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Goebel’s tone stoked Susette’s defiance. She called Mitchell and ranted. “He’s not getting a dime from me,” Susette said. “And I’m not leavin’ either.”

Claire continued to focus on money and image. In her aggressive push to remake New London, the NLDC had spent $28.7 million in state money in three years. Earmarked for the Fort Trumbull municipal-development project, the money had not resulted in any construction in the fort neighborhood. With some demolitions complete and the takings of homes in the works, the NLDC needed more money, and it needed it fast.

The governor had put the brakes on more state funding, and the NLDC had already tapped its private contributors through fund-raisers. The NLDC had one option left: borrow. The NLDC applied for a $2 million commercial loan from Webster Bank.

But lending millions to the NLDC carried risks. The agency was virtually broke and had no income stream. The bank wanted security. Once again, the NLDC turned to Pfizer, which guaranteed the loan by promising to pay the bank back if the NLDC defaulted.

On December 13 the bank loaned the money to the NLDC.

The Institute for Justice had an unlikely secret weapon in thirty-five-year-old John Kramer. When the institute had opened its doors for business in the early 1990s, Kramer worked at a small public-relations firm in Washington. The institute found him through a headhunter and offered him a PR position. He was quickly elevated to vice president of communications.

Few law firms employed PR specialists, but the institute put a premium on shaping the message and mission behind its legal initiatives. It argued cases not only in courts of law but also in the court of public opinion. That meant Kramer had a responsibility every bit as important as the lawyers’ work, and the attorneys worked closely with the PR people to craft a lawsuit’s message.

The first time Bullock and Berliner briefed Kramer on the Fort Trumbull dispute, he felt a bond with the plaintiffs. The youngest of nine children, Kramer had lost his father at age two. Fatherlessness left him feeling a bit isolated and taught him to stand up for himself and be his own advocate at a very early age. By the time he reached college he had his heart set on being an advocate, a protector.

The Fort Trumbull situation kept Kramer up at night, wondering how to launch the lawsuit in a way that would galvanize public opinion on the side of the homeowners. He planned on a big announcement to accompany the suit’s filing. But he didn’t want a press conference from the courthouse steps—that would be too much of a cliché. Instead, he wanted a backdrop with real meaning, something that symbolized the struggle to protect homes.

Finally it came to him: Susette’s pink house. It was ground zero for the battle. It was the gathering place for advocates, plaintiffs, and protestors. It was the home of the lead plaintiff. It was where the institute should unveil the lawsuit.

By announcing the case from Susette’s front steps, Bullock could introduce the national media to her and her neighbors and illustrate that Susette’s home was not dilapidated and run-down, as the NLDC wanted people to think. If Kramer did his job right, Susette’s pink house would become a national symbol for the fight against eminent-domain abuse. He spent days preparing an agenda for the announcement and a press advisory inviting national media to attend.

With the complaint polished and the PR plan in place, Bullock caught an evening flight to go to New London.

December 20, 2000

Bundled in winter coats and scarves, a spirited group of supporters huddled in the street outside Susette’s house. Inside, Susette and the plaintiffs waited for news that the suit had been filed. Bullock paced the floor, his cell phone in hand. Just before noon, the call from the courthouse finally came. Kelo v. City of New London had officially been filed.

Bullock and Kramer burst into action. From the institute’s Washington office, Kramer disseminated a press release to media outlets throughout