The King of Torts: A Novel by John Grisham

Author:John Grisham [Grisham, John]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Mystery, Suspense, Adult, Thriller, Fiction
ISBN: 9780440241539
Google: Dl-5nfPTebsC
Amazon: B003B02PDG
Barnesnoble: B003B02PDG
Goodreads: 1125055
Publisher: Dell
Published: 2003-01-01T06:00:00+00:00

LATE IN the afternoon, Ackerman Labs agreed to a minimum of $62,000 for each of the Group One Dyloft plaintiffs, those with benign tumors that could be removed with a fairly simple surgical procedure, the cost of which would also be borne by the company. Approximately forty thousand plaintiffs were in this class, and the money would be available immediately. Much of the haggling that followed involved the method to be used in qualifying for the settlement. A ferocious fight erupted when the issue of attorneys’ fees was thrown on the table. Like most of the other lawyers, Clay had a contingency contract giving him one third of any recovery, but in such settlements that percentage was normally reduced. A very complicated formula was used and argued about, with French being unduly aggressive. It was, after all, his money. Ackerman eventually agreed on the figure of 28 percent for Group One fees.

Group Two plaintiffs were those with malignant tumors, and since their treatments would take months or years, the settlement was left open. No cap was placed on these damages—evidence, according to Barry and Harry, that Philo Products was somewhere in the background, propping up Ackerman with some extra cash. The attorneys would get 25 percent in Group Two, though Clay had no idea why. French was crunching numbers too fast for anyone.

Group Three plaintiffs were those from Group Two who would die because of Dyloft. Since there had been no deaths so far, this class was also left open. The fees were capped at 22 percent.

They adjourned at seven with the plan to meet the next day to nail down the details for Groups Two and Three. On the elevator down, French handed him a printout. “Not a bad day’s work,” he said with a smile. It was a summary of Clay’s cases and anticipated fees, including a 7 percent add-on for his role on the Plaintiffs’ Steering Committee.

His expected gross fees from Group One alone were $106 million.

When he was finally alone he stood in front of the window in his room and gazed into the dusk settling over Central Park. Clearly, Tarvan had not braced him for the shock of instant riches. He was numb, speechless, frozen in the window forever as random thoughts raced in and out of his severely overloaded brain. He drank two straight whiskeys from the mini-bar with absolutely no effect.

Still at the window, he called Paulette, who snatched the phone after half a ring. “Talk to me,” she said when she recognized his voice.

“Round one is over,” he said.

“Don’t beat around the bush!”

“You just made ten million bucks,” he said, the words coming from his mouth but in a voice that belonged to someone else.

“Don’t lie to me, Clay.” Her words trailed off.

“It’s true. I’m not lying.”

There was a pause as she began to cry. He backpedaled and sat on the edge of the bed, and for a moment felt like a good cry himself. “Oh my God,” she managed to say twice.

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