“Okay, a bit closer, but you’ll still be safe. The point is that they can’t find us because we have different names, different addresses. They’ll turn us over to some two-bit law firm, one no doubt owned by Hinds Rackley, and they’ll file suit. Big deal. They’re suing students like crazy and the lawsuits are worthless.”
“But your credit is ruined.”
“What credit? It’s ruined anyway because we can’t repay the loans. Even if we found honest work, there’s no way in hell we can repay what we owe.”
The waiter appeared and Mark ordered a platter of nachos. When he left, she said, “So much for a fine dinner.”
“Compliments of us. It’s on the firm,” Todd said with a smile.
She was still holding the business card. She looked at it and asked, “Where did these names come from?”
Mark replied, “The phone book. Common, everyday names. I’m Mark Upshaw and have documents to prove it. He’s Todd Lane, just another ham-and-egg lawyer hustling the streets.”
“And who’s Parker?”
“That’s you,” Todd said. “Zola Parker. We’re thinking our little clinic needs some diversity so we’re adding you as the middle partner. All equal, you understand. Three equal partners.”
“Three equal crooks,” she said. “I’m sorry, but this is crazy.”
“It is. And what’s even crazier is the idea of wrapping things up at Foggy Bottom, graduating in May without a job, then grinding away for the bar exam. Face it, Zola, you’re not emotionally prepared for that. Neither are we, so we’ve already made our decision.”
“But we’re almost finished with law school,” she said.
Mark said, “So what? So you finish with a law degree that’s worthless. Just another piece of paper courtesy of Hinds Rackley and his diploma mill. We’ve been had, Zola, sucked into a scam of epic proportions. Gordy was right. You can’t just drift along with the scam and hope for a miracle. At least we’re fighting back.”
“You’re not fighting anything. You’re just screwing the taxpayers.”
Todd said, “The taxpayers are getting screwed by Congress and the Department of Education. And, of course, Rackley, who’s already made his money off our backs.”
“But we chose to borrow the money. No one made us.”
“True, but the money was loaned to us under false pretenses,” Mark said. “When you started law school, did you really believe that you would one day be sitting here with a mountain of debt and no job? Hell no. The picture they painted back then was much rosier. Take the money, get the degree, pass the bar, and go to work in a great profession that would make it easy to repay everything.”
The waiter brought another round of drinks. There was a gap in the conversation as they sipped and stared at the table.
Softly, she said, “It seems awfully risky.”
Mark and Todd nodded in agreement. Mark said, “There are risks, yes, but we don’t consider them to be that significant. The first risk is that we get caught practicing law without a license, but it’s no big deal. A slap on the wrist, a small fine, and move on.”
Todd added, “We’ve studied the cases and unauthorized practice is not that uncommon. It happens, and by the way the cases are fascinating, but no one goes to jail.”
“That’s supposed to be comforting?”
“I suppose. Look, Zola, under our plan if someone gets suspicious and reports us, and let’s say the D.C. Bar Council shows up with a bunch of questions, we simply vanish again.”
“And that’s even more comforting?”
Mark ignored her and said, “The second risk is that we default on our loans and this somehow screws up our already screwed-up lives.”
The nachos arrived and each took a bite. After the second bite, Zola touched her eyes with a paper napkin and they realized she was crying. She said, “Look, guys, I can’t stay in my apartment. Every time I look at Gordy’s door I almost break down. His family moved out his stuff on Tuesday and I keep going over there and sitting in the darkness. I need to get away, to somewhere.”
They nodded, stopped eating, took a sip.
“And there’s something else,” she said. She took a deep breath, wiped her eyes again, and told the story of a college student in Texas who was yanked from her dorm room in the middle of the night by ICE agents. She was sent to El Salvador, where she was reunited with her family of undocumented workers who had been removed a month earlier. The problem was the student had been born in the U.S. and had full citizenship. Her appeals and paperwork still languished somewhere deep in the bureaucracy.
Zola told them she had found a dozen cases of U.S. citizens being ensnared in ICE raids and removed, and each arrest had happened after the detention of family members. She was living in fear and it was debilitating.
Mark and Todd listened with sympathy. When she finished, and the tears had stopped, Mark said, “Well, we’ve found a great hiding place, and there’s room for you.”
“Where?” she asked.
“Upstairs. We’re sharing a dump on the fourth floor, no elevator I might add, and there are two rooms just below us. Maynard says we can have it for very reasonable rent.”
“Who’s Maynard?”
“Our boss,” Todd said. “He owns the place.”
“It’s not very nice,” Mark said. “But you would have your privacy, or some of it.”
“I’m not rooming with you guys.”
“No, not at all. We’ll be on the fourth floor and you’ll be on the third.”
“Does it have a kitchen?”
“Not really, but then you don’t need to cook anyway.”
“How about a bathroom?”
“That could be a problem,” Todd said. “The only bathroom is on the fourth floor, but we can make it work. It’s not ideal, Zola, but we’re all scrambling here. We can tough it out for a few months and see how things go.”
“It’s the perfect place to hide,” Mark said. “Think of Anne Frank hiding from the Nazis, only not quite that severe, you know?”
“That’s supposed to make me feel better?”
“I guess I could find a better analogy.”
“What about Maynard?” she asked. “How much does he know?”
Todd said, “I’ve worked for Maynard for three years and he’s cool. He’s a bit on the crooked side anyway, big-time bookie and all, and he has no idea what a legal clinic is. He thinks we’re still in school but doesn’t really care. We’re negotiating with him, offering to swap bartending hours for rent. He’ll come around.”
She said, “I really can’t visualize myself hustling DUI cases like that Cromley dude.”
Mark said, “Of course not, Zola. So far, from what we’ve observed, all the hustlers are men, most of them white. You wouldn’t fit in, because, well, you do tend to attract attention.”
“So what’s my specialty?”
“Office girl,” Todd said.
“I don’t like the sound of that. Where’s the office?”
“Your den. It’s the new home of Upshaw, Parker & Lane. UPL. Unauthorized Practice of Law.”
“Clever.”
“We thought so. We see your talents in the field of personal injury law, which, as we know because of our superb legal education, is still the most lucrative area of street law.”
As if rehearsed, Mark took the handoff and said, “We see you working the hospital emergency rooms, trolling for injured plaintiffs. In this city, most of them are black and you can relate to them. They’ll believe you and want to hire you.”