Free Cookie's Case by Andy Siegel Page B

on the record.”
    â€œAnd one other thing, Your Honor.”
    â€œI’m listening, Mr. Wyler.”
    â€œI think that Wilbur should apologize to me for what he attempted to do here.”
    â€œYes, Mr. Wyler, I do think an apology is in order.” Judge Brown turns to him. He nods.
    â€œI’m sorry,” he says, in a low voice. Judge Brown intervenes. Again.
    â€œMr. Hernandez, that really didn’t sound very sincere. If an apology is not sincere, then it’s not an apology at all. Do you agree with me on that, Mr. Wyler?”
    I love her sense of justice. “You know, I was just thinking the same thing, Your Honor.”
    She gives me a smirk, and we turn back to Wilbur. This guy is on the ropes.
    â€œI’m sorry,” he repeats, sounding a little more genuine. But not that much.
    â€œFor what, Mr. Hernandez? For what are you sorry? Look Mr. Wyler in the eye and tell him.”
    He understands what he needs to do but is struggling. “I’m sorry for falsely claiming in open court that you suborned perjury.”
    â€œAnd …” this very forthright judge prompts.
    â€œAnd for attempting to steal your fee.”
    Justice comes in all forms, I think to myself. Sometimes even a simple apology does the trick. Everyone deserves a second chance. That’s what makes this country great.
    A little later, after we go through the formality of placing the resolution on the record, Roscoe walks out of the building with me. We stop at the bottom of the courthouse steps. I sigh. But it’s a happy one. The thing is, even though I’ve just saved my ass, I can’t even stop to congratulate myself. Roscoe gives me the nod.
    â€œSo, where you off to?”
    I point across the street.
    â€œBenson?”
    His guess is on the money.
    â€œGood luck,” he says. “But just remember what I’ve told you time and again: some day one of his referrals is going to be the end of you. It easily could’ve happened this morning with this … What do you call Henry’s referrals again?”
    â€œHICs.”
    â€œRight, this HIC.”
    â€œGot ya,” I reply. And sigh again. This time, a heavy one.
    But this is what I do. And this is who I am.

Chapter Five
    A s I walk across the street through Foley Square to Henry Benson’s office, I’m thinking about our relationship.
    The reason Henry, a celebrated criminal defense attorney, no longer handles injury matters is because he managed to commit legal malpractice on the last civil case he presented to a jury. Now he can no longer obtain professional insurance that will cover injury matters. Thus, I became the lucky recipient of Henry’s injured criminals—or HICs—as my paralegal, Lily, and I have nicknamed them.
    Henry, by his own admission, chose me—a complete stranger—mostly so he could say fuck you to his ‘best friend,’ Dominic Keller, the self-proclaimed king of all injury cases. Though, to be fair to myself, I know he’d been impressed by what he’d heard about my expertise in courtroom medicine. Dominic, in fact, had been the guy who’d once mentioned my skills to Henry, making the fuck you extra sweet.
    So far, every HIC case has been accompanied by some form of wrinkle. One way or another, they don’t ever fit the description “straightforward.” It’s also fallen to me to figure out which HIC cases are legitimate injury claims and which might be trying to bilk the legal system. Since getting involved with Henry, I’ve learned—after the fact—that, occasionally, I guess wrong.
    At least I admit it.
    But what you need to know is that my first commitment is to my client. It’s an ethical violation to tell the opposing attorney that a case may be tenuous at best or even lack merit should it become evident after being retained.
    So this is how I went from having a quiet but steadily growing practice, at which I