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By Root 433 0

rate went up and so did their payment. At the same time, the husband lost his job as a school bus driver because he had an accident. So the husband and wife went to the bank and said, ‘Hey, we have a problem. Can we change or restructure our loan so we can still pay for our house?’ This is called loan modification and it’s pretty much a joke. These people did the right thing, going in like that, but the bank led them on and said, ‘Yes, we’ll work with you. You keep paying what you can while we go to work on this.’ So they paid what they could but it wasn’t enough. They waited and waited but they never heard anything from the bank. That is, until they got the notice in the mail that they were being foreclosed on. So it’s this kind of stuff that is wrong and I try to do something about it. It’s David and Goliath stuff, Hay. The giant financial institutions are running roughshod over people and they don’t have too many guys like me standing up for them.”

It was during my explanation to my young daughter that I finally realized why I had been drawn to this particular practice of law. Yes, some of my clients were just gaming the system. They were charlatans no better than the banks they were taking on. But some of my clients were the downtrodden and disadvantaged. They were the true underdogs in society and I wanted to stand for them and keep them in their homes for as long as I possibly could.

Hayley had raised her pencil and was itching to go back to work as soon as I dismissed her. She was polite that way and must have gotten it from her mother.

“Anyway, that’s what it’s all about. You can go back to work now. You want something else to drink or a dessert?”

“Dad, pancakes are like dessert.”

She had braces and had chosen lime green bands. When she spoke my attention was constantly drawn to her teeth.

“Oh, right, yeah. Then what about something else to drink? More milk?”

“No, I’m fine.”

“Okay.”

I went back to work too and separated the three foreclosure files in front of me. I had been getting so much business off the radio ads that we had been bundling court appearances. That is, trying to schedule together hearings and appearances on all cases that I had before a particular judge. In the morning I had three hearings before Judge Alfred Byrne in the downtown county courthouse. All three were defenses based on claims of wrongful foreclosure and fraud perpetrated by the lender or the loan-servicing agent employed by the lender.

In each of the cases I had stayed foreclosure with my court filings. My clients were in their homes and not required to make their monthly payments. The other side viewed this as a scam equal in size to the foreclosure epidemic. I was despised by opposing counsel for perpetuating fraud myself and only delaying an inevitable outcome.

That was okay by me. When you come from the criminal defense bar, you are used to being despised.

“Am I too late for pancakes?”

I looked up to see my ex-wife slide into the booth next to our daughter. She landed a kiss on Hayley’s cheek before the girl could go on the defensive. She was at that age. I wished Maggie had slid into my side of the booth and planted one on me. But I could wait.

I smiled at her as I started pulling all the files off the table to make room.

“It’s never too late for pancakes,” I said.

Eight

Lisa Trammel was formally arraigned in Van Nuys the following Tuesday. It was a routine hearing intended to put her plea on record and to start the clock in order to meet the state’s speedy-trial requirement. However, because my client was free on bail, we would likely be waiving speedy trial. There was no reason to hurry as long as she was breathing free air. The case would slowly build momentum like a summer storm and begin when the defense was fully prepared.

But the arraignment did serve the purpose of putting Lisa’s forthright and emphatic “not guilty” on the court record as well as on video for the gathered media. Though attendance was lower than it was at her first appearance (the national media tends to retreat from the ongoing mundane