Todd said, “Ted Radford, 798 Drummond Avenue, Apartment 4F. Change the a to an e and he’s now Ted Redford, like Robert, the actor.”
Mark said, “And when was Robert Redford born? Hang on.” He pecked and scrolled and said, “August 18, 1936. So give Ted the same birthday.”
Todd asked, “Is Robert Redford really seventy-seven years old?”
“Still looks good to me,” Zola said, typing.
Mark said, “The Sting and Butch Cassidy are two of my favorite movies. We can’t have a Redford without a Newman.”
Todd hunted and pecked. “Got one. Mike Newman at 418 Arlington Road, Bethesda. Change the w to a u and he’s now Mike Neuman.”
Zola typed and mumbled, “Aren’t we having fun?”
After rampaging through Bethesda, and collecting fifty plaintiffs, the firm turned its sights to the suburbs of Northern Virginia. There was a Swift branch on Broad Street in Falls Church. The area around it proved fertile as dozens of new fake clients were added to their lawsuit.
By noon, they were bored and decided to have lunch and move outdoors. They took a cab to Georgetown, to the Waterfront, where they found a table with a view of the Potomac. No one mentioned Gordy, but each remembered their last visit to the area. They were standing nearby on that awful night when they saw flashing lights on the Arlington Memorial Bridge in the distance.
They ordered sandwiches and iced tea, and all three opened laptops. The search continued for aggrieved Swift customers.
—
LONG AFTER THEY had eaten, the waiter politely asked them to leave; said he needed the table. They closed shop, walked around the corner to a coffee bar, found another table outside, and commenced operations. When they added their one hundredth new client, Mark placed the call to Miami. He asked to speak to a senior litigator with Cohen-Cutler, but of course the great man was away on business. Mark kept pushing and was finally routed to a lawyer named Martinez, who, according to the website, was fighting Swift on the front lines. After introducing himself and mentioning his little firm, Mark said, “So, we have about a hundred Swift customers and we’d like to join your class action.”
“A hundred?” Martinez repeated. “You’re kidding, right?”
“No, I’m dead serious.”
“Look, Mr. Upshaw, as of today our firm has almost 200,000 Swift plaintiffs. We’re not taking referrals for anything under 1,000. Find a thousand cases and we’ll talk business.”
“A thousand?” Mark repeated and looked wild-eyed at his partners. “Okay, we’ll get to work. Say, just curious, what’s the big picture look like?”
Martinez coughed and said, “Can’t say much. Swift is under enormous pressure to settle but I’m not sure their lawyers understand this. There are a lot of mixed messages. We think it will settle, though.”
“How soon?”
“We’re guessing early summer. The bank wants this mess behind it and has the cash to make it go away. The federal judge sitting on the case in New York is really pushing the litigation. You’re watching the headlines.”
“You bet. Thanks. We’ll be in touch.”
Mark placed his phone next to his laptop and said, “We’ve only just begun.”
31
The District Bar Council had almost 100,000 members, about half of whom worked in the city. The other half were scattered through all fifty states. Since membership, as well as the payment of dues, was mandatory, the administration of the bar’s activities was a challenge. A staff of forty worked diligently in its headquarters on Wisconsin Avenue, keeping up with the names and addresses of its members, planning educational courses and seminars, promulgating standards of professional responsibility, publishing a monthly magazine, and dealing with disciplinary matters. Complaints against judges and lawyers were directed to the Office of Disciplinary Counsel, where one Margaret Sanchez managed a staff of five lawyers, three investigators, and half a dozen secretaries and assistants. To receive a proper review, a complaint had to first be filed in writing. Often, though, the first hint of trouble came by phone, and usually from another lawyer who did not want to get too involved.
After several efforts, Edwin Mossberg from down in Charleston managed to get Ms. Sanchez on the line. He told her of his encounter with one Mark Upshaw, a young man claiming to be a lawyer but apparently using an alias. Mossberg had checked and found no record of such a person in the bar’s directory. Or in the phone book, or online, or anywhere else for that matter. He described in general Upshaw’s negligence in allowing an important statute of limitations to expire, and his subsequent trip to Charleston to beg Mossberg to keep quiet.
Ms. Sanchez was captivated by the story. Complaints of unauthorized practice were rare and almost all involved paralegals who either deliberately or inadvertently stepped out of bounds and did things that only their bosses were supposed to do. A quick reprimand usually got them back in line without substantial damage to the clients.
Mossberg was reluctant to file an official complaint, said he didn’t have time to fool with it, but just wanted to tip off the bar and let it know there was a problem. He e-mailed a copy of Upshaw’s business card with the name of his firm, its address on Florida Avenue, and a phone number. Ms. Sanchez thanked him for his time.
The story was made even more interesting by the fact that it was the second phone call dealing with the law firm of Upshaw, Parker & Lane. The previous week, a local ambulance chaser named Frank Jepperson had unofficially tipped her off that one Zola Parker had tried to hustle one of his clients in a hospital cafeteria. Ms. Sanchez knew Jepperson from two prior complaints about his own unethical behavior. Jepperson had sent her a copy of Zola Parker’s business card.
Sitting at her desk, Ms. Sanchez compared the copies of the two cards. Same firm, same address, different phone numbers. A quick review of the bar’s directory verified that neither Mark Upshaw nor Zola Parker was a member. She summoned a member of her staff, Chap Gronski, whose official title was assistant disciplinary counsel, and gave him the two copies of the firm’s business cards. An hour later, Gronski was back with some research.
He said, “I’ve checked the criminal dockets and found fourteen cases in which Mark Upshaw is the attorney of record. Nothing on Zola Parker. There’s a guy named Todd Lane who’s been active for the past three months, found his name on seventeen entries. There’s probably more. The odd thing is that there is nothing prior to January of this year.”
“Sounds like a start-up, a brand-new firm in town,” she said. “Just what we need.”
“Shall I open a file?” Gronski asked.
“Not yet. There’s no official complaint. When are they due in court again?”
Gronski flipped through some printouts. “Looks like Upshaw has a sentencing hearing for a DUI client in Division 16 at ten in the morning.”
“Ease over and take a look. Have a chat with Upshaw and let’s see what he has to say for himself.”