Dear Ms. Maal: When we last corresponded you had just interviewed with the Department of Justice. Any word? You were thinking of going the public service route under the Department of Education’s loan forgiveness program. I’m not sure this is best for you. It does require a ten-year commitment, which is a long time. But that decision is yours. Anyway, I would appreciate an update on your employment situation at your earliest convenience. Regards, Tildy Carver, Senior Loan Adviser.
Last installment, January 13, 2014: $32,500; total principal and interest: $191,000.
As always, she stared at the figures in disbelief. The temptation was always to ignore the e-mails for a day or so, but she decided to confront this one head-on.
Dear Ms. Carver: I didn’t get the job at Justice and right now I’m unable to interview anywhere else. I’m currently bedridden with pneumonia and under a doctor’s care. I hope to return to classes in a few days and I’ll check in then. Sincerely, Zola Maal.
Mark arrived with a big smile and ordered a beer. Todd entered the bar, stopped long enough to get a draft, and joined them. He looked tired and haggard after a long day in the trenches and was in a foul mood. He greeted them with “I just spent eight hours hustling the losers in the courthouse and got nothing. Zero. A big, fat goose egg. And what have the two of you been doing?”
“Relax, pal,” Mark said. “Some days are better than others.”
Todd gulped his beer and said, “Relax my ass. We’ve been doing this crap for a month and it feels like I’m carrying the load here. Let’s be honest, two-thirds of the fees are from cases I’ve hustled.”
“Well, well,” Mark said, amused. “Our first fight. I suppose it happens with every law firm.”
Zola closed her laptop and glared at Todd.
“I’m not fighting,” he said. “Just had a bad day.”
She said, “As I recall, I was advised to stay away from the criminal courts because it’s a boys’ game. My part of the scheme is to hang around hospitals and stalk the wounded, the theory being that one of my cases could make up for a bunch of yours. Right?”
“Yes, but you don’t have any cases,” Todd sneered.
“I’m trying, Todd,” she said coldly. “If you have a better idea I’d love to hear it. I really don’t like what I’m doing.”
“Children, children,” Mark said with a grin. “Let’s all relax and count our money.”
All three took a drink and waited. Mark finally said, “I met with our expert today, the one we paid $2,000, and he says it’s a clear case of gross negligence by the doctors and hospital. I have copies of his report for you to read at your leisure. It’s beautiful, worth every penny. He says, and this guy is a real professional, that in the hands of the right lawyer the case is worth the max under Virginia law—$2 million. He says the guy to hire is one Jeffrey Corbett, a med mal stud who’s gotten rich off suing obstetricians. Office about four blocks from here. I checked him out online and the guy is totally legit. According to an article in a medical magazine, and one not so favorable, Mr. Corbett makes between five and ten million a year.” He took another drink. “Does this help your nasty mood, Todd?”
“Yes.”
“Thought so. And if you guys agree, I say I call Mr. Corbett and line up an appointment.”
“It can’t be this easy,” Zola said.
“We’re just lucky, okay? According to my research, over two thousand ob-gyns get sued every year for all manner of negligence. Lots of bad-birth cases out there, and we’ve managed to stumble across one.”
Todd waved a waiter over and ordered another round.
24
The following Saturday, they left D.C. early in Todd’s car and drove two hours to the Bardtown Federal Detention Facility near Altoona, Pennsylvania. From the outside, nothing had changed since their last visit seven weeks earlier. The razor wire glistened in the sunlight. The tall chain-link fencing looked just as foreboding. The parking lot was filled with cars and trucks of the dozens of employees protecting the homeland.
Zola wore a long, loose black dress. As Todd turned off the ignition, she pulled out a hijab and draped it over her head and shoulders. “Such a good little Muslim,” Todd said.
“Shut up,” she said, and got out.
For the occasion, Mark Upshaw, her attorney, wore a coat and tie. He had called ahead to arrange the meeting, hoping to avoid the drama they had created the last time. Evidently, the paperwork was in order, and they were led to the same visiting room, where they waited half an hour for her parents and brother to be brought in. Zola introduced her friends again and hugged her mother.
They controlled their emotions as Bo, her brother, explained that they had no idea when they would be shipped out. An official had told them that ICE was waiting for enough Senegalese to be processed so the chartered flight would be full. No need to waste any seats for such an expensive trip. A hundred was the number they had in mind, and they were still rounding up illegals.
Bo asked about law school, and the partners agreed that everything was going well. Abdou, her father, patted Zola’s arm and said they were so proud of her for becoming a lawyer. Zola smiled and played along. She gave him a note card with the name of Diallo Niang, the lawyer in Dakar, and said that if at all possible he should call her when they were headed for the plane. Zola would immediately call Mr. Niang, who would try to facilitate their arrival. But there were many unknowns.
Zola’s mother, Fanta, said little. She held Zola’s hand and sat, downcast, sad, and fearful, while the men did the talking. After twenty minutes, Todd and Mark excused themselves and waited in the hall.
When the visit was over, they returned to the car and Zola removed the hijab. She wiped her eyes and said nothing for a long time. When they crossed into Maryland, Todd stopped at a convenience store and bought a six-pack. With the afternoon to kill, they decided to detour through Martinsburg and pay their respects to Gordy. In the public cemetery not far from the church, they found his new headstone, with fresh dirt around it.
—
ON SUNDAY, MARK borrowed Todd’s car and drove home to Dover. He needed to see his mother and have a serious chat but was in no mood to deal with Louie. His situation had not changed and his case was slowly grinding through the system, with a trial date looming in September.
Louie was still asleep when Mark arrived around eleven. “He usually wakes up around noon, in time for lunch,” Mrs. Frazier said as she poured fresh coffee at the kitchen table. She wore a pretty dress and heels and smiled a lot, obviously happy to see her favorite son. A pot of stew simmered on the stove and smelled delicious.
“So how’s law school?” she asked.
“Well, Mom, that’s what I need to discuss,” Mark said, eager to get it over with. He told the sad story of Gordy’s death and explained how devastating it was. Because of the trauma, he had decided to take the semester off and ponder his future.
“You’re not graduating in May?” she asked, surprised.
“No. I need some time, that’s all.”
“What about your job?”
“It disappeared. The firm merged with a bigger one and I got squeezed in the process. It was a bad firm anyway.”
“But I thought you were excited about it.”