board of Governors meets on the first Tuesday of every third month.  The meeting on this Tuesday was special.  The Governor had unexpectedly requested an unscheduled and private audience with the members of the Board shortly before lunch.  The group felt honored that the most popular governor in Florida history was seeking their input in the affairs of the State.

It was shortly after 11:00 a.m. when Governor Lord breezed into the room.  His bright and sunny disposition was on display as usual.  He was the picture of health, having briskly walked the few blocks from the Capitol building to the Florida Bar headquarters.  He shook hands with each of the members of the Board, inquiring about their wives, husbands, and children by first names, as if he had been intimately associated with their families for decades.

Then Governor Lord took a seat at the head of the long walnut conference table and began.  “My good and distinguished friends, I have a serious matter to discuss with you this morning.  I’m sure you have all heard about the looting of American Senior Security?” 

Governor Lord paused as the group replaced their smiles with serious expressions and nodded gravely.  It was obvious that this group read the newspaper.

“This situation has placed the health and welfare of many of the elderly residents of the State at risk.  Some of our most deserving and vulnerable citizens have been placed at risk.”  Lord spoke with grave concern. 

The Governor’s statement again elicited nods of assent, as well as grumbling about the unethical nature of the conduct that led to the unfortunate incident.  Then the Chairman of the Board of Governors cleared his throat.

Chairman Rutherford T. Sterling was the managing partner of the largest law firm in the State of Florida.  The fourth largest in the nation.  He was in his mid-seventies and his hair was white.  His girth reflected a life of living well, as did his ruddy complexion.  He spoke from the other end of the conference table in a clear and resonant baritone voice and with a very patrician Southern accent.  “Mr. Governor, we are all concerned about these folks, I’m sure.  We would be more than happy to refer this situation to our charitable giving subcommittee.”

“Thank you, Rutherford.  I appreciate that.  I really do.”  Governor Lord replied.  “However, this matter is somewhat more complex than it appears at first glance.”

Governor Lord held the attention of everyone present as he reached into his briefcase and pulled out several copies of the letter Dora Hufstedtler received from Marc Mason.  Soon all members of the Board had a copy of the letter in front of them.  Rutherford Sterling’s face quickly became even redder than its normal hue.  He looked up and directed his angry gaze toward Governor Lord, but said nothing.

The Governor looked each member in the eye and then began to speak.  “I suggest to each of you that this letter establishes a prima facia case of legal malpractice on the part of Marc Mason.  One of our own.  As a consequence of this malpractice, the most vulnerable citizens of our great State were lulled into complacency.  A complacency that their advanced years makes even more understandable.”

Governor Lord paused momentarily and then let his gaze land exclusively on Rutherford Sterling.  “These fine men and women living out their final years have lost everything.  They have lost their life savings.  Soon they will lose their homes.  They will be kicked out of their retirement communities and fall into the streets.  And as you well know, the social safety net that is supposed to break their fall is full of holes.  It is imperative that you and I and the other members of the Bar step up and do what is right.  We must show the State of Florida exactly what we are made of.”

Sterling was nearly frothing at the mouth.  “What exactly are you suggesting, Governor?”

Governor Lord responded calmly and plaintively.  “It’s self-evident, Rutherford.  The actions of attorney Marc Mason constituted legal malpractice.  He is uninsured and his assets are clearly insufficient to reimburse the victims of his malpractice for their damages. The assets of the Client Misappropriation Trust Fund are more than adequate to meet these claims.  If we act promptly and choose to forego the usual tactics of delay and obfuscation, we can save these seniors from a great deal of misery.  We can give them their lives back.”

“Because of that letter.  Like hell.  That’s blackmail.  Pure and simple.”  The words were ejected out of Sterling’s mouth, along with little white specks of spittle.

“Rutherford, be reasonable.  That fund has been accumulating assets since 1967, with hardly a claim ever having been made.  It’s just been compounding and growing tax-free.  At a prodigious rate I might add.  Let’s step up and make this grand gesture of compassion.  Maybe we’ll slip ahead of the used car salesmen in the ‘who do you hate the most’ polls.”

“You can go to hell, Lord.  It is the intention of this Board to transfer those monies to a newly created Pension Security Fund for the sole benefit of the members of the Bar.  Who the hell do you think you are?  Coming in here and trying to loot the coffers of this fine and august organization.  The Florida Bar was here long before you came along, and it will be here long after you’re gone.  You god-damn politicians make me sick.”

Governor Lord looked to the rest of the members.  “Is that the way it’s going to be then?”  A few nodded affirmatively.  The rest looked away or down at some invisible speck on the table.

“Very well,” the Governor said glumly.  An expression that his usually cheerful countenance carried reluctantly.  “There is another matter I need to bring to your attention.”

Chairman Sterling slyly eyed the Governor.  “Is that so.”

“Yes, Rutherford, it is.  As you are all well aware, the Florida Bar is a self-governing organization.  We are the judge and jury of ourselves.  We decide what is ethical and what isn’t.  And we decide on the discipline to be meted out to ourselves.  Some people feel that amounts to the fox guarding the chicken coop.  I have been asked to support a bill that removes that power from the Bar, and places it with a panel of elected citizenry.”

“You son of a bitch.  You god-damned traitor.”  Rutherford Sterling nearly screamed the words; all the while his face continued to redden until it looked as if his head might explode at any moment.

“I hope you don’t plan on running for re-election, Lord.  Or even for goddamned dogcatcher.  The Florida Bar can be a valuable source of campaign funds, or it can be a powerful enemy.  Governor.”  Sterling pronounced the final word with the most scathing tone of pure hatred he could muster.

Governor Lord looked to the rest of the panel and spoke earnestly.  And with a charismatic laser beam of attention that each person thought was directed solely at him or her.  “I don’t think any of you truly understand me.  But I want to explain myself.  You see, none of that is of importance to me.”  The Governor nodded at Sterling before continuing.

“The only thing that is important to me is doing the job I was elected to do; doing it the best way I know how.  And part of that job is to speak for those citizens of this great State who are unable to speak for themselves.  That’s the best part of the job.  And that I will always do.  No matter the consequences.”

Chairman Sterling shook his head, which was now heart attack red and capped with a still perfect white mane.  “I always said I could negotiate with anyone.  Except for a damn crazy person.  When do you make your decision, Lord?”

“I have a press conference set for Friday morning regarding the American Senior Security matter.  At the Gracious Living Retreat in Venice.  I will make my decision regarding the bar governance and disciplinary bill by 5:00 p.m. Thursday.”

“We’ll let you know,” Sterling growled.

Governor Lord stood and produced his trademark smile.  “Please stay seated.  Ya’ll have a wonderful day.”

It was after 1:00 p.m. Tuesday afternoon when Sally arrived at FDLE headquarters in Orlando.  Her stomach was growling.  She wanted ribs - sweet and smoky ribs at her favorite local hangout.  And a cold beer.  But she first needed to find out what was going on with the fingerprints.  She rushed through the building and into the computer forensics lab, where the supervisor grimaced as she entered.

“John, do you know what the status is on my prints?

“The run is complete.  No matches.”

Sally was crestfallen, and began to turn away.  But stopped.  “What data bases did you compare against?”

“All the criminal data bases.  No matches.”

“What about the rest!  Professional licenses.  Passports, for god’s sake.  John, I asked for a run against all data bases.”

“That takes a lot of computing time.  You need to get in line.  We’ll get to it eventually.”  The lab supervisor snapped.

“What the hell?  I told you this was a priority case!”  Sally exclaimed.

“Listen, I don’t know what’s going on with you lately, but you sure have been acting high and mighty.  You’re a rookie for god’s sakes.  Pretty far down on the totem pole.  Live with it.  Like I said, we’ll get to it eventually.  Now if you don’t mind, I have a lot of work to do.”

Sally turned away.  She didn’t trust herself to speak.  After leaving the building, she sat in her car drumming her fingers on the steering wheel.  It ran against the grain to ask Tillis for his help, but she had no choice.  She reached for her cell and stabbed the button.

“Where are you?”  Tillis asked.

“Sitting in my car in front of FDLE Orlando.”

“Welcome home.”

“Bad choice of words.”  Sally explained to Tillis what had just happened.  “Word on the street is that you might have some pull with the people upstairs.”

“I’ll have my Ron give your John a call.”

“That ought to make me popular around here.”

“You can be popular.  Or you can be good.  Your choice.”  Tillis remarked airily.

“Make the call.”  Sally barked.

“God, you’re a pushy broad.”  Tillis laughed.

“I’ll take that as a compliment.”

“As it was intended.” 

“Thanks.  I guess.”  Sally grudgingly replied.

“What are you doing now?”  Tillis asked nonchalantly.

“I’m going to get some lunch.  I’m starving.”

“Then what?”

“Oh, I don’t know.  Let my parents know I’m still alive.  Throw out my dead plants.  I’ll think of something.”

Tillis let a few moments of silence pass before he spoke again.  “Don’t make any plans for this evening.  And I’m going to need you to pick up a few things later this afternoon.”

“Like what?”  Sally inquired with notes of caution and reluctance.

“You’re invited to a working dinner at my condo around six.  I’d appreciate it if you would pick up a couple of pizzas on your way over.  Or whatever sounds good.  Oh, but no barbeque.  The Mouth doesn’t like barbeque.  Can you believe that?”

“Jefferson Davis Brown is going to be there?”  Sally’s tone brightened.

“Yes.”  Tillis’ voice was full of displeasure. “It will just be the three of us.”

“About that delivery you had me make this morning.”  Sally began winding up for the pitch.

“Gotta go, Sally.  I need to call Ron.”  Tillis interrupted.

“Hold on.”  Sally interjected.  “I maxed out my card on the South Beach expedition and the plane ticket back to Tampa.  Until I get reimbursed, I won’t be buying dog food, much less pizza.”

“Okay.  I’ll leave my card with the doorman downstairs.  See you at six.”  Tillis ended the call.

Sally looked out the window of her car and smiled.  “That was a very silly thing to do, Elmer.”

Tillis ended his call with Sally and punched up the Governor.

“Are you calling to gloat?”  Governor Lord answered.

“I was going to ask how it went with the Board of Governors, but I guess it went as I predicted.”

“Exactly.  But I still prefer to expect the best out of my fellow man.  Until I’m proven wrong.”

“Really?”  Tillis replied skeptically.  “Cynicism and low expectations have always worked well for me.  Did you play the trump card?”

“I was left with no choice.”

“And how do you really feel about the proposed legislation?”

“I think it’s a terrible bill.  The Bar does a tremendous job of disciplining its members.  First of all, they’re harder on their own than anyone else would be.  Secondly, the issues are often complex and require legal training.  And, finally, no taxpayer money is expended on the process.  It’s a good system.”  Governor Lord explained.

“So, it was a bluff?”  Tillis chuckled.

“Totally.  And it’s bothering me.  I hate being disingenuous.  It’s not my nature.”

“That reminds me of the story about the frog and the scorpion.”  Tillis replied thoughtfully.

“What?”

“The frog and the scorpion.  You see, the scorpion couldn’t swim and asked the frog for a ride across the pond.  The frog declined, pointing out that the scorpion might sting him and then he would die.  The scorpion responded that the frog’s concern was ridiculous, because then the frog would drown and they would both die.  The frog thought about it and recognized the scorpion’s logic, and told the scorpion to hop on.  Halfway across the pond the scorpion stung the frog.  Before he died, the frog turned to the scorpion and asked him why he’d stung him, because now they were both going to die.  The scorpion replied that he couldn’t help it.  It was his nature.”