Dead Ringer

She knew the feeling, if not the French. “I see. Your losses must be significant. Can you put a number on the damages? Lost revenue from the contracts?”

“The Hospcare contract was worth almost three million dollars. The other two contracts total slightly over five million. My entire investment in the U.S. facility is now in grave jeopardy, and the costs for the new facility are well in excess of fifty million.” St. Amien rattled it off as if money were his first language. “My losses are approximately sixty million dollars.”

The numbers stu

“I am gathering a legal wrong has been perpetrated,” St. Amien said, watching her with an obviously amused smile.

“Well, yeah. Sure. Absolutely. Right you are.” Focus, girlfriend. “In addition to breach-of-contract claims against the trade association, there is a significant antitrust claim, which would be far easier to prove, given the statement at the conference. I have to get all the facts and investigate, but basically we’re talking dead to rights, Robert.”

“’Dead to’…” St. Amien’s voice trailed off. He was obviously unfamiliar with the idiom, so Be

“Let me explain, briefly.” The law centered her when caffeine failed. “Under our antitrust laws, anyone may refuse to do business with anyone else, but what they ca

“That’s excellent news.” St. Amien permitted himself another smile.

“Frankly, you have a case that even my dog could win, but I doubt it will ever get to trial. The evidence is so clear and the damages so lethal that the trade association will surely settle, maybe even in six months.”

“Even better.”

“I’ll say,” Be

“Ah, oui. There are many others like me, though my losses are the greatest. I have many colleagues who have been harmed, three from Germany, several from the Netherlands. Also from the Far East, the Japanese in particular, and I know they plan to seek an attorney.”

“How many other lens manufacturers do business here?”

“Perhaps thirty or more across the country, who would all be affected. It is a national trade association, not just local.”

Uh-oh. Be

“What?” St. Amien’s finely etched lips fell apart slightly. Next to him, Judy and A

“You don’t have an individual claim, you have a class action.” Be

“A class action?” St. Amien inclined his silvery head.

“A class action is a lawsuit designed for people in your situation, when there are lots of people who have the same case against the same entity, and there is basically the same fact pattern. Technicalities aside, that is,” Be

Across the table, Murphy was shaking her head in disagreement. Her shiny auburn mane swung back and forth as if in a Pantene commercial. “I’m sure we can handle a class action, Be

Next to her, Judy looked equally unhappy. “Boss, we can maintain a class action. We’ve done tons of antitrust work, and we can read the class-action rules as well as anybody. It’s only a procedural difference.”

Be

Mavericks don’t wear seventeen-dollar pantyhose. “I don’t know…”

“You are a maverick. Your office is not pretentious. Your ma

Be

Judy gri

St. Amien continued, “I am an outsider also. A French national, making my new home in Philadelphia. Making my way here, until this association blocked me. Ruined my business, merely because I am not one of them. For many reasons, I want you to represent me.”

“Robert, wait a minute,” Be

St. Amien shrugged. “So, represent the class then. I’m sure you will do an excellent job.”

“Boss, are you really having a crisis in confidence?” Judy asked in disbelief.

“Dude!” A

“It’s not that easy, girls,” Be

“I could write that brief, easy,” Judy said. “Let’s take the case!”

Be

“We always take cases we’re not qualified for!”

Oh, great.

“We weren’t murder experts when we started taking murder cases, and now we do them all the time. We learned.” Carrier was on a tear. “Be

St. Amien nodded. “Excellent, then, my decision is made. I agree with your young ladies. So.” He slipped a hand inside his jacket and extracted a checkbook bound in burgundy leather and a merlot Montblanc. He flipped open his checkbook and began to write a check, which was when Be

“Robert, please, don’t do that.” Don’t. Stop. Don’t stop. “Don’t.”

“I trust you’ll forgive me,” St. Amien said, with a sly smile. He finished writing and tore the check from the checkbook, then replaced his checkbook and pen. “I leave the money, in hoping you will accept my representation. Consider it ‘earnest money,’ as you say.”