Similar conversations were being repeated across the country as dozens of high-flying lawyers backtracked from the drug. A lawyer in Phoenix filed a motion to dismiss four lawsuits involving clients allegedly killed by Krayoxx. His motion met a Rule 11 response straight from the Nadine Karros playbook. Varrick Labs demanded sanctions for the filing of the frivolous cases and provided detailed billing and expense records to prove it had spent over $8 million defending the lawsuits. With the mass tort lawyers in retreat, it soon became apparent that Varrick was in hot pursuit. The wars over Rule 11 sanctions would rage for months.
Ten days after the verdict, the FDA lifted its recall of Krayoxx, and Varrick flooded the market. Reuben Massey would quickly restock his cash reserves, and his first priority was to pound away at the mass tort bar over its mistreatment of his beloved drug.
Eleven days after the verdict, and still no word from Aaron Deentz. The Hung Juror had taken a break from his blog, without an explanation. David had two thoughts about a prosecution for simple assault. First, if Deentz filed charges, he would run the risk of blowing his cover. Like many bloggers, he relished his anonymity and the freedom it allowed to say virtually anything. The fact that David knew who he was, and called him out right before he punched him, had to be unsettling. If Deentz pressed charges, he would be forced to appear in court and admit to being the Hung Juror. If he was really out of work and looking for a job, his blogging might haunt him. In the past two years, he had said terrible things about judges, lawyers, and law firms. On the other hand, he had been on the receiving end of two solid punches. David had not felt bones breaking, but there had to be damage, if only temporary. Since Deentz was a lawyer, he would probably insist on getting his day in court, and his revenge.
David had yet to tell Helen about the assault. He knew she would react with disfavor and she would worry about an arrest and prosecution. His plan was to tell her only if Deentz filed charges. In other words, he would tell her later, maybe. Then he had another idea. There was only one Aaron Deentz in the phone book, and late one afternoon David dialed his number. “Aaron Deentz, please,” David said.
“Speaking. Who is this?”
“David Zinc, here, Mr. Deentz, and I’m calling to apologize for my actions after the jury’s verdict. I was upset, angry, and I acted rashly.”
A pause, then, “You broke my jaw.”
At first, there was a flash of macho pride in the fact that he could throw a punch with such ferocity, but all bravado vanished when David thought about a civil lawsuit for personal injuries. “Again, I apologize, and I certainly did not intend to break anything or cause bodily harm.”
Deentz’s next response was most revealing. He asked, “How did you learn my identity?”
So, he was afraid of being exposed. David fudged a little by saying, “I have a cousin who’s a geek. Took him twenty-four hours. You shouldn’t post at the same time each day. Sorry about the jaw. I’m willing to cover your medical expenses.” He made this offer because he was compelled to, but he flinched at the thought of another outlay of cash.
“Are you trying to offer a deal, Zinc?”
“Sure. I’ll cover your medicals, and you agree not to press charges or pursue damages.”
“You’re worried about an assault charge?”
“Not really. If I have to defend myself for the assault, I’ll make sure the judge sees some of your comments, and I doubt he’ll be impressed. Judges despise blogs like yours. Judge Seawright followed it daily and was furious, thought it might affect the case if any of the jurors stumbled across it. His clerks were trying to learn the identity of the Hung Juror.” David was spinning this wild fiction on the fly, but it had a legitimate ring to it.
“Have you told anyone?” Deentz asked. David couldn’t tell if he was timid, scared, or just dealing with a broken jaw.
“Not a soul.”
“I lost my insurance when I lost my job. The medicals are $4,600 as of now. The wires are in for a month, after that I don’t know.”
“I made my offer,” David said. “Do we have a deal?”
A long pause, then, “Yes, I guess.”
“There’s one other thing, Mr. Deentz.”
“Okay, what is it?”
“You called my wife a bimbo.”
“Yes, I, uh, shouldn’t have done that. Your wife is very attractive.”
“She is, and she’s a very smart lady.”
“My apologies.”
“And mine.”
Wally’s first post-trial victory was the successful completion of Oscar’s divorce settlement. With little in the way of assets and both parties desperately wanting out, the agreement was actually quite simple, if any legal document could ever be considered simple. When Oscar and Wally signed their names just below Paula Finley and Goodloe Stamm, Oscar stared at the signatures for a long time and did not attempt to suppress a smile. Wally filed the agreement in circuit court, and an appearance date was set for mid-January.
Oscar insisted on a celebratory bottle of champagne, nonalcoholic of course, and the firm met at the table for an unofficial meeting late in the day. Since all four knew the score—Day 15 of sobriety—Wally was toasted along with the newest bachelor on the block, Oscar Finley. It was Thursday, November 10, and though the little boutique firm was facing a mountain of debt with few clients, they seemed determined to enjoy the moment. Wounded and humiliated, they were still standing and showing signs of life.
Just as he drained his glass, David’s cell phone vibrated. He excused himself and went upstairs.
———
Dylan Kott introduced himself as the senior VP and chief counsel for Sonesta Games, a position he had held for many years. He was calling from the company’s headquarters in San Jacinto, California. He thanked David for his letter, its tone and reasonableness, and assured him the package had been studied by the company’s top brass, and, frankly, there was “deep concern” up there. He, too, was concerned and said, “We’d like to get together, Mr. Zinc, face-to-face.”
“And the purpose of the meeting would be to …?” David asked.
“Discuss ways to avoid litigation.”
“And to avoid negative publicity?”
“Certainly. We are a toy company, Mr. Zinc. Our image is very important to us.”
“When and where?”
“We have a distribution center and office in Des Plaines, your neck of the woods. Could you meet us there Monday morning?”
“Yes, but only if you’re serious about a settlement. If you plan to walk in with some lowball scheme, then forget it. I’ll take my chances with a jury.”
“Please, Mr. Zinc, it’s too early to start with the threats. I assure you we recognize the gravity of this situation. Sadly, we’ve been here before. I can explain it all on Monday.”
“Fair enough.”
“Has a legal representative been appointed by the court for this child?”
“Yes. His father.”
“Would it be possible to have both parents on hand Monday morning?”
“I’m sure they can be there. Why?”
“Carl LaPorte, our CEO, would like to meet them and, on behalf of our company, offer an apology.”
CHAPTER 49
The facility was one in a long row of modern warehouses that covered acres and seemed to stretch endlessly west from Des Plaines and the Chicago suburbs. Thanks to his GPS, David found it with no trouble, and at 10:00 Monday morning he escorted Soe and Lwin Khaing through the front door of a redbrick office complex stuck to the side of a massive warehouse. They were immediately led through a hallway and into a conference room where coffee, pastries, and juice were offered. They declined. David’s stomach was flipping, and his nerves were on edge. The Khaings were thoroughly overwhelmed.