"A trial is at least twelve months away," York said as he looked at his associate for confirmation, as if anyone could project a trial date so far in the future. The associate dutifully confirmed what his boss had already said.
In other words, if this goes to trial, it will be months before you receive a dime in fees. It's no secret that your little firm is drowning in debt and struggling to survive, and everyone knows that you need a big settlement, and quick.
"Your client can't wait that long," York said.
"We've given you a number, Alan," Wes replied. "Do you have a counteroffer?"
York suddenly slapped his file shut, gave a forced grin, and said, "Look, this is really simple. Littun Casualty is very good at cutting its losses, and this case is a loser. My authority to settle is $1 million. Not a penny more. I have a million bucks, and my client told me not to come back for more. One million dollars, take it or leave it."
The referring lawyer would get half of the 30 percent contingency contract. The Paytons would get the other half. Fifteen percent was $150,000, a dream.
They looked at each other, both frowning, both wanting to leap across the table and begin kissing Alan York. Then Wes shook his head, and Mary Grace wrote something on a legal pad.
"We have to call our client," Wes said.
"Of course." York bolted from the room, his associate racing to keep up.
"Well," Wes said softly, as if the room might be bugged.
"I'm trying not to cry," she said.
"Don't cry. Don't laugh. Let's squeeze him a little."
When York was back, Wes said gravely, "We talked to Mrs. Nolan. Her bottom line is one point two million."
York exhaled as his shoulders drooped and his face sagged. "I don't have it, Wes," he said. "I'm being perfectly candid with you."
"You can always ask for more. If your client will pay a million, then they can kick in another $200,000. At trial, this case is worth twice that."
"Littun is a tough bunch, Wes."
"One phone call. Give it a try. What's there to lose?"
York left again, and ten minutes later burst back into the room with a happy face.
"You got it! Congratulations."
The shock of the settlement left them numb. Negotiations usually dragged on for weeks or months, with both sides bickering and posturing and playing little games. They had hoped to leave York's office with a general ideaof where the settlement might be headed. Instead, they left in a daze and for fifteen minutes roamed the streets of downtown Jackson, saying little. For a moment they stopped in front of the Capitol Grill, a restaurant known more for its clientele than for its food. Lobbyists liked to be seen there, picking up tabs for fine meals with heavyweight politicians. Governors had always favored the place.
Why not splurge and eat with the big boys?
Instead, they ducked into a small deli two doors down and ordered iced tea. Neither had an appetite at the moment. Wes finally addressed the obvious. "Did we just earn $180,000?"
"Uh-huh," she said while sipping tea through a straw.
"I thought so."
"A third goes for taxes," she said.
"Are you trying to kill the party?"
"No, just being practical."
On a white paper napkin, she wrote down the sum of $180,000.
"Are we spending it already?" Wes asked.
"No, we're dividing it. Sixty thousand for taxes?"
"Fifty."
"Income, state and federal. Employee withholding, Social Security, unemployment, I don't know what else but it's at least a third."
"Fifty-five," he said, and she wrote down $60,000.
"Bonuses?"
"What about a new car?" he asked.
"Nope. Bonuses, for all five employees. They have not had a raise in three years."
"Five thousand each."
She wrote down $25,000, then said, "The bank."
"A new car."
"The bank? Half the fee is already gone."
"Two hundred dollars."
"Come on, Wes. We won't have a life until the bank is off our backs."
"I've tried to forget about the loan."
"How much?"
"I don't know. I'm sure you have a figure."
"Fifty thousand for Huffy, and ten thousand for Sheila McCarthy. That leaves us with thirty-five thousand." Which, at that moment, seemed like a fortune. They stared at the napkin, both recasting the numbers and rearranging the priorities, but neither willing to suggest a change. Mary Grace signed her name at the bottom, then Wes did likewise. She put the napkin in her purse.
"Can I at least get a new suit out of the deal?" he asked.
"Depends on what's on sale. I guess we should call the office."
"They're sitting by the phone."
Three hours later, the Paytons walked into their office, and the party started. The front door was locked, the phones were unplugged, the champagne began to flow. Sherman and Rusty, the law clerks, proposed lengthy toasts they had hurriedly put together.
Tabby and Vicky, the receptionists, were tipsy after two glasses. Even Olivia, the ancient bookkeeper, kicked up her heels and was soon laughing at everything.
The money was spent, re-spent, overspent, until everyone was rich.
When the champagne was gone, the office closed and everyone left. The Paytons, their cheeks warm from the bubbly, went to their apartment, changed into casual clothes, then drove to the school to fetch Mack and Liza. They had earned a night of fun,though the children were too young to understand the settlement. It would never be mentioned.
Mack and Liza were expecting Ramona, and when they saw both parents in the school pickup line, a long day instantly became brighter. Wes explained that they simply got tired of working and decided to play. The first stop was Baskin-Robbins for ice cream. Next, they went to a shopping mall, where a shoe store attracted their attention.
Each Payton picked out a pair, at 50 percent off, with Mack being the boldest with a pair of Marine combat boots. In the center of the mall was a four-screen cinema.
They caught the 6:00 p.m. showing of the latest Harry Potter.
Dinner was at a family pizzeria with an indoor playground and a rowdy atmosphere.
They finally made it home around ten, where Ramona was watching television and enjoying the quiet. The kids handed her leftover pizza, and both talked at once about the movie. They promised to finish their homework in the morning. Mary Grace relented, and the entire family settled onto the sofa and watched a reality rescue show. Bedtime was pushed back to eleven.
When the apartment was quiet and the kids tucked in, Wes and Mary Grace lay on the sofa, heads on opposite ends, legs tangled together, minds drifting far away. For the past four years, as their finances had spiraled downward, with one loss after another, one humiliation following the last, fear had become a daily companion. Fear of losing the home, then the office, then the autos. Fear of not being able to provide for their children. Fear of a serious medical emergency that exceeded their insurance.
Fear of losing the Baker trial. Fear of bankruptcy if the bank pushed too hard.
Since the verdict, the fear had become more of a nuisance than a constant threat.
It was always there, but they had slowly gained control of it. For six straight months now, they had paid the bank $2,000 a month, hard-earned moneys that were left over after all other bills and expenses. It barely covered the interest, and it reminded them of how insurmountable their debt was. But it was symbolic. They were digging out from the rubble and could see the light.