The Color of Law_ A Novel - Mark Gimenez [62]
“But, Scott, two hundred hours a month? Ten billable hours a day? That’s impossible, if I’m honest.”
“Karen, this is a law firm, not a seminary.”
He smiled; she didn’t.
“Look, here’s how billable hours work. First, you always round up. Twenty minutes becomes half an hour, forty minutes becomes an hour, an hour and a half becomes two. Second, every phone call you make and every letter you read is a minimum quarter-hour. You read ten letters, a quarter hour each, that’s two and a half billable hours. Heck, I usually bill four or five hours just reading my mail each morning. And travel—didn’t you fly to San Francisco with Sid last month?”
She nodded.
“Did you bill your flight time?”
“Two hours. I worked on another matter.”
“How long was the flight?”
“Four hours.”
“Then you should bill eight, four hours to the client you’re flying to San Francisco for, and another four to the client whose work you’re doing during the flight. See? That’s six hours you didn’t bill last month. If every lawyer here dropped six hours each month, Karen, that’s twelve hundred hours that wouldn’t get billed. That’s three hundred grand we wouldn’t collect. Each month. Twelve months, that’s three-point-six million. See how it adds up? See why every hour counts? Billable hours are a law firm’s inventory, Karen, so when you don’t bill your quota, it’s like you’re working at McDonald’s and giving away hamburgers.”
Karen was looking at Scott like a freshman coed watching her first porn flick at a frat party.
“Scott, you’re telling me to pad my hours. Isn’t that cheating?”
“Every place except a law firm.”
Bobby entered the Ford Stevens lobby and was waved through by the smiling receptionist. Each time he walked into the Ford Stevens offices, he smelled something in the air. Like a funeral home, a downtown law office has its own unique smell; but instead of formaldehyde, this place smelled of money.
Bobby walked down the carpeted corridor to Scotty’s corner office. Scotty was sitting behind his desk and addressing a young woman. He noticed Bobby and waved him in.
Bobby stepped into the office. The young woman stood and when she turned to face Bobby, he was struck by her appearance: she was very attractive and from her sharp suit, a lawyer.
“Bobby, this is Karen Douglas. Karen, Bobby Herrin.”
Her eyes widened. “You’re working the Shawanda Jones case with Scott. That must be very exciting. When I was in school, I always thought I’d work in the public defender’s office.”
“But we pay better,” Scotty said. He pointed at the sofa. “Sit, Bobby, I’ll be right with you.” He picked up a thick document and turned back to Karen. “Now, Karen, you’re clear on billable hours?”
Karen sighed heavily and nodded. “I guess so.”
“Okay, the other thing I wanted to talk to you about is your memo. I’ve read it and it’s great. You researched the law perfectly, you applied the facts, you did everything exactly right…except—”
“Except what, Scott?”
“Except you didn’t answer my question.”
“But you asked whether Dibrell could sue that little town over its denial of his rezoning request. The answer is no.”
Scotty was shaking his head. “Karen, I didn’t ask you whether Dibrell could sue the town, I asked you how Dibrell could sue. We’re going to sue; we’ve already decided that. It’s part of our strategy to get the town to give us the rezoning we want. And believe me, after their lawyer tells them how much the litigation will cost in fees and expenses even if they win, the town will crater. What I wanted from you is a legal position we can take to justify our lawsuit. You answered whether. I asked how.”
Karen’s face expressed that dismay unique to a new lawyer learning the ways of lawyers.
“I…I didn’t understand, Scott. I’ll try again.”
“Good girl.”
Karen departed and Scotty said, “Nice body, but she’ll never make it as a lawyer. What’s up?”
Ten minutes later, they were driving to the federal building.
“Scotty,” Bobby said, “twenty years is a good deal. I’ve had two-bit dealers