“So tell me about this case. You know I have a soft spot for pro bono, and I’m always telling the partners we should up our quotient.”
“Really? I love that.”
I knew that. That’s why I asked her to lunch, but I don’t want her to feel like I’m stalking her.
“I can help you position it to get the senior partners on board, assuming I like the idea.” She laughs, as though the entire fortune of the town of Willow Springs doesn’t rest on my ability to present the merits of the case.
The firm is very selective about pro bono cases because they amount to free work for associates who otherwise bill at hundreds of dollars per hour.
“We only take on a couple of pro bonos per year, and those are passion projects. So tell me what it is about this town up north that got your attention.” Her easy smile belies how tough she is in the courtroom, and for a moment, I find myself drifting into a daydream about arguing on behalf of Willow Springs in front of a grand jury.
“Without a viable water supply, we are dooming the future of ranchers and farmers in California. We are all but guaranteeing they’ll need subsidies and welfare if they can’t farm the land the way they have for years.”
I finish making my case, and the spectators in the courtroom get to their feet and cheer.
Then I realize I’m in a restaurant with wineglasses on the tables and servers in bow ties carrying trays with silver plate covers. Every table is full of people chatting and stabbing at plates of steak and pasta and kale salads, and I’m sitting here with my finger in the air like Tony the Tiger hearing applause in my head.
Sally sits patiently, so I lower my hand and list the cases I’ve found that set precedents for small businesses going up againsta big corporation over arcane laws, specifically involving water rights. I explain why the fights between neighbors could ruin decades of trust and camaraderie in the town. I don’t make my points nearly as well as in my daydream, but I try.
“I think you're right to see it that way,” Sally says. “It shouldn't be neighbor against neighbor. That's exactly what these big corporations want. The more they divide a community against itself, the easier it is for them to scrape the splinters aside and do their bidding.”
“That was my thought. When people are out in the community together at a tamale stand or what have you, the bonds are clear. It’s as soon as they retreat to their separate plots of land and start worrying about how to get through the next crop season, everyone else is an enemy. If I can join them in one class action suit against Tomahawk Corporation, their numbers start to feel powerful.”
“They’re not going to drop their lawsuits against each other until the trust gets rebuilt. They need to understand that there's strength in numbers.”
“Well, sure. Do you think they really don’t know that?”
“It's not as obvious when you're in the trenches. Suspicion breeds suspicion. You'll fight against anyone who gets in your way, and that's exactly the problem.”
“It’s a shame,” I say. “Willow Springs is such a beautiful place. The way they steward the land is practically a religion. The largest rancher supplies a huge list of restaurants all over Southern California with the most gorgeous produce. Maybe it’s even served here.”
Even though I don’t mention Fitz by name, my skin warms at the thought of him. I’m not about to tell Sally that one of those ranchers is the future father of my baby, lest she think I’m biased, but I can’t help letting my thoughts drift to Fitz and how much he cares about his land and the people in town.
“I’m just saying there's a lot of history there, and people used to have goodwill, but it's starting to splinter.”
I recall how passionate Fitz was about his land and the lawsuit against our family before I tried to convince him he was going after the wrong defendant. That fire and passion could be directed at Tomahawk Corporation, but only if I handle things correctly. I feel responsible for getting it right on his behalf. On behalf of Willow Springs, where my sisters and I have taken over paying taxes on Loveland Ranch. In a small way, I’m fighting for us too.
All the more reason I need Sally’s help.
“Okay, so once I get everyone into one room, I need to be able to reassure them and motivate them, so they know that they're in good hands, assuming we can take the case.” Under the table, I cross my fingers.
Our server brings our lunch and offers me ground pepper, but I tell him I’m fine, and he leaves Sally an extra dish of sauce for her fish that she didn’t even ask for. “I love that you always remember,” Sally says.
“My pleasure. Bon appétit.”
“Start by making that assumption,” Sally says, drizzling sauce on her fish. “Act as if the firm will take the case and you will win it. There’s no room for second-guessing or waffling. I can direct you where to look in the case law. There have been several cases where a community has prevailed against a large corporation, and, unfortunately, several where they haven't, but we're not going to focus on those.”
“Okay. I can do that.” Even with ten years of experience practicing law, I feel like a neophyte sitting with Sally, who exudes confidence and can recite case law as if it were printed on the tablecloth.
But maybe that's part of the problem. I've followed a paint-by-numbers route that was put in front of me, and I haven'tdared work outside the lines until now. It feels good to take a stab at something I feel passionate about.
“Okay, first question—what information do I need to present to the partners to get the firm to take on this pro bono case?”
Sally smiles at me. “I like your motivation and your can-do attitude. I can set that up for you. There are a few basic pieces of information that you need to present when you build your case and make a formal proposal. But first, let's nail down some specifics because the more you know about how you plan to argue the case, the better your chances of success. No one wants to take on a pro bono case for free and then lose.”
“I get that,” I say, not even thinking about the fact that I could lose this case. I have to win. It's too important.
I sip my iced tea and look around the room where everybody seems to be at a business lunch. Everyone in suits and ties. Unusual in a city where so many people wear jeans to work.
