Rich Blood (Jason Rich #1)(19)
The headquarters of the Alabama State Bar were located on Dexter Avenue in downtown Montgomery. In his first few years as an attorney, Jason had served on the executive committee of the Young Lawyers Section, which was a fun gig where he got to meet a lot of other attorneys and became friendly with the leadership of the bar.
But that chumminess had ended when he’d started his billboard campaign. There had, of course, been complaints at the use of his last name to insinuate that choosing him as an attorney would lead to big money.
IN A CAR ACCIDENT? GET RICH.
Jason’s point, however, was that he was simply suggesting that prospective clients contact him if they had a particular legal problem, and there was no prohibition in the rules of ethics against that. Besides, underneath the jingle—which always contained a question followed by the “GET RICH” answer—was the following verbiage, which brought home Jason’s point: “Call 1-800 GET RICH and let attorney Jason Rich and the Rich Law Firm help you.” And, of course, he also had the magic “no representation” language at the bottom of each billboard. The bar had reluctantly agreed that the billboards were within the rules but recommended that he change his jingle in light of the controversy.
Jason hadn’t budged. He had too much invested in his billboards and wasn’t about to change them unless the bar made him. This refusal had brought about resentment, which no doubt hurt his cause when complaints began to roll in regarding his erratic behavior. He’d narrowly avoided punishment for his fistfight with Nate Shuttle, but the chickens had come home to roost when he was accused of being impaired during the deposition of Eileen Frost.
After checking in at the front desk, Jason was brought into a large conference room. Photographs of prior presidents of the Alabama State Bar adorned the wall, but Jason paid them no mind. He just wanted to get this embarrassment over with, but, alas, a wait was in store.
After thirty full minutes, a woman and a man finally entered the room. The man Jason had met numerous times before. Edward Raleigh had been the executive director of the bar for almost Jason’s entire career as an attorney. Ted was an all-business administrator and a hell of a fundraiser. During Ted’s tenure, the annual meeting of the bar, which had alternated between the Grand Hotel in Point Clear and the Sandestin resort in Destin, Florida, had almost doubled in attendance and sponsorships. The director was not one for small talk and got straight to the point.
“I’d apologize for the delay, but you called a few hours ago, and Ashley and I had to move some meetings around.”
“No problem,” Jason managed. He glanced at the woman, who’d taken a seat next to Ted. She had red hair and a smattering of freckles on her face. He would have guessed her to be in her mid-to late thirties. She smiled at him, and her eyes were kind. Jason returned the gesture.
“I’m Ashley Sullivan. We haven’t met, but I pass by about five of your billboards on my way to work every morning.”
“Like seeing an old friend, huh?” Jason asked, surprising himself at how easy the old retort had come back to him. How many times had he heard that same comment from opposing counsel, court reporters, and even judges over the years?
She laughed, and even tight old Ted Raleigh managed a grin.
Jason gave a half-hearted chuckle. “Where’s Tony?” he asked, hoping that his old classmate would be present.
“He’s giving a CLE on ethics in Huntsville,” Ted said. “I’m sure he would’ve wanted to be here, but, like I said, you didn’t give any of us much notice.”
“No, I guess I didn’t,” Jason said. He took the piece of paper he’d brought with him and slid it down the table. “Well, there it is. Ninety days. I’m a new man. Clean and sober. Ready to tackle the world.”
Ashley retrieved the certificate, eyeballed it, and peered at Jason. “The Perdido Addiction Center was a good choice.”
“Changed my life,” Jason lied.
“Did it?” she asked.
Before Jason could respond, Ted grabbed the certificate and stood up. “Jason, I’m going to leave things with Ashley. I’ll make a copy of this for our files, and you can pick it up at the front desk when you leave. We have already received your payment of the fine.” He paused, and Jason saw a gleam of pleasure in the executive’s eyes. “Your public reprimand will be at the bar’s next meeting on August 24 at nine a.m.”
“Good,” Jason said. “And that’ll be it, right? The bar will unhook the leash.”
“Not exactly. I’ll let Ashley fill you in on the rest.”
Once Ted closed the door, an uncomfortable silence engulfed the room. When Ashley had done nothing to break the quiet, Jason finally couldn’t stand it. “All right, what now? Do we hold hands and sing ‘Kumbaya’?”
“I’m waiting for you to answer my question,” Ashley said. When Jason raised his eyebrows, she leaned her elbows on the table and squinted at him. “Did ninety days at the PAC really change your life?”
Jason cocked his head at her use of the acronym. “You seem awful familiar with—”
“Five years ago,” she interrupted, “I was there one hundred twenty days. One more month than you. Since then, I’ve been in the Lawyer Assistance Program. Last year, Ted made me the president.”