The Brass Verdict Read Online Free PDF Page A

They could pay top dollar for legal representation, they were demonstrably innocent of the charges lodged against them, or they were clearly guilty but had public opinion and sentiment on their side. These were clients he could get behind and forthrightly defend no matter what they were accused of. Clients who didn’t make him feel greasy at the end of the day.
    And Walter Elliot qualified for at least one of those attributes. He was the chairman/owner of Archway Pictures and a very powerful man in Hollywood. He had been charged with murdering his wife and her lover in a fit of rage after discovering them together in a Malibu beach house. The case had all sorts of connections to sex and celebrity and was drawing wide media attention. It had been a publicity machine for Vincent and now it would go up for grabs.
    The judge broke through my reverie.
    “Are you familiar with RPC two-three-hundred?” she asked.
    I involuntarily gave myself away by squinting my eyes at the question.
    “Uh … not exactly.”
    “Let me refresh your memory. It is the section of the California bar’s rules of professional conduct referring to the transfer or sale of a law practice. We, of course, are talking about a transfer in this case. Mr. Vincent apparently named you as his second in his standard contract of representation. This allowed you to cover for him when he needed it and included you, if necessary, in the attorney-client relationship. Additionally, I have found that he filed a motion with the court ten years ago that allowed for the transfer of his practice to you should he become incapacitated or deceased. The motion has never been altered or updated, but it’s clear what his intentions were.”
    I just stared at her. I knew about the clause in Vincent’s standard contract. I had the same in mine, naming him. But what I realized was that the judge was telling me that I now had Jerry’s cases. All of them, Walter Elliot included.
    This, of course, did not mean I would keep all of the cases. Each client would be free to move on to another attorney of their choosing once apprised of Vincent’s demise. But it meant that I would have the first shot at them.
    I started thinking about things. I hadn’t had a client in a year and the plan was to start back slow, not with a full caseload like the one I had apparently just inherited.
    “However,” the judge said, “before you get too excited about this proposition, I must tell you that I would be remiss in my role as chief judge if I did not make every effort to ensure that Mr. Vincent’s clients were transferred to a replacement counsel of good standing and competent skill.”
    Now I understood. She had called me in to explain why I would not be appointed to Vincent’s clients. She was going to go against the dead lawyer’s wishes and appoint somebody else, most likely one of the high-dollar contributors to her last reelection campaign. Last I had checked, I’d contributed exactly nothing to her coffers over the years.
    But then the judge surprised me.
    “I’ve checked with some of the judges,” she said, “and I am aware that you have not been practicing law for almost a year. I have found no explanation for this. Before I issue the order appointing you replacement counsel in this matter, I need to be assured that I am not turning Mr. Vincent’s clients over to the wrong man.”
    I nodded in agreement, hoping it would buy me a little time before I had to respond.
    “Judge, you’re right. I sort of took myself out of the game for a while. But I just started taking steps to get back in.”
    “Why did you take yourself out?”
    She asked it bluntly, her eyes holding mine and looking for anything that would indicate evasion of the truth in my answer. I spoke very carefully.
    “Judge, I had a case a couple years ago. The client’s name was Louis Roulet. He was—”
    “I remember the case, Mr. Haller. You got shot. But, as you say, that was a couple years ago. I seem to