With perfect timing, Jesse blurted a statement he had prepared and saved for this moment. “Well, Mr. Webb, if your client would pay the claims we wouldn’t be there, would we?”
Webb turned and pointed a finger at Jesse. “My client has legitimate grounds to deny these claims, Mr. Rudy.”
“Bullshit! Your client is sitting on its money and acting in bad faith.”
Judge Oliphant said, “Mr. Rudy, I admonish you for your foul language. Please refrain from such.”
Jesse nodded and said, “Sorry, Your Honor. I couldn’t help it.”
If for no other reason, the hearing would be remembered as the first time a lawyer had yelled the word “bullshit” in open court in Harrison County.
Webb took a deep breath and said, “Your Honor, we are requesting a change of venue.”
Calmly, the judge said, “I don’t blame you, Mr. Webb, but the people of this county have suffered greatly. They continue to suffer, and they have the right to decide these cases. Motion denied. No further delays.”
Chapter 19
Through the pre-trial wrangling that followed, Jesse soon realized that Judge Oliphant was squarely on the side of the policy holders. Almost every request made on behalf of the plaintiffs was granted. Almost every move by the insurance companies was blocked.
Oliphant and Jesse were worried that they might be unable to find enough impartial jurors to decide the cases. Every resident of the county had been impacted by the storm, and the bad behavior of the insurance companies was now common chatter at church and in the cafés that were reopening. Folks were out for blood, which obviously was to Jesse’s advantage, but it seriously compromised the notion of a disinterested jury pool. Selecting jurors was further complicated by the fact that so many people were displaced.
The two met privately, which under normal circumstances would be forbidden, but the Jackson lawyers were far away in their tall buildings and would never know. The insurance companies had chosen them; another mistake. Jesse had eleven cases against ARU that were ready for trial. They were virtually identical: same insurer, homes damaged by wind, not storm surge, and the same reputable contractor willing to testify as to damages. Judge Oliphant decided to take the first three—Luna, Lansky, and Nikovich—and consolidate them for the first trial. Simmons Webb and his gang squawked and objected, and even threatened to run to the Mississippi Supreme Court for protection. Through back channels, Judge Oliphant knew the Supremes had about as much sympathy for the insurance companies as Jesse Rudy.
On Monday, March 2, the courtroom was again packed, with spectators lining the walls and bailiffs directing traffic. The crowd spilled into the hallway where angry men and women waited for a seat inside. In chambers, Judge Oliphant laid down the rules and impressed upon the lawyers that the trial would be expedited at every turn, and he would not tolerate even the slightest attempt to delay matters.
With effort, forty-seven summonses had been served upon the prospective jurors, and every one of them reported for duty. Using a questionnaire designed by His Honor and Mr. Rudy, thirteen were excused because they had property damage claims pending against insurance companies. Four were excused for health reasons. Two were excused because they were related to people killed in the storm. Three were excused because they knew the families of other victims.
When the pool was whittled down to twenty-four, Judge Oliphant allowed the lawyers half an hour each to quiz the panel. Jesse managed to control his aggression but left no doubt that he was the champion for the good guys and they were fighting evil. Through his growing network of clients, he had learned more about the twenty-four than the defense could ever know. Simmons Webb came across as a folksy old boy, with deep roots in south Mississippi, and he was there just searching for the truth. At times, though, he was nervous and seemed to know that the mob wanted his skin.
It took two hours to seat twelve jurors, all of whom swore to hear the facts, weigh the evidence, and decide the case impartially. Without a break, Judge Oliphant gave the lawyers fifteen minutes for their opening remarks and nodded at Jesse, who was already on his feet and walking to the jury box to deliver the shortest first-round statement of his career. Gage Pettigrew timed it at one minute and forty seconds.