“Very well,” Mr. Hull said. He had the frazzled look of a man with too much going on, too many calls to make, too many files to touch, not enough hours in the day. “So your husband got banged up?” he said, glancing at a sheet of paper. “Tell me about it.”
Claudia began, “Well, it happened three months ago.” She hesitated, looked at Tom, and managed to seem overwhelmed and nervous. “He was driving home from work on Connecticut Avenue, up near Cleveland Park, when he was hit by an 18-wheeler. Donnie was going north, the truck south, and for some reason it veered left, crossed the center line, and hit him. Dead on, just like that.”
“So liability is clear?” Hull said.
“Yes, according to the police. The driver has said nothing, so as of now we still don’t know why he crossed over.”
“I need to see the accident report.”
“I have it, at home.”
“You didn’t bring it?” Hull asked rudely.
“I’m sorry. I’ve never done this before. I wasn’t sure what to bring.”
“Well, send over a copy as soon as you can. And his medicals? Did you bring his medical records?”
“No, sir. I didn’t know I needed to.”
Hull rolled his eyes in frustration as his phone beeped. He glanced at it and for a second seemed poised to take the call. “How bad are his injuries?”
“Well, he almost died. Severe concussion, he was in a coma for a week. Broken jaw, broken collarbone, six broken ribs, one of which pierced a lung. A broken leg. He’s had two operations and will probably need at least one more.”
Hull seemed impressed and said, “Wow, he did get banged up. What’s the total of his medical bills so far?”
She shrugged and looked at Tom, who shrugged back as if he had no clue. She said, “Close to $200,000, maybe. He’s doing rehab now but can’t get around too well. Here’s the thing, Mr. Hull, I don’t know what to do. The lawyers called night and day right after it happened. I finally stopped answering the phone. I’ve been dealing with the insurance company and I’m not sure I can trust them.”
“Never trust an insurance company in a case like this,” he said sternly, as if she’d already blundered. “Don’t talk to them.” Hull was not as distracted now and able to focus. “What kind of work does Donnie do?”
“He drives a forklift in a warehouse. Pretty good job. He makes about forty-five a year. Hasn’t worked since the accident and I’m running out of money.”
“We can provide bridge loans,” Hull said smugly. “Do it all the time. We don’t want our clients pinching pennies while we negotiate a settlement. If liability is as clear as you say, we’ll get this thing settled without going to court.”
“How much do you charge?” she asked. Tom had yet to say a word.
“We charge nothing,” Hull said proudly. “No recovery, no fee.”
Tom wanted to say, “Gee, I’ve seen that on about fifty billboards.” But, of course he kept it to himself.
Hull went on, “We get paid when you get paid. Our fee is based on a contingency, usually 25 percent of a settlement. If we go to trial, then obviously there’s a lot more work on our end, so we bump it up to one-third.”
Claudia and Tom nodded. Finally, something they had learned in law school.
She said, “Well, here’s the deal, Mr. Hull. The insurance company says they’ll pay all the medicals, and the lost wages, and the rehab expenses, and on top of all that pay us $100,000 for a settlement.”
“A hundred grand!” Hull said in disbelief. “That sounds like an insurance company. They’re lowballing you because you don’t have a lawyer. Look, Claudia, in my hands, this case is worth a million bucks. Tell the insurance company to screw itself and, no, wait, don’t tell them anything. Don’t say another word to the adjuster. Who is the company, by the way?”
“Clinch.”
“Oh, of course. Sounds like Clinch. I sue those clowns all the time, know them well.”
Claudia and Tom relaxed a bit. Their research had led them to Clinch, one of the leading commercial insurers in the region. Its website boasted of a long tradition of protecting freight and transportation companies.
“A million dollars?” Tom repeated.
Hull exhaled, smiled, even managed to chuckle. He clasped his hands behind his head as if the old master needed to enlighten his students. “I make no guarantees, okay? I can’t properly evaluate any case until I have all the facts. Police report, medicals, lost wages, the other driver’s safety record, all that jazz. And then there’s the huge issue of permanent disability, which, to be brutally honest, means a lot more money. Let’s hope Donnie makes a full recovery, goes back to work, and is soon clicking along as if nothing happened. If so, based on medicals in the range of what you said, I would demand something in the neighborhood of one-point-five from Clinch and haggle for a few months.”
Tom gawked in disbelief.
Claudia, overwhelmed, said, “Wow. How do you arrive at that figure?”
“It’s an art form, really. But not that complicated. Take the total of the medicals and use a multiple of, say, five or six. Clinch will counter with three, maybe three and a half. Clinch also knows my reputation and those folks do not want to see me in a courtroom, believe me. That will be a huge factor in this negotiation.”
“So you’ve nailed them before?” Tom asked.
“Oh, many times. This little law firm terrifies even the biggest insurance companies.”
At least that’s what your TV ads claim, Tom thought to himself.
“I had no idea,” Claudia said, as if in shock.
His desk phone rang again and he resisted the urge to grab it. He rocked forward, placed his elbows on the desk, and said, “Here’s the drill. My paralegal will take care of the paperwork. You and Donnie sign the contract for legal services, it’s all in black and white with no surprises. Once we have it, I’ll contact the insurance company and ruin its day. We’ll begin gathering the medical records and we’re off and running. If liability is clear, we’ll have it settled within six months. Any more questions?” He was obviously ready to move on to the next case.
Claudia and Tom gave each other blank looks and shook their heads. She said, “I guess not. Thanks, Mr. Hull.”
Hull stood, stretched out his hand, and said, “Welcome aboard. You’ve just made a great decision.”
“Thank you,” she said as she shook it. Tom shook too and they hustled out of the office. The paralegal handed her a folder with the words “New Client Packet: Trusting Rusty” on the cover and led them to the door.
When the elevator door closed, they started laughing. “What a nice little tutorial,” Zola said.
“Personal Injury Law 101,” Todd replied. “A crash course like that would take four months at Foggy Bottom.”
“Yes, and taught by some clown who’s never advertised on a billboard.”
“Now all we need is a client or two.”
As Todd drove away, Zola checked her phone and chuckled. “We’re getting rich. Mark just hustled another DUI for six hundred in cash. Division 4.”