Gray Mountain: A Novel(67)

Two hours and fifteen minutes after they left Brady, they landed at a small airport in Manassas, Virginia. They rented a car, found a drive-thru for carryout lunch tacos, and arrived at the Kofer Group’s new digs in Alexandria at 1:00 p.m. Marshall greeted them warmly and apologized for the emptiness of the place. It was, after all, Saturday.

Marshall was delighted to see his daughter, especially under the circumstances. She was hanging around with a real trial lawyer and seemed keenly interested in pursuing a promising lawsuit against corporate bad guys. After just two weeks in the coalfields she was well on her way to a real conversion. He had been trying in vain for years to show her the light.

After some small talk, Marshall said to Donovan, “Congrats on the verdict down there. Tough place to get one.”

Samantha had not mentioned the Tate verdict to her father. She had e-mailed him twice with details about the meeting, but nothing about the trial. Donovan said, “Thanks. There was a line or two in the Roanoke paper. I guess you saw it.”

“Missed that,” he said. “We monitor a lot of trials through a national network. Your story popped up late last night and I read the summary. A great set of facts.”

They were seated around a square table with real flowers in the center, next to coffee in a silver pot. Marshall had dressed down and was slumming in a cashmere sweater and slacks. The Gray boys were in jeans and old sports coats. Samantha wore jeans and a sweater.

Donovan said thanks again and answered Marshall’s questions about the trial. Jeff said nothing and missed nothing. He and Samantha exchanged looks occasionally. She poured more coffee and finally said, “Perhaps we should move along.”

“Right,” Marshall said as he took a sip. “How much do I know?”

“There’s nothing new,” Samantha said. “I’ve just started digging and I’m sure we’ll learn a lot more after I file the claim for black lung benefits.”

“Casper Slate has a nasty reputation,” Marshall said.

“They’ve earned it,” Donovan replied. “I’ve fought them for a long time.”

“Give me your lawsuit. Give me your theory.”

Donovan took a deep breath and glanced at Samantha. He said, “Federal court, probably in Kentucky. Maybe West Virginia. Certainly not Virginia because of the caps on damages. We file the lawsuit with one plaintiff, Buddy Ryzer, and we sue Casper Slate and Lonerock Coal. We allege fraud and conspiracy, perhaps racketeering, and we ask for the moon in punitive damages. It’s a punitive case, plain and simple. Lonerock Coal is currently capitalized at six billion and insured to the hilt. Casper Slate is private and we don’t know what it’s worth, but we’ll find out. As we dig, we hope we find other fraud cases. The more the better. But if we don’t, we’ll always be ready to take the Ryzer case to the jury and ask for a fortune in punitives.”

Marshall nodded as if he agreed, as if he’d done this a hundred times.

Donovan paused and asked, “What’s your take on it?”

“Agreed, so far. It sounds good, especially if the fraud really exists and there’s no way to explain it away. It certainly looks legitimate, and the jury appeal is fantastic. Actually, I think it’s brilliant. A corrupt law firm full of high-priced lawyers hiding medical evidence to beat some poor, sick miner out of his meager benefits. Wow! It’s a trial lawyer’s dream. It’s a clear punitive case with tremendous upside potential.” He paused, took a calculated sip, and continued. “But, first, of course, there is the little matter of the actual lawsuit. You practice alone, Donovan, with almost no staff and, shall we say, limited resources. A lawsuit like this will take five years and cost $2 million, minimum.”

“One million,” Donovan said.

“Split the difference. One and a half. I’m assuming that’s still out of your reach.”

“It is, but I have friends, Mr. Kofer.”

“Let’s go with Marshall, shall we?”

“Sure, Marshall. There are two law firms in West Virginia and two in Kentucky that I conspire with. We often pool our money and resources and divide the work. Still, I’m not sure we can risk that much. I suppose that’s why we’re here.”

Marshall shrugged and laughed and said, “That’s my business. The litigation wars. I consult with lawyers and with litigation funders. I play matchmaker between the guys with the cash and the guys with the cases.”

“So you can arrange one or two million for the litigation expenses?”

“Sure, that’s no problem, not in this line. Most of our work involves between ten and fifty million. Two mill is easy.”

“And how much does it cost us, the lawyers?”

“That depends on the fund. The great thing about this case is that it’ll cost two million, let’s say, and not thirty million. The less you take for expenses, the more you keep in fees. I’m assuming you’ll get 50 percent of the recovery.”

“I’ve never asked for 50 percent.”

“Well, welcome to the big leagues, Donovan. In all major cases the trial lawyers get 50 percent these days. And why not? You take all the risks, do all the work, and put up all the money. A big verdict is a windfall for a client like Buddy Ryzer. Poor guy’s trying to get a thousand dollars a month. Get him a few million and he’s a happy dude, right?”