26

Jeffrey Corbett’s firm occupied the top two floors of a handsome glass building near Thomas Circle. In the plush lobby, a uniformed doorman escorted Mark and Todd to “Mr. Corbett’s elevator,” an exclusive lift that serviced only floors seven and eight. When it opened, they walked into a stunning reception area filled with minimalist furniture and contemporary art. A comely young lady greeted them with handshakes and asked if they wanted coffee. Both watched her walk away. When she was back with the coffee, in fine china, they followed her around a corner to a conference room with a sweeping view of downtown. She left them there, and they watched her walk away for the second time.

The table was long and wide and covered with burgundy leather. Sixteen sleek leather chairs were around it. The walls held even more art. So far, the place had the seductive feel of serious success and wealth.

“Now, this is how you practice law,” Todd said, admiring the decor.

“Well, we’ll never know.”

Mr. Corbett had his own way of doing things. At 3:00 p.m., Mark and Todd would meet with an associate named Peter and a paralegal named Aurelia. They would spend an hour or so reviewing Ramon’s stack of medical records, along with the report from Dr. Koonce. The records and the report were still in Mark’s briefcase. He had offered to send them over but that was not their protocol.

If the preliminary meeting went well enough, then Mr. Corbett would tear himself away from his schedule and close the deal.

Peter walked in and introduced himself. He was about thirty-five, still an associate according to the website. The firm had fifteen lawyers, about half of them partners, but it was clear, at least online, that there was only one boss. Peter was dressed casually in an expensive cashmere sweater and khaki pants. Aurelia, the paralegal, wore jeans. Everyone got themselves properly introduced.

Peter was curious about their firm, and within seconds both Mark and Todd were treading water. They gave their usual spiel—three friends who got fed up with the bigger firms and decided to make a go of it on their own. As soon as possible, Mark said, “So you guys do a lot of bad-birth cases, right?”

“That’s all we do,” Peter said smugly as Todd passed across copies of the report from Dr. Koonce. Aurelia had yet to speak and it was already obvious she would say as little as possible.

“May I see the medical records?” Peter asked, staring at them on the table in front of Mark.

“Certainly.”

“You brought how many copies?”

“Just one.”

“Okay. Mind if we run another copy real quick? Aurelia and I will skim through these and make notes. It goes faster if we both have a copy.”

Mark and Todd shrugged. Whatever.

Aurelia left with the records. Peter left to tend to pressing matters in his office. Mark and Todd checked their phones and enjoyed the view of the city. Ramon had already left two voice mails.

Fifteen minutes later, Aurelia was back with two stacks of records. Peter returned and everyone took their seats. Peter said, “This might take an hour or so, for the first read-through. You’re welcome to stay or you can go out for a walk.”

Todd wanted to ask if he could go sit with the secretary out front, but let it pass. Mark said, “We’ll stay.”

Peter and Aurelia began plowing through the records and making dozens of notes. Todd stepped into the hallway to make a call. Mark sent e-mails from his phone. The minutes passed slowly. It was obvious to them that Peter and Aurelia knew a lot about medical records.

After half an hour, Peter left the conference room. He returned with Jeffrey Corbett, a slim gray-haired man of about fifty. Mark and Todd had read so much about him they felt as if they already knew him. He spoke in a rich, velvety voice, one that jurors supposedly found almost hypnotic. His smile was warm and charismatic. This was a man you could trust.

He took a seat at the head of the table and stopped smiling. He frowned at Mark and Todd and said, “You guys have really screwed up.”

Mark and Todd stopped smiling too.

Corbett said, “You signed a contract with Mr. Ramon Taper on February 10. You hired Dr. Koonce two days later, and on February 19 he gave you his report, dated on that day. Six days later, February 25, the statute of limitations expired. It’s a Virginia case, and Virginia has a two-year statute of limitations. Three in Maryland, five here in the District. But only two in Virginia.”

Mark managed to say, “Sorry, but the delivery was last year, February 25, 2013. It’s right there on the top page of the admissions log.”

Looking down his nose, Peter replied, “Yes, but that date is incorrect. It’s the first date you see when you look at the records, and evidently it was the only date you noticed. You and Dr. Koonce, I presume. Someone wrote ‘2013’ instead of ‘2012,’ and off you went. The baby was born on February 25, 2012.”

For no apparent benefit, Corbett added, “Koonce is a quack, by the way, a professional testifier because he couldn’t make it as a real doctor.”

Well, he gave us your name, Mark almost blurted, but was too stunned to say anything. With all of the wonder and ignorance of a first-year law student, Todd looked at Corbett and asked, “So, what are you saying?”

Corbett jabbed a finger in his direction. “I’m saying, son, that you and your little law firm sat on the case while the statute of limitations ran out, and there’s no way to revive this lawsuit. You committed malpractice, and you can bet your sweet ass you’ll get sued by your client. You have no defense, no way out. It’s a lawyer’s worst nightmare and it’s inexcusable. Period. Yes, your client sat on his case for almost two years, but that’s not all that unusual. You had plenty of time to prepare and file a quick lawsuit to stop the clock. That didn’t happen.” Corbett rose to his feet and kept pointing. “Now, I want the two of you to take these medical records and get out of my office. I want no part of this. The record is clear that you contacted my office February 27, after the statute of limitations had expired. When the lawsuit lands, there can be no doubt that my firm did not see this case until it was too late.”

Peter and Aurelia stood too. Mark and Todd looked up at them, then slowly got to their feet. Mark managed to mumble, “But the admissions records say it was last year, 2013.”

Corbett was unsympathetic. “If you had studied the records, Mr. Upshaw, you would have realized it happened in 2012, over two years ago.”

With a bit of drama, Peter slid the original records across the table, as if surrendering the smoking gun. Mark looked at them, bewildered, and asked, “So what do we do now?”

Corbett said, “I have no advice, never been in this spot before. But I suppose you should notify your errors-and-omissions carrier, put them on notice. What’s your coverage?”

Errors and what? Coverage? Mark looked at Todd, who was already looking at him; both were thoroughly stupefied. “I’ll have to check,” Mark said, still mumbling.

Corbett said, “You do that. Now please leave and take your records with you.”

Peter walked to the door and opened it. Mark picked up the stack of records and followed Todd out of the room. Someone slammed the door behind them. The comely secretary was not at her desk on the way out. The oak-paneled elevator seemed stuffier on the ride down. The doorman wasn’t as friendly as they left the building. Not a word passed between them until they were safely locked in Todd’s car, with Ramon’s medical records flung across the backseat.

Todd gripped the wheel and said, “Well, that’s the last case we refer to that prick.”

From somewhere, Mark found humor and began laughing. To keep from crying, Todd laughed too, and they managed to keep it going until they parked behind The Rooster Bar.

ZOLA FOUND THEM in their booth, empty mugs on the table. One look into their eyes and she knew they had been there for a spell. She slid into a spot next to Mark and looked across at Todd. Neither spoke. She finally asked, “Okay, how’d it go?”

Todd asked, “You ever heard of errors-and-omissions insurance? For lawyers?”

“Don’t think so. Why?”

Mark said, “Well, it appears as though every lawyer with a license carries malpractice insurance that’s commonly referred to as errors-and-omissions. And this insurance comes in handy when the lawyer screws up and does something really bad like sit on a case until the statute of limitations runs out and the case evaporates, forever. The client gets pissed off and sues the lawyer, and the lawyer’s insurance company comes in to defend. It’s really smart insurance.”

“Too bad we don’t have any of it,” Todd said.

“We could sure use it. We missed the statute of limitations, Zola, in Ramon’s case. It ran out on February 25, two years after the baby died. Two years in Virginia. Did you learn that in law school?”

“No.”

“That makes three of us. Six days after I met with Koonce and two days before I made the first call to Corbett, the statute ran out. There’s no way around it, and there’s no one to blame but me.”

“Us,” Todd said. “The firm. All for one and one for all, right?”

“Not so fast,” she said.

Mark added, “Actually, a couple of his flunkies saw it when they were going through the records. They fetched him; he said get out. I thought at one point he might call security to escort us from the building.”

“A real charmer, huh?”

“Can’t blame him,” Todd said. “He’s just making sure his firm is off the hook. It’s not every day that a couple of bozos walk in with a big case that’s already dead and they’re too stupid to know it.”

She nodded and tried to absorb it all. Mark waved at a waiter and ordered another round.

Zola asked, “So how did Ramon take the news?”

Mark grunted, smiled. “I haven’t called him yet. I think you should do it.”

“Me!? Why?”

“Because I’m a coward. And you could pull it off. Meet him for a drink. Turn on the charm. He’ll be impressed and maybe he won’t sue us for $5 million.”

“You are kidding,” she said.

“Yes, Zola,” Mark said. “I’m kidding. This one is on me. I’ll eventually meet with Ramon and somehow get through it. The real problem, though, is Mossberg. He’s sitting by the phone waiting to hear what our expert says. At some point, and soon, I have to tell him the truth. The lawsuit is gone for good. He’ll sue us on behalf of Asia, and our cover will be blown. Simple as that.”

“Why would he sue if we have no insurance and no assets?” she asked.

“Because he’s a lawyer. He sues everybody.”

Todd said, “Wait a minute. That’s a very good question. What if we simply go to Mossberg and tell the guy the truth? He’s way down in Charleston and couldn’t care less about what we’re doing up here. Tell him we dropped out of law school and we’re trying to make a buck on the streets, without being properly admitted to the bar. Sure we screwed up his case, and we’re very sorry about that. Just a bunch of idiots, right? But why sue us when we have nothing? Why waste the paper? Hell, he’s got plenty of other cases.”

“Okay, you drive to Charleston,” Mark said. “My Bronco won’t make it.”

“What do you tell Ramon?” she asked.

The waiter placed two beers and a soda on the table. Mark took a long drink and wiped his mouth. “Ramon? Well, I suppose telling him the truth might be disastrous, so let’s stick with the lying for now. I’ll tell him our expert didn’t like the facts, couldn’t see any liability, and so we’re looking for another expert. We need some time here, so let’s stall him. Let a few months pass. Keep in mind he’s been sitting on the case for two years and he runs hot and cold.”

“He won’t back off now,” Todd said. “You’ve managed to get him excited.”

“You got a better idea?”

“No, not at the moment. It’s best to keep lying. With our practice, when in doubt—keep lying.”