Reckless Disregard Read Free Page A

And real enough to get a cease and desist letter from Lou Frantz?
    Poniard:
    >True
    PStern
    >Why??!!
    Poniard:
    >Why what?
    PStern
    >Why did you accuse him?
    Poniard:
    >He’s guilty
    PStern
    >You have proof?
    Poniard:
    >Some. I will share that info if you take on my case
    PStern
    >What motive would Bishop have to do such a heinous thing?
    Poniard:
    >One theory . . . Bishop was a married man back then; still is to the same woman, an heiress. An affair with Felicity he wanted to keep quiet?
    PStern
    >Implausible. And even if I thought you could win I wouldn’t take it on. I don’t try cases anymore. I settle them.
    Poniard:
    >You’ve won some high-profile cases recently
    PStern
    >I’ve retired.
    Poniard:
    >You’re only thirty-nine . . . looked it up on the Web. Too young to retire! In fact, in the prime of your career
    He’s right that most trial lawyers don't begin to reach their prime until their mid-forties. They do their best work well into their late sixties and even past that. Lou Frantz, for example, is seventy-two. But I’m not one of those lawyers. Even when I’m performing well in court, the fear is like a dormant virus residing in my nerve cells ready to flare up at any time. As much as I love trying cases, I can’t afford to stir up the virus.
    PStern
    >I can recommend some topnotch trial attorneys.
    Poniard:
    >I want you! I did my research . . . you know how to handle Frantz better than any lawyer around. And that motherfucker William the Conqueror Bishop killed Felicity. Truth is still a defense to libel, right?
    PStern
    >Yes, if you can prove it, which you won’t going up against those two. My free advice to you is to retract immediately and make this go away. Bishop and Frantz are letting you off easy.
    Poniard:
    >Will not happen! Bishop has to answer for his crimes!!
    PStern
    >Why do you care about McGrath? What’s your interest in this?
    Poniard:
    >I want to see justice done . . . that’s what all my games are about, and life is the ultimate video game
    This particular game has gone on long enough. It’s never wise to engage vindictive madmen in conversation.
    I switch back to Frantz’s letter. I’m not sure why I read it again, why I look at it more closely the second time, but when I see what I’ve missed, I jerk back in my chair. My limbs thrill with a mixture of anger and excitement, an intoxicating brew. I return to the chat program. Poniard is still there, waiting. How did he know to wait?
    PStern
    >Still there?
    Poniard:
    >Still
    PStern
    >I’m thinking of taking this case on after all if Frantz files
    Poniard:
    >Awesome!!! I have resources. I’ll advance legal fees in any amount you say
    PStern
    >Not necessary yet. Notify me immediately if you’re sued. How do I reach you?
    Poniard:
    >E-mail
    He signs off. Not even a thank you .
    Harmon Cherry taught me that there are many legitimate reasons for an attorney to take on a lawsuit—to earn a legal fee, to gain experience, to get public exposure, sometimes even to serve justice. But he also said that a lawyer should never take on a case for personal reasons, because the results are more often than not disastrous for both attorney and client. My reasons for taking on Poniard’s case are purely personal. Harmon said something else—don’t waste time groping for what’s been irretrievably lost. I’m not following that advice either.

Before I can search the name Poniard , there’s a knock at my door, though it’s wide open. Brenda Sica, the case assistant I share with three other mediators, stands at the threshold. It’s her job to schedule mediations, organize the case files, collect retainers in advance, do basic Internet research, and word process my official correspondence—more responsibility than a secretary but less than a paralegal. During the six weeks she’s worked at JADS, we’ve merely exchange pleasantries, and yet she’s cowering in my doorway as if she expects me to hurl a paperweight at her.
    “Mr. Stern,