I wanted to take my seat in the jury box, listen to it all, and not be bothered by anyone.

We entered at two minutes before one.

DeOrio's law clerk was passing out copies of the agenda. She directed us to our seats--me

to the jury box, where I sat alone and content, and Mordecai to the plaintiff's table next to

the jury box. Wilma Phelan, the trustee, was already there, and already bored because she

had no input into anything about to be discussed.

The defense table was a study in strategic positioning. Drake & Sweeney was clustered at

one end; Tillman Gantry and his two lawyers at the other. Holding the center, and acting

as a buffer, were two corporate types from RiverOaks, and three lawyers. The agenda

also listed the names of all present. I counted thirteen for the defense.

I expected Gantry, being an ex-pimp, to be adorned with rings on his fingers and ears and

bright, gaudy clothing. Not so. He wore a handsome navy suit and was dressed better

than his lawyers. He was reading documents and ignoring everyone.

I saw Arthur and Rafter and Nathan Malamud. And Barry Nuzzo. I was determined that

nothing would surprise me, but I had not expected to see Barry. By sending three of my

fellow ex-hostages, the firm was delivering a subtle message--every other lawyer

terrorized by Mister survived without cracking up--what happened to me? Why was I the

weak sister?

The fifth person in their pack was identified as L. James Suber, an attorney for an

insurance company. Drake & Sweeney was heavily insured against malpractice, but I

doubted if the coverage would apply. The policy excluded intentional acts, such as

stealing by an associate or partner, or deliberately violating a standard of conduct.

Negligence by a firm lawyer would be covered. Willful wrongdoing would not. Braden

Chance had not simply overlooked a statute or code provision or established method of

practice. He had made the conscious decision to proceed with the eviction, in spite of

being fully informed that the squatters were in fact tenants.

There would be a nasty fight on the side, out of our flew, between Drake & Sweeney and

its malpractice carrier. Let 'em fight.

At precisely one, Judge DeOrio appeared from behind the bench and took his seat. "Good

afternoon," he said gruffly as he settled into place. He was wearing a robe, and that struck

me as odd. It was not a formal court proceeding, but an unofficial settlement conference.

He adjusted his microphone, and said, "Mr. Burdick, please keep the door locked." Mr.

Burdick was a uniformed courtroom deputy guarding the door from the inside. The pews

were completely empty. It was a very private conference.

A court reporter began recording every word.

"I am informed by my clerk that all parties and lawyers are now present," he said,

glancing at me as if I were just another rapist. "The purpose of this meeting is to attempt

to settle this case. After numerous conversations yesterday with the principal attorneys, it

became apparent to me that a conference such as this, held at this time, might be

beneficial. I've never had a settlement conference so soon after the filing of a complaint,

but since all parties agreed, it is time well spent The first issue is that of confidentiality.

Nothing we say today can be repeated to any, member of the press, under any

circumstances. Is that understood?" He looked at Mordecai and then at me. All necks

from the defense table twisted for similar scrutiny. I wanted to stand and remind them

that they had initiated the practice of leaking. We'd certainly landed the heaviest blows,

but they had thrown the first punch.

The clerk then handed each of us a two-paragraph nondisclosure agreement, customized

with our names plugged in. I signed it and gave it back to her.

A lawyer under pressure cannot read two paragraphs and make a quick decision. "Is there

a problem?" DeOrio asked of the Drake & Sweeney crowd. They were looking for

loopholes. It was the way we were trained.

They signed off and the agreements were gathered by the clerk.

"We'll work from the agenda," the Judge said. "Item one is a summary of the facts and

theories of liability. Mr. Green, you filed the lawsuit, you may proceed. You have five

minutes."

Mordecai stood without notes, hands stuck deep in pockets, completely at ease. In two

minutes, he stated our case clearly, then sat down. DeOrio appreciated brevity.

Arthur spoke for the defendants. He conceded the factual basis for the case, but took

issue on the question of liability. He laid much of the blame on the "freak" snowstorm

that covered the city and made life difficult for everyone. He also questioned the actions

of Lontae Burton. "There were places for her to go," Arthur said. "There were emergency

shelters open. The night before she had stayed in the basement of a church, along with

many other people. Why did she leave? I don't know, but no one forced her, at least no

one we've been able to find so far. Her grandmother has an apartment in Northeast.

Shouldn't some of the responsibility rest with the mother? Shouldn't she have done more

to protect her little family?"

It would be Arthur's only chance to cast blame upon a dead mother. In a year or so, my

jury box would be filled with people who looked different from me, and neither Arthur

nor any lawyer in his right mind would imply that Lontae Burton was even partially to

blame for killing her own children.

"Why was she in the street to begin with?" DeOrio asked sharply, and I almost smiled.

Arthur was unfazed. "For purposes of this meeting, Your Honor, we are willing to

concede that the eviction was wrongful."

"Thank you."

"You're welcome. Our point is that some of the responsibility should rest with the

mother."

"How much?"

"At least fifty percent."

"That's too high."

"We think not, Your Honor. We may have put her in the street, but she was there for

more than a week before the tragedy."

"Mr. Green?"

Mordecai stood, shaking his head as if Arthur were a first-year law student grappling

with elementary theories. "These are not people with immediate access to housing, Mr.

Jacobs. That's why they're called homeless. You admit you put them in the street, and

that's where they died. I would love to discuss it with a jury."

Arthur's shoulders slumped. Rafter, Malamud, and Barry listened to every word, their

faces stricken with the notion of Mordecai Green loose in a courtroom with a jury of his

peers.

"Liability is clear, Mr. Jacobs," DeOrio said. "You can argue the mother's negligence to

the jury if you want, though I wouldn't advise it." Mordecai and Arthur sat down.