While Mark was typing his response to Morgana Nash, Todd fired off one to his loan counselor.
Dear SS Counselor Wagner: You hit the nail on the head with that sanity question. Nothing is sane about my world these days, most especially my insurmountable debts. Okay, the fix is in. Jig’s up. I dropped out because I hate the law school, hate the law, etc. I’m currently earning about $200 a week, cash, tending bar. So let’s say that’s $800 a month, tax-free because I haven’t filled out those forms yet. To maintain my impoverished lifestyle, I need about $500 a month for food, rent, things like that. And you should see where I’m living and what I’m eating. Analyzing these figures, I suppose I could agree to a repayment plan of something like $200 a month, beginning in six months. I know you’ll hit the “Interest” button as soon as possible and kick in the 5 percent per annum. Five percent of $195,000 is about $9,750 a year. Let’s just round it to $10,000 in interest. Under my proposed repayment scheme, I can swing about a fourth of that each year. You loan sharks will then add the interest in arrears to the ballooning principal, and hit that with another 5 percent per year. The math gets a bit bewildering, but my spreadsheet says that in ten years I will owe almost $400,000. And this does not include all the little secret fees and add-ons and other illegalities that SSP has been caught padding onto the student loans it handles. (I’ve read the lawsuits and, boy, would I love to file one myself. You and your company should be ashamed—piling hidden fees onto the backs of students already drowning in debt.) So, are you willing to accept my offer of $200 a month? Beginning in six months, of course.
Your pal, Todd Lucero
Evidently, Mr. Wagner was working late, or, as Todd imagined, was sitting in his recliner, in nothing but his boxers, watching porn and monitoring his e-mails. Within minutes he replied,
Dear Todd: The answer is no. Your offer is ridiculous. I find it hard to believe that a person as clever as you will spend the next ten years mixing drinks. There are plenty of good jobs out there, law related and otherwise, and if you’ll get off your butt you can find one. Then we can have a serious conversation about repayment.
Sincerely, Rex Wagner, Senior Loan Counselor
To which Todd immediately replied,
Dear SS: Great. I withdraw my offer. T.L.
Zola’s correspondence was slightly more professional. Tildy Carver at LoanAid wrote,
Dear Zola Maal: I have been informed that you have withdrawn from law school. Such a dramatic action presents several issues and we must discuss them at once. Please call or e-mail me as soon as possible.
Tildy Carver, Senior Loan Adviser
Last installment, January 13, 2014: $32,500; total principal and interest: $191,000
Zola was almost asleep. She responded,
Dear Ms. Carver: After the suicide of my friend in January, I found it impossible to continue with my studies. So I decided to take a gap semester instead, with the possible plan of resuming law school in a year or so. I will contact you later.
Sincerely, Zola Maal
30
On a warm spring day in late April, with the cherry trees in full bloom and the air clear after a good rain, the partners gathered in the firm’s headquarters to launch their last Hail Mary at the practice of law. The firm’s headquarters also doubled as Zola’s den, and over the past three months she had managed to add some life and color to her hiding place. She had painted both rooms a soft beige and hung some contemporary art. In one corner there was a small refrigerator, the only sign of a kitchen. On an old metal table, there was a new desktop computer with a thirty-inch screen, and next to it was a high-speed laser printer. Sagging bookshelves were mounted on two walls and were filled with piles of paperwork, the fruits of their diligent tracking of all matters related to Swift Bank.
Each of the three had joined, as an aggrieved plaintiff, a separate class action against the bank. There were now six spread across the country, all led by lawyers who specialized in such massive lawsuits.
In the meantime, Swift Bank was on the ropes, cut and bloodied, and barely able to survive its daily thrashing. New allegations of wrongdoing poured forth. Whistle-blowers were singing at full volume. Upper managers were pointing fingers. Indictments were being promised. Stockholders were embarrassed, but they were also furious because the stock had fallen from $60 to $13 in less than four months. Rumors roared through the Internet and cable news. The most prominent was a recurring one that Swift would have no choice but to throw billions at its problems.
That prospect only incited the class action industry.
Comparing the responses from the three firms they had hired, it was clear that a Miami outfit called Cohen-Cutler was a few steps quicker than the other two, one in New York and one in D.C. Cohen-Cutler had a nice reputation in the rough-and-tumble world of mass torts. It was huge, with a hundred lawyers and plenty of muscle. Its paperwork was more efficient.
Thus, the fading law firm of Upshaw, Parker & Lane made the decision to join hands with the mighty Cohen-Cutler.
Zola sat at the table with a cup of tea and studied the desktop. Todd sat in the only chair with his laptop. Mark sprawled on the floor. Gone were their beards and fake eyeglasses, as well as their suits. The courtroom days were over; no need to hide behind disguises. They would spend the next few weeks hiding above The Rooster Bar. Beyond that, they had no plan.
Mark said, “There’s a Swift branch on Wisconsin Avenue in Bethesda. Let’s start there. Check out the white pages for Bethesda. We’re looking for generic names that can easily be misspelled.”
“Got one,” Todd said. “Mr. Joseph Hall, 662 Manning Drive, Bethesda. Change the last l to an e and he’s now Joe Hale. Our first fake client.”
Zola opened a document copied from the Cohen-Cutler materials. It was known internally as a PIS, Plaintiff Information Sheet. “Date of birth?” she asked.
Mark said, “Make him forty years old. Born March 3, 1974. Married, three kids. Swift Bank customer since 2001. Checking account and savings account. Debit card.”
She typed away, filling in the blanks. “Okay, account numbers?”
“Let’s leave them out for now. We’ll fabricate them later if we have to.”
“Next?”
Todd said, “Ethel Berry at 1210 Rugby Avenue. Change the e in Berry to an a and you still have the same Ethel Barry.”
Mark said, “That’s our girl. Ethel’s kind of an old-fashioned name so let’s give the gal some years. Born on December 5, 1941, two days before Pearl Harbor. Unmarried widow. No kids at home. Checking, savings, too old for a debit card. Doesn’t like credit.”
Zola filled in the blanks, and Ethel Barry became a class action plaintiff. “Next?”