The Color of Law_ A Novel - Mark Gimenez [71]
“Chevrolet.”
“You drive a Ferrari.” That amused Dan. “Scotty, that movie did more damage to the legal profession than Watergate. Lawyers of my generation, we went to law school to dodge the draft. But the generations that followed us didn’t have a war to worry about, so they went to law school to be some kind of goddamn hero. But that’s not what being a lawyer’s all about. And truth is, they don’t want to be another Atticus Finch any more than I do, any more than you do. He had nothing. But they—and you—and me, we want it all—the money, the house, the cars, all the things a successful lawyer can have today. And how does a lawyer become successful? By doing his job, which is making rich people richer. And we get paid very well indeed for doing our job, and not in chickens and nuts like Atticus. Our clients pay us in cash. Which is a very good thing, Scotty, ’cause you can’t buy a Ferrari with chickens and nuts.”
Dan walked over to the window and gazed out.
“When I graduated from law school, Scotty, a wise older lawyer gave me some good advice. He said, ‘Dan, every new lawyer must make a fundamental choice from which every other decision in his professional life will follow. And that choice is simple: Do you want to do good or do well? Do you want to make money or make the world a better place? Do you want to drive a Cadillac or a Chevrolet? Do you want to send your kids to private schools or public schools? Do you want to be a rich lawyer or a poor lawyer?’ He said, ‘Dan, if you want to do good, go work for legal aid and help the little people fighting their landlords and the utility companies and the police and feel good about it. But don’t have regrets twenty years later when your classmates are living in nice homes and driving new cars and taking vacations in Europe. And you have to tell your kids they can’t go to an Ivy League school because you did good.’”
Dan turned from the window.
“My son went to Princeton and my daughter went to Smith.”
Dan sat on the edge of his desk and folded his arms.
“That’s the choice every lawyer makes, Scotty, and you made your choice eleven years ago when you hired on with us. You chose to do well. You stood right there, said you were tired of being the poor kid on the block, said you wanted to be a rich lawyer. Now you want to be a good guy? I don’t think so.
“Scotty, this law firm exists for one reason and only one reason: to make as much goddamn money for the partners as humanly possible. And how does this firm do that? By representing clients who can pay three and four and five hundred dollars an hour for our services. By doing what our clients want, when they want it. By never saying no to our clients. Because we know they can always take their legal fees to a law firm across the street or across the state or across the country. Because there’s always another law firm ready to take our place at the trough.”
“Dan, she’s got a little girl. I’ve got to do right by her.”
“You’ve got a little girl, too. You want to do right by her?”
He rose and came over to Scott, sat beside him, and put his hand on Scott’s shoulder. His voice was now fatherly.
“Scotty, you’ve always followed my advice, and you’ve done okay by my advice, haven’t you?”
Scott nodded. “Sure, Dan, but—”
“Then follow my advice now. C’mon, son, don’t do this. Not to yourself, not to this firm…not to me. I need an answer for McCall, Scott. Now.”
Scott buried his hot face in his hands as the battle within raged on, Dan Ford versus Pajamae Jones fighting for his soul:
I need an answer for McCall. Now.
Are the po-lice gonna kill my mama, too?
And he heard Bobby’s voice: She needs someone strong to protect her…someone like you used to be. Gut-check time for Scott Fenney.
“No, baby, they’re not gonna kill your mama. I’m not gonna let them.”
“What?”
Scott removed his hands from his face and turned to Dan, who was looking at him oddly. Scott realized that when his gut had