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The middle column showed the years in which my father had been Runstan’s lawyer, from 1996 to roughly 2019. There was no overlap of their tenures, and my father stopped doing work for them in 2019, when John started with Warren Clemons. Warren died in 2022, when Lemaire took over. My father’s billing rate was $500 an hour, and John’s was $400.
The far right column on the chart showed annual billings during the entire chronology, and my father’s earlier thought had been correct. He billed approximately 18K a year from 2002 until 2019. But when John took over in 2019, the billings increased to 30K and that followed every year until Warren passed, in 2022. Bills to date to Lemaire were approximately $15,000 and it was only May. Projected out at that rate, the annual rate would reach 30K again.
The bottom half of the chart was devoted to a comparison of the time spent on a typical task, as recorded by my father’s and by John’s bills. Our firm used specialized software called Timeslips, in which individual lawyers recorded the time they spent on various matters in six-minute increments, which was standard in the profession. Lawyers were required to fill in a box that described the task briefly, so we’d compared recurring tasks like Review of Labor Contract, Union Negotiations, Advice Letter Regarding Hydraulic System Purchase, and such. In every case, John spent two-thirds more time on the task than my father.
I capped my marker, having lost my Dry-Erase Virginity. The pattern was clear; when John took over the billing under Warren Clemons, the billing was two-thirds more. It didn’t make sense becauseJohn was unbelievably efficient, to the point of being impatient. The notion that he would belabor something compared to my father was absurd, but I still needed an explanation of what I was seeing.
My father stood staring at the chart, slightly stooped over as if he’d been punched in the gut. My mother was pale, and Gabby eased into a chair next to Martin.
Sabrina and Andre exchanged uncomfortable glances.
My father cleared his throat. “Sabrina, Andre, we can handle this from here. You guys go home and get some rest. Thank you for your hard work. Andre, bill me as soon as possible. Sabrina, you don’t need to come in tomorrow. Take the day off. Please cancel my meeting with Grant Albertson. It’s the only one. Marie, how about you?”
“I’m clear tomorrow,” my mother answered, hushed.
“Okay.” Sabrina managed a shaky smile. “Thanks. See you Tuesday.”
“Yes, thanks.” Andre picked up his backpack and laptop, closing it hastily. “Bye now.”
I watched them leave, heartsick, exhausted, and a little confused. Dismissing them struck an ominous note, as if whatever came next was something only family should hear.
Instinctively, I closed the door.
Chapter Forty-Eight
I turned to my father. “Dad, was John doing what I think he was doing?”
“I really hope we’re wrong.” My father sighed heavily, his big chest going up and down in his wrinkled oxford shirt, his tie long gone. We stood side by side opposite the chart. “I think he was intentionally overcharging Runstan by two-thirds, across the board. If I’m right, it’s fraud.”
Whoa. I remembered John saying,I’m in a fiduciary relationship to Runstan.
“Mind you, as a legal matter, it’s Devlin & Devlin, not John. Devlin & Devlin is defrauding Runstan.” My father straightened. “Your mother and I, and Gabby, are scrupulous about our bills. It’s a point of pride. We can justify the time and costs on each and every bill that leaves this office.”
“Exactly,” my mother said quietly.
“Amen.” Gabby folded her arms.
I tried to process it. “So now what? Is the firm in trouble?”
“Civilly, yes, we’re liable. The firm is civilly responsible for the acts of our employees. We’re not liable criminally because we didn’t know what he was doing.”
“Is there any way you could have known?”
“No.” My father shook his head. “We don’t see the bills John sends out. Every two weeks we get a report on how much time we’ve billed and earned to date. I just thought your brother was working hard. He had a 2,300-hour year last year, and that’s only billable time, so it means he’s working around the clock. I’m sure your mother thought the same thing.”
My mother nodded sadly. “Totally. He’s in all the time and he works at home, too. He’s always meeting with clients or on the phone.”
I thought John was a workaholic, too. I should know, as an alcoholic.
My father gestured at the chart. “But this? This shows that something else could be going on, even worse.”
“Much worse,” my mother added gravely.
“Try criminal,” Gabby snapped.
“What?” Martin blinked in confusion, which was exactly how I felt.
“Dad, again, please explain to those of us without a law degree.”
