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Authors: Randy Singer
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work?”
“Sir?”
“Do you know what makes our criminal justice system work? What allows juries to get it right most of the time?”
Jason could think of a thousand things—the presumption of innocence, the right to confront one’s accusers, a jury of one’s peers—but he wasn’t sure where Sherwood was headed. “I haven’t really thought about it in those terms,” Jason admitted.
“The adversarial nature of it,” Sherwood responded, as if the answer was obvious to any idiot. “When two equally matched and well-prepared advocates zealously represent their clients in front of an unbiased decision maker, the truth generally wins out.”
He rotated the envelope in his hands, zeroing in on Jason. “Now, what screws the system up? When does it not work?”
“When lazy or incompetent lawyers get involved. When the juries or judges are biased.”
“Right,” Sherwood said. “There’s an old adage about the definition of a jury. It’s twelve men and women from the local community who come together to decide which client hired the better lawyer. When exceptional lawyers with enormous resources outwork and outsmart their adversaries, they win. But in the process, justice loses.”
Three years of law school and two years of practicing law, and Jason had never heard it expressed quite that way. Sherwood had a reputation for cutting to the core issues.
“That’s what happened in the Van Wyck mock trial,” Sherwood continued. “You out-lawyered Austin Lockhart. You pulled out a conviction when the evidence demanded an acquittal. You cost a few hedge fund managers millions of dollars.”
Jason didn’t quite know what to say. It felt like he was being accused and congratulated at the same time.
“I think you’re giving me too much credit,” he managed.
“That’s what Andrew Lassiter said. And I listened. It cost me a lot of credibility, Jason. It cost my clients a lot of money.”
Jason squelched the desire to apologize. What had he done wrong?
“It’s not your fault,” Sherwood said, as if reading Jason’s mind. “We told you on day one that we wanted your best efforts in every case. The only way this works is when both lawyers go all out.” Sherwood flashed a quick smile, almost a wink. “Unfortunately, your best efforts are too good.
“I’ve never fired anyone for being too good at their job, Jason. But there’s always a first time.”
Sherwood twisted his neck back and forth, casually stretching his neck muscles as if he fired someone every day.
Am I hearing this right?
The CEO put down the envelope and stood, his bulky frame hovering over the table. He walked to his credenza and pulled out a box of cigars. He held them toward Jason, a surreal gesture that made Jason realize this moment would become part of Justice Inc. folklore. His friends wouldn’t believe this! He was getting fired for doing his job too well—and then offered a celebratory cigar as if he and Sherwood had just won the NBA championship.
“No, thanks,” Jason said.
Sherwood set the box on the table and unwrapped one for himself. He bit off the end and spit it into a trash can. He placed the cigar in his mouth without lighting it and chewed on it as he talked.
“I’ll pay you for the remainder of your two-year contract,” he said, sliding the envelope toward Jason. “I would probably pay you a bonus for exceptional performance if you hadn’t set the company back a year or two by winning a case you should have lost.”
Jason bit his tongue and eyed the big man curiously. It was hard to know whether Sherwood was being sarcastic or serious.
Sherwood shrugged and gave Jason a knowing smile. “I know this sounds stupid. But it’s like a college football player declaring early for the draft. You’re better prepared to try
“Sir?”
“Do you know what makes our criminal justice system work? What allows juries to get it right most of the time?”
Jason could think of a thousand things—the presumption of innocence, the right to confront one’s accusers, a jury of one’s peers—but he wasn’t sure where Sherwood was headed. “I haven’t really thought about it in those terms,” Jason admitted.
“The adversarial nature of it,” Sherwood responded, as if the answer was obvious to any idiot. “When two equally matched and well-prepared advocates zealously represent their clients in front of an unbiased decision maker, the truth generally wins out.”
He rotated the envelope in his hands, zeroing in on Jason. “Now, what screws the system up? When does it not work?”
“When lazy or incompetent lawyers get involved. When the juries or judges are biased.”
“Right,” Sherwood said. “There’s an old adage about the definition of a jury. It’s twelve men and women from the local community who come together to decide which client hired the better lawyer. When exceptional lawyers with enormous resources outwork and outsmart their adversaries, they win. But in the process, justice loses.”
Three years of law school and two years of practicing law, and Jason had never heard it expressed quite that way. Sherwood had a reputation for cutting to the core issues.
“That’s what happened in the Van Wyck mock trial,” Sherwood continued. “You out-lawyered Austin Lockhart. You pulled out a conviction when the evidence demanded an acquittal. You cost a few hedge fund managers millions of dollars.”
Jason didn’t quite know what to say. It felt like he was being accused and congratulated at the same time.
“I think you’re giving me too much credit,” he managed.
“That’s what Andrew Lassiter said. And I listened. It cost me a lot of credibility, Jason. It cost my clients a lot of money.”
Jason squelched the desire to apologize. What had he done wrong?
“It’s not your fault,” Sherwood said, as if reading Jason’s mind. “We told you on day one that we wanted your best efforts in every case. The only way this works is when both lawyers go all out.” Sherwood flashed a quick smile, almost a wink. “Unfortunately, your best efforts are too good.
“I’ve never fired anyone for being too good at their job, Jason. But there’s always a first time.”
Sherwood twisted his neck back and forth, casually stretching his neck muscles as if he fired someone every day.
Am I hearing this right?
The CEO put down the envelope and stood, his bulky frame hovering over the table. He walked to his credenza and pulled out a box of cigars. He held them toward Jason, a surreal gesture that made Jason realize this moment would become part of Justice Inc. folklore. His friends wouldn’t believe this! He was getting fired for doing his job too well—and then offered a celebratory cigar as if he and Sherwood had just won the NBA championship.
“No, thanks,” Jason said.
Sherwood set the box on the table and unwrapped one for himself. He bit off the end and spit it into a trash can. He placed the cigar in his mouth without lighting it and chewed on it as he talked.
“I’ll pay you for the remainder of your two-year contract,” he said, sliding the envelope toward Jason. “I would probably pay you a bonus for exceptional performance if you hadn’t set the company back a year or two by winning a case you should have lost.”
Jason bit his tongue and eyed the big man curiously. It was hard to know whether Sherwood was being sarcastic or serious.
Sherwood shrugged and gave Jason a knowing smile. “I know this sounds stupid. But it’s like a college football player declaring early for the draft. You’re better prepared to try
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