“Yes, ma’am,” Jason said. “I believe Mr. Dixon’s investigation concluded that I wasn’t the aggressor in the altercation, and, if I’m not mistaken, Mr. Shuttle had to pay a fine. Isn’t that right, Tony?”
The general counsel nodded. “That is correct. There was no discipline cited, but you were given a warning for . . . inciting the confrontation.”
“And remind us how you did that?” Ms. Crosby asked.
“I called him a fucking prick,” Jason said, sneering up at Winthrop Brooks. “Pardon my language.”
“You also broke his nose,” Brooks said.
“After he pushed me and took a swing,” Jason said. “You should read Tony’s report.”
Brooks’s face turned red. “I have. And I’ve also read the one we’re here about today. Everyone involved in the deposition of your client, Ms. Eileen Frost, back in February—opposing counsel, his associate, the court reporter, and Ms. Frost herself—reported that you were under the influence of alcohol and acting impaired during the proceeding so that the deposition had to be stopped due to your erratic behavior. You were reported to the bar and agreed to an emergency suspension of your license pending a ninety-day stint in a rehabilitation facility. That about cover it?”
Jason swallowed, tasting bile in his mouth. Any bravado he’d felt after bringing up his avoidance of punishment for the fight with Nate was gone. He hung his head. “Yes,” he said. “I would add that my partner recently settled Ms. Frost’s case for $950,000, and she was ecstatic. It was a good result.”
“Yes,” Brooks said. “We know. We’ve spoken to Ms. Frost. In fact, we’ve spoken to almost every current and former client of your law firm. While none of them were displeased with your representation, several, including Ms. Frost, admitted to smelling alcohol on your person and having questions as to your sobriety during consultations.” He took off his glasses and scrutinized Jason with a cold gaze. “Mr. Rich, you understand that this behavior is improper, unprofessional, and unethical.”
“Yes, sir,” Jason said.
Brooks put his glasses back on and gave his head a jerk. “Mr. Rich, I have to say that I don’t understand you.” He took out a piece of paper and slid his spectacles up his nose. “We’ve meticulously combed through your background as a student and lawyer, and it’s impeccable. Golf scholarship to Davidson College in North Carolina, where you graduated with honors. Law review at Cumberland School of Law along with being on the trial advocacy team that won a regional championship. Two years as an associate at Jones & Butler and then nine years as a solo practitioner. You made Super Lawyers magazine in the ‘rising star’ category. And you and your firm have been a leader in handling pro bono cases for the indigent.” He paused. “And yet you seem to be on a mission to get yourself disbarred. The fistfight with Mr. Shuttle was the only other formal complaint besides this one that’s ever been lodged against you, but the general counsel’s investigation has revealed a laundry list of bizarre incidents over the past couple of years.” Brooks cut his eyes to his associates on the platform.
“One court reporter”—Mary Crosby began—“who happens to be the daughter of a federal judge, said you streaked the Quad in Tuscaloosa after taking a doctor’s deposition.”
Veronica Smithers, Jason thought, not saying anything.
“You gave both of your clients a Gatorade bath after a mediation,” Gary Debro added, his tone incredulous. “In the opposing counsel’s conference room.” He paused. “With a full cooler of ice.”
Jason again kept his mouth shut, forcing a frown.
“You got into a mud wrestling match at the Rock the South concert in Cullman last summer with a female patron and were escorted by the police off the premises, along with the woman, and charged with disturbing the peace,” Josephine Scales said.
Jason winced.
“Mr. Rich, you have anything to say?” Mr. Brooks asked.
“I . . . uh . . .” He swallowed again and took in a breath. “The Gatorade bath has become a firm tradition after successful results, and I paid for all the cleaning charges. We, uh, probably should limit those celebrations to our office.”
“You think?” Debro asked.
“Yes,” Jason said. “And as far as the whole Quad thing, I was kind of dating Judge Smithers’s daughter at the time.” He shrugged. “With Rock the South, we were in a weather delay, and there were at least a hundred people there playing in the mud. The criminal charge—which was a misdemeanor—was dropped. And I wouldn’t describe what the woman and I were doing as . . . wrestling.”