“What does that part about division to be discretionary between plaintiffs mean?” Bruce asked the moment I finished.
“It means the offer is fifty million that’s split whichever way the plaintiffs decide they want to split it,” I said.
I suspected the offer had been structured that way because the Masons either knew or sensed that Bruce had wanted to take the last settlement. By creating a possible windfall increase for the Coltons, the Masons were hoping to enlist Bruce, at least, as an ally who would press the others to take the money.
“So you’re saying it could be a third, a third, and a third?” Bruce asked.
“It could be, but that’s not going to happen, Bruce,” I said. “You and Trisha are one plaintiff, Brenda Randolph is the other.”
“That’s not what it says in the consolidated lawsuit,” Bruce said. “It names all three of us. All three of us should get a vote.”
“Bruce, you’re not listening,” I said. “You and Trisha do not get two votes. The two of you get one. Brenda gets one.”
“Well, what is she saying?” Bruce said. “This is serious money.”
“I haven’t talked to her yet,” I said. “I’m going to call her next.”
“What happens if we say yes and she says no?” Bruce asked.
“Then we pass on the offer,” I said.
“Listen to me—you have to convince her to take it,” Bruce said. “This kind of mon—”
“Bruce, she lost her daughter,” Trisha interrupted. “We can’t demand that she—”
“And our son’s going to the nuthouse,” Bruce interrupted right back. “Nothing changes that. But we are victims just as much as she is.”
I found myself wishing I hadn’t taken on the Coltons as clients and combined the cases. And I was beginning to see why their son became so alienated in their home that he fell in love with and obeyed an online fantasy.
“Look, I just want to get a read on this from you both,” I said. “Bruce, you want to take the deal. Trisha, I need to hear your answer as well.”
“She’s a yes,” Bruce said.
“I need to hear it from her,” I said. “Trisha?”
There was a long silence on the line, followed by a prompt from Bruce.
“Tell ’im, Patricia,” he said. “This is change-our-lives money. It’s the lottery.”
More silence, and then:
“I guess so,” Trisha said. “But only if Brenda wants to.”
“Well, she’ll have to agree,” I said, “or there’s no deal.”
“Let’s get her on the line right now,” Bruce said.
“No, that’s not how this works,” I said. “This is a question I discuss with each client separately and privately. I’m going to see if I can get hold of Brenda as soon as we hang up. I’ll then let you know what has been decided.”
“I don’t understand why she has all the power in this thing,” Bruce said.
“It’s because her daughter was murdered, Bruce,” I said. “By your son. I’ll call you back after I talk to her.”
I disconnected before Bruce could get another word in.
I stood up and walked around the desk, trying to shake off the greasy feeling I had gotten from the conversation. This was the downside of civil work. In criminal, it was often your client’s freedom at stake. Yes, my clients had often been criminals already, but there was something noble about defending the damned and trying to win their freedom or at least ameliorate their situation. It was you against the power of the state.
In civil, it was usually about one thing: money. Using money as punishment. Clients might claim they wanted to protect others from dangerous products or reprehensible behavior, but when the lawyers and corporations and insurance companies started adding zeros to their settlement offers, those noble foundations often crumbled. BruceColton was in this camp and might always have been. But I’d take one of my old criminal clients over a Bruce Colton any day of the week.
