The Justice Game (11 page)

    “I’m proposing that our firm would advance them.”

    “Could be a hundred thousand or more,” somebody murmured.

    “Have you seen the polls on gun control?” one of the members asked. “A majority of Americans
support
the Second Amendment.”

    “What’s that got to do with anything?” countered another committee member. “We’re not attacking the Second Amendment.”

    “That’s semantics,” the first member shot back. “You know as well as I do this is just a backdoor way to take guns out of the hands of American citizens.”

    And so it went. The pro-gun members arguing with the anti-gun members and Kelly hardly getting a word in edgewise. The men staked out their positions early, and nobody changed anyone else’s mind. At the end of the meeting, the committee authorized Kelly to take the case by a 3–2 vote.

    There
was
an unexpected twist, however. John Lloyd, the chairman of the committee and a vote in favor of the case, proposed that B&W take the case
pro bono
instead of on a contingency fee basis.

    At first, Kelly hated the idea. If the firm handled the case on a contingency fee basis and obtained a large verdict, the money collected would count toward her billable hour requirement. But
pro bono
cases were extra—community service work done above and beyond the normal oppressive billable hour quota.

    “If we take the case on a contingency fee,” Lloyd said, “the media will portray us as a bunch of ambulance-chasers trying to profit from gun violence. If we take it
pro bono,
they’ll applaud us as principled advocates for reform.”

    “And we might leave a million dollars on the table,” somebody protested.

    Lloyd motioned toward Kelly. “We’re gonna have our firm’s prettiest face all over
The Today Show
and
Nightline
and
20/20
—no offense, Kelly. How much do you think it would cost us to buy that kind of publicity?”

    Kelly blushed a little. She wasn’t afraid of the publicity, but it would be nice to be more than just the firm cover girl. “I think that’s a mistake,” she said. “This case could lead to other cases just like it. This could develop into a very lucrative practice area.”

    That thought generated looks of grave concern on the faces of the two partners who had voted against the case. “B&W is a business litigation firm,” one said. “Not a plaintiff’s personal injury firm. I for one don’t want to be known as the law firm that declares war on the Second Amendment.”

    John Lloyd took off his glasses and spoke with the gravitas of a peacemaker. “Those are valid concerns, and I’m not proposing that we declare war on the Second Amendment. We’re taking one case, milking all the publicity we can out of it, then going back to our bread and butter.”

    It wasn’t exactly a ringing endorsement, but Kelly just wanted out of the room with her case intact. Even though she couldn’t possibly handle her billable hours requirement
and
this case, in a way it wouldn’t matter. If she won, her reputation would soar, and her lack of billable hours wouldn’t matter. If she lost, all the billable hours in the world wouldn’t save her.

    The more she thought about it, the more she liked the idea of taking the case
pro bono.
Lloyd was right. The liberal media would portray Kelly as the white knight, riding in to save the day against gun violence. Her firm could take the next case on a contingency fee.

    “You really want me to do this
pro bono
?” she asked. Her tone made it clear that it would be a major sacrifice, one she would reluctantly make for the good of the firm.

    “I’m afraid so,” John Lloyd said.

    “All right,” Kelly said, resisting the urge to smile.

Two weeks later, a B&W runner filed a thick lawsuit in Virginia Beach circuit court. A press release quickly followed. In the lawsuit, Kelly was required to provide only general allegations, but she had gone much further. She beefed up the pleadings with lots of specific facts about the MD-9 and the way Peninsula Arms supplied much of the black market in New York, Philadelphia, Baltimore, and D.C.

    Fortunately for Kelly, all four of those cities happened to be major media markets.

    A week earlier, B&W had hired an outside PR firm to arrange interviews on the most prestigious morning shows for the day after the filing. Accordingly, while the lawsuit was being file-stamped by the Virginia Beach court clerk, Kelly was on a flight from D.C. to New York. She was nervous, but she had learned from the rainmakers at B&W that building a law practice consisted of one part skill and two parts marketing. Besides, this would be a great opportunity to influence the public’s perception of her case, including potential jurors in Virginia Beach. She would look into the cameras and pretend she was talking to a few friends over a nice dinner. How hard could it be?

    On Tuesday evening, Kelly was greeted at LaGuardia Airport by PR consultant Jeff Chapman and a limo driver holding a sign with Kelly’s name on it. On the way to the hotel, Jeff briefed Kelly on each interview scheduled for the following day and the types of questions she might expect. Jeff was a big man, gregarious and confident, and his briefing helped Kelly calm down. He seemed to be on a first-name basis with all the hosts and assured Kelly that most of the interviews would be very sympathetic.

    “They’ll have to ask hard questions because that’s what they do. But remember, secretly they’ll be cheering you on. If you stumble, they’ll ask a softball question so you can end strong.”

    “And then there’s
Fox and Friends,
” Kelly said.

    “Even there, they’ll have to be careful how hard they push. There’s a lot of sympathy for your client.”

At each studio, Jeff Chapman introduced her to the producers and makeup crews, chitchatting with them like old friends. Kelly breezed through the first few interviews, her only disappointment being that Matt Lauer was taking the day off. Her third interview, ABC’s
Good Morning America,
was smooth sailing until Diane Sawyer popped the experience question: “If you don’t mind my asking, how long have you been practicing law?”

    “Five years,” Kelly replied. She had flashed her smile often that morning, on the advice of Jeff Chapman. But she didn’t smile now. “I’m the same age Rachel Crawford was when she was gunned down.”

    “Great answer!” Jeff said after the interview. All morning long, he had been telling her that she was a natural.

    
I could get used to this,
Kelly thought.

CNN was probably her best interview. They had assembled a whole package of graphics based on the statistics Kelly had highlighted in her lawsuit. As an extra bonus, they had uncovered some details about several other crimes involving guns sold by Peninsula Arms, particularly the MD-9. Toward the end of the interview, they actually produced an MD-9 on the set, assuring Kelly it was not loaded.

    It looked evil, lying on the anchor desk—flat and boxy, dull black with a blunt barrel. “Do you think guns like this should be legal?” the anchor asked.

    In response, Kelly launched into her speech about why criminals prefer guns like the MD-9. Law-abiding citizens have no use for them, she argued. And the NRA can no longer use the slippery slope argument, saying if we outlaw guns like this we will eventually come after hunting rifles and pistols. The Supreme Court took that possibility away in the
Heller
case.

    Fifteen minutes later, Kelly was being whisked into the less friendly environs of the Fox News studios. Jeff made his usual round of introductions and Kelly was ushered into makeup. As she climbed into the chair, Jeff explained that he had some other pressing appointments and had to run. This was her last interview. Kelly should just call a cab to take her back to the hotel. Jeff would meet her there for lunch.

    Kelly thanked him and settled into the chair while a perky young woman touched up the makeup that had been layered on at the other shows. “You don’t need much help from me,” the woman said.

    “Thanks.”

    “You’ve got about five minutes before they start your segment,” the woman said when she had finished. “The greenroom is right down the hall.”

    Kelly thanked her and headed to the greenroom. Things had been happening so fast all morning, she needed a few minutes to clear her head. So far, she had survived her media baptism relatively unscathed. One more interview and she could return to the safety of her office in D.C.

    The Fox News greenroom was a clone of the other greenrooms Kelly had seen that morning. A sofa, a few leather chairs, a coffee table, and a large mirror on a side wall. Plaques hung around the room along with signed photos from celebrities expressing best wishes to the hosts. Munchies and drinks lined a table along one wall, while a flat-screen LCD television broadcast Fox News on the other. A middle-aged man with a full head of gray hair was talking to a razor-thin and diminutive woman in the middle of the room. They stopped talking when Kelly entered.

    The man extended a meaty hand. “I’m Congressman Parker,” he said.

    He looked older in real life, his skin wrinkled and beginning to spot. He was a conservative icon, sixty-five or seventy years old, certainly no fan of gun litigation.

    “Kelly Starling.”

    They shook hands, Parker squeezing hard enough to send a message. “I know who you are.”

    Kelly ignored the comment and extended her hand to the woman standing in front of her. She estimated the woman to be about five-two or -three and could tell she was wound tight.

    Maybe it was because Kelly had just sued her company.

    Melissa Davids ignored Kelly’s outstretched hand. Kelly smiled and withdrew it.

    “I didn’t know we were appearing together,” Kelly said.

    “Now you do,” Davids responded.

Kelly saw no reason to get into a big argument in the greenroom. “It’s nothing personal,” she said. “I’m just representing my client.”

    She started to walk away and take a seat, but Davids had other ideas. “Have you ever been raped?” she asked.

    Kelly stared at her for a second, sure she’d misunderstood the question. “Excuse me?”

    “I was. At age sixteen. I spent two years learning jujitsu and was assaulted again at age eighteen. That’s when I bought my first gun.” Davids took a half step closer and lowered her voice. “Nobody’s touched me since.”

    
This woman is hard-core.

    “Look, I know you mean well,” Davids continued. “You’re no doubt one of those big-hearted liberals all fired up about women’s issues. You want to empower women?”

    Kelly crossed her arms, choosing not to respond.

    “Teach them to shoot. A gun is a woman’s best friend.”

    If Kelly hadn’t heard it with her own ears, she probably wouldn’t have believed it. Davids was like a character from a comic book.

    “Thanks for the advice,” Kelly said.

The fireworks started again as soon as Kelly and Davids were situated next to each other on the set. For most of the segment, Kelly felt like she was being cross-examined by the show’s host with Davids looking for fun places to pile on. On a few occasions, Davids interrupted Kelly’s answer, raising her voice until Kelly let her talk.

    “We’ve been sued thirteen times when some psycho uses one of our guns in a crime,” Davids said, her eyes narrowing. “We’ve been sued in New York, San Francisco, Boston, Philadelphia, and Detroit.” She paused for emphasis. “We’ve yet to pay a dime. The only people making money in these cases are the lawyers, not the victims.”

    “Those were different legal theories,” Kelly countered. “Based on your design and marketing of the gun. This case is different. It’s about supplying the black market—”

    “That’s no difference,” Davids interrupted. “That’s just lawyer talk.”

    Both women argued at once but this time Kelly spoke louder. “I’m not finished!” she said emphatically. “I let you finish; I’d appreciate the same courtesy.”

    The host smiled and held up his hands. “One at a time,” he said. “Ms. Starling first and then Ms. Davids can respond.”

    “Our firm is taking the case
pro bono,
” Kelly said. “Every dollar recovered goes to the client. In addition—”

    “And I suppose you aren’t in it for the publicity, either,” Davids sarcastically interjected. “Which is why you’ve sprinted from one morning show to the next all day long.”

    “You’re not very good at letting people finish,” Kelly countered. She knew this tit-for-tat made them both look stupid; she needed to get back to her talking points.

    “She’s right,” the host said, grinning at the fireworks.

    “Are you honestly saying you didn’t know that Peninsula Arms was a rogue dealer?” Kelly asked. “You never watched the videotapes of New York City undercover agents conducting straw purchases at Peninsula Arms? You didn’t know about the 251 guns used in crimes traced to Peninsula Arms in 2006? The media was all over this stuff—how could you not know?”

    Davids leaned forward and stared back at Kelly. “You want to hear what I know? I know you didn’t sue the estate of the man who actually shot your client’s wife. I know you didn’t sue the gun store that you say illegally sold the gun. Instead, you sue my company, and we didn’t even know about the sale. And then, as soon as the suit is filed, you make the rounds of every talk show in America. That’s what I know.”

    Their host started to wrap up the segment but Kelly cut him off.

    “May I respond?” Kelly asked.

    “We’ve only got fifteen seconds,” the host said. “I’ll give you the last word.”

    
Fifteen seconds?
The competitive instincts kicked in. Kelly was tired of being pushed around.

    “I told you in the greenroom it was nothing personal,” Kelly said to Davids, her teeth gritted. “I lied. It
is
personal. Your cavalier attitude cost Rachel Crawford her life. I take that very personally.”

    Davids scoffed and started to respond.