Professional Responsibility

Lawyers and Money

There is nothing wrong with making money. But money, like Robert Service's ambition, can become the tail that wags the dog. Karl Llewellyn's observations of some forty years ago, on lawyers and money, still ring true. He observed "a brand of lawyer for whom law is making of a livelihood, a competence, a fortune. Law offers means to live, to get ahead. It is so viewed. Such men give their whole selves to it, in this aspect. Coin is their reward. Coin makes it possible to live. Coin is success, coin is prestige, and coin is power. Such lawyers, I take it, reflect rather adequately the standards of our civilization. They have perceived the mainspring of a money economy. They follow single-heartedly on their perception. Coin is, in this society, the measure of a man." [Karl Llewellyn, The Bramble Bush 119 (New York: Oceana Publications, 1951)]

Robert Hutchins relates the following anecdote about practicing law for money: "Seventy years ago a young New York lawyer went to see an old one in Wisconsin and found him in the evening reading by the stove in the center of his office. . . . When they finished discussing the case they had in hand, the Wisconsin lawyer said, 'Tell me, Mr. Debevoise, is it true what I hear, that there are men in New York City who are practicing law for money?'" [Robert Hutchins, "The University Law School," in David Haber & Julius Cohen (eds.), The Law School of Tomorrow 5, 23 (New Brunswick, New Jersey: Rutgers University Press 1968)]

All of this talk of money brings to mind an admonition by a psychotherapist, Stanley Keleman: "We do not live by bread alone. We must also satisfy our visions." [Stanley Keleman, The Human Ground--Sexuality, Self, and Survival 63 (1975)]. The question of course is how we respond to the tension within ourselves and between those who have made dramatically different choices in dealing with the impulse to live by bread alone and the impulse to seek our most elusive ideals.

Note: On money as god in contemporary society, see John Lilly, Simulations of God 115-121 (New York, 1975). On the philosophical and psychological problem of money, see Jacob Needleman, Money and the Meaning of Life (New York: Doubleday Currency, 1991). On the mythological and archetypal dimensions of money, see Robert Sardello & Randolph Severson, Money & the Soul of the World (Dallas: Pegasus Foundation, 1983); Russell Lockhart, et. al. (eds.), Soul & Money (Dallas: Spring Publications, 1982)

Lawyers Talking About Fees

Finding Donald French, one of his clients, waiting for him without an appointment, Jerry Kennedy, the lawyer in George V. Higgins, Kennedy for the Defense (New York: Knopf, 1980), agrees to see him.

"But you're gonna have to wait until I finish talking to the guy I expected, all right? And you can't get impatient, because I did expect him, as I say, and he is going to pay me some money. Which is what I work for, Mister French. I work for money." This was as much for Emerson's benefit [another client] as it was for French. "Quite a bit of money. I ain't cheap. You got it?"

"I got some," he said, rather timidly.

"Fine," I said. "You be thinking about what you want to say while I talk to this gentleman, and if you can't think up what, and how come, before he comes out, you can just excuse yourself the same way you came in, and it'll be okay, all right? The first conference is free; one hundred bucks is the same as free. After that it's just like a taxicab, and the meter runs. You've had your first conference. The instant you step into my private office, the flag drops."

"I might need some time," he began.

"I need a lot of time," I said. "I need more time'n I've got, because time is what I sell, and if I had more, I could sell more. But I can't get any more time, so I have to charge top rates for what I do have." I turned toward Emerson. "You wanna come in, sir?" [pp. 95-96][(See also, pp. 195-96]

   

Paul Biegler, the attorney in Robert Traver's Anatomy of a Murder 14 (New York: Dell, 1958) tells a potential client's wife:

"[t]here is always the matter of making mutually agreeable financial arrangements." Reflecting on the discussion later Biegler says: "It was funny, the fine suave marshmallow phrases a lawyer learned to spin to let a prospective client gently know he must be prepared to fork over some heavy dough."

     

In the following scene from John Grisham's first novel, A Time to Kill 68-71 (Tarrytown, New York: Wynwood Press, 1989), Jake Brigance represents Carl Lee Hailey, who has been charged with murder and assault on a police officer. Carl Lee's ten year old daughter, Tonya, was brutally and viciously raped by two men. Carl Lee, seeking revenge (and what he thought was justice), shot and killed the two men in the courthouse following their arrest for the rape. During the shooting, a sheriff's deputy was accidentally wounded. The lower pair of the deputy's leg had to be amputated as a result of the wounds.

The defendant, Carl Lee, knows Jake Brigance. Jake successfully represented his brother, Lester, in a murder case. Carl Lee knew Jake well enough to tell him before the shooting that he was going to kill the boys that raped his daughter. Carl Lee told Jake Brigance before the shooting that when he killed the boys he wanted him to represent him. Jake urged him not to do it and told him point blank it would not be an easy case even if a jury could be convinced that there are times when a person wants to take justice in their own hands.

Carl Lee, ignoring his lawyer's advice, shot the men who raped his daughter and is now in jail.

The lawyer and client sat across the table and analyzed each other carefully. They grinned admiringly but neither spoke. They had last talked five days before, on Wednesday after the preliminary hearing [for the two men charged with Tonya's rape], the day after the rape.

Carl Lee was not as troubled now. His face was relaxed and his eyes were clear. Finally he said: "You didn't think I'd do it, Jake."

"Not really. You did do it?"

"You know I did."

Jake smiled, nodded, and crossed his arms. "How do you feel?"

Carl Lee relaxed and sat back in the folding chair. "Well I feel better. I don't feel good 'bout the whole thing. I wish it didn't happen. But I wish my girl was okay too, you know. I didn't have nothin' against them boys till they messed with her. Now they got what they started. I feel sorry for their mommas and daddys, if they got daddys, which I doubt."

"Are you scared?"

"Of what?"

"How about the gas chamber?"

"Naw, Jake, that's why I got you. I don't plan to go to no gas chamber. I saw you get Lester [his brother] off, now just get me off. You can do it, Jake."

"It's not quite that easy, Carl Lee."

"Say what?"

"You just don't shoot a person, or persons, in cold blood, and then tell the jury they needed killing, and expect to walk out of the courtroom."

* * * *

"You scared, Jake?"

"Why should I be scared? I'm not facing the gas chamber."

"You don't sound too confident."

You big stupid idiot, thought Jake. How could he be confident at a time like this. The bodies were still warm. Sure, he was confident before the killings, but now it was different. His client was facing the gas for a crime which he admits he committed."

"Where'd you get the gun?"

"A friend in Memphis."

"Okay. Did Lester help?"

"Nope. He knew 'bout what I's gonna do, and he wanted to help, but I wouldn't let him."

"How's Gwen [Carl Lee's wife]?"

"She's pretty crazy right now, but Lester's with her. She didn't know a thing bout it."

"The kids?"

"You know how kids are. They don't want their daddy in jail. They upset, but they'll make it. Lester'll take care of them."

"Is he going back to Chicago?"

"Not for a while. Jake, when do we go to court?"

"The preliminary should be tomorrow or Wednesday, depends on Bullard."

"Is he the judge?"

"He will be for the preliminary hearing. But he won't hear the trial. That'll be in Circuit Court."

"Who's the judge there?"

"Omar Noose from Van Buren County; same judge who tried Lester."

"Good. He's okay ain't he?"

"Yeah, he's a good judge."

"When will the trial be?

"Late summer or early fall. Buckley will push for a quick trial."

"Who's Buckley?"

"Rufus Buckley. District attorney. Same D.A. who prosecuted Lester. You remember him. Big, loud guy--"

"Yeah, yeah, I remember. Big bad Rufus Buckley. I'd forgot all about him. He's pretty mean ain't he?"

"He's good, very good. He's corrupt and ambitious, and he'll eat this up because of the publicity."

"You've beat him, ain't you?"

"Yeah, and he's beat me."

Jake opened his briefcase and removed a file. Inside was a contract for legal services, which he studied although he had it memorized. His fees were based on the ability to pay, and the blacks would generally pay little unless there was a close and generous relative in St. Louis or Chicago with a good-paying job. Those were rare. . . . Carl Lee owned a few acres around his house and had mortgaged it to help Lester pay Jake before.

He had charged Lester five thousand for his murder trial; half was paid before trial and the rest in installments over three years.

Jake hated to discuss fees. It was the most difficult part of practicing law. Clients wanted to know up front, immediately, how much he would cost, and they all reacted differently. Some were shocked, some just swallowed hard, a few had stormed out of his office. Some negotiated, but most paid or promised to pay.

He studied the file and the contract and thought desperately of a fair fee. There were other lawyers out there who would take such a case for almost nothing. Nothing but publicity. He thought about the acreage, and the job [Carl Lee has] at the paper mill, and the family, and finally said, "My fee is ten thousand."

Carl Lee was not moved. "You charged Lester five thousand."

Jake anticipated this. "You have three counts; Lester had one."

"How many times can I go to the gas chamber?"

"Good point. How much can you pay?"

"I can pay a thousand now," he said proudly. "And I'll borrow as much as I can on my land and give it all to you."

Jake thought a minute. "I've got a better idea. Let's agree on a fee. You pay a thousand now and sign a note for the rest. Borrow on your land and pay against the note."

"How much you want?" asked Carl Lee.

"Ten thousand."

"I'll pay five."

"You can pay more than that."

"And you can do it for less than ten."

"Okay, I can do it for nine."

"Then I can pay six."

"Eight?"

"Seven."

"Can we agree on seventy-five hundred?"

"Yeah, I think I can pay that much. Depends on how much they'll loan me on my land.

You want me to pay a thousand now and sign a note for sixty-five hundred?"

"That's right."

"Okay, you got a deal."

Jake filled in the blanks in the contract and promissory note, and Carl Lee signed both.

"Jake, how much would you charge a man with plenty of money?"

"Fifty thousand."

"Fifty thousand! You serious?"

"Yep."

"Man, that's a lotta money. You ever get that much?"

"No, but I haven't seen too many people on trial for murder with that kind of money."

"Carl Lee wanted to know about his bond, the grand jury, the trial, the witnesses, who would be on the jury, when could he get out of jail, could Jake speed up the trial, when could he tell his version, and a thousand other questions. Jake said they would have plenty of time to talk. He promised to call Gwen and his boss at the paper mill.

He left and Carl Lee was placed in his cell, the one next to the cell for state prisoners.