“Didn’t I say that? No, I guess I didn’t. I must have thought you could read my mind.”
“That would be a pretty good attribute for a law clerk,” she said, beaming. “I’ll work on it.”
“Along with about a thousand cert petitions.” He stood and extended a hand. “Welcome aboard.”
For the second time that day, Lisa Fremont shook his hand, and their eyes locked. This time his expression seemed to come from a deeper place, and for a moment, she felt he was trying to look deep inside her. At the same time, he clasped both hands over hers. There was nothing inappropriate about it, nothing sexual, overt or otherwise. It seemed to be a gesture of comradeship, a recognition that they were about to spend the next year together embarked on a great adventure.
Wow! I did it. I’m a clerk on the Supreme Court of the United States. Me! Lisa Anne Fremont from Bodega Bay. And Max didn’t do it for me.
She allowed herself just a few seconds of elation. Then the realization set in. She wasn’t just Sam Truitt’s law clerk. She was also working for Max Wanaker and Atlantica Airlines, petitioner in one of the biggest cases of the new term. In legal jargon, she had a major conflict of interest. Her job was to subvert justice, not to achieve it. She tried not to think about the cruel paradox, which threatened to ruin the moment.
She focused a businesslike smile on Sam Truitt. In the past two hours, she thought, they had learned all about each other. Or had they? She’d already known him. And he only thought he knew her. For a moment, looking into his blue-gray eyes, she thought there was a glimmer of recognition, that he saw through the gaps in her resume and in her life, that somehow he glimpsed the abyss that separated who she had been from who she had become. But if he had sensed anything wrong, why had he hired her?
She broke eye contact, and he released her hands. “Thank you, Judge. I’ll try to live up to your expectations.”
“You and me both,” he said, laughing, giving her a warm smile. Then his voice dropped nearly to a whisper and his brow furrowed. “Lisa, we have a chance to do wonderful work here. Not just to resolve individual disputes, but to set the tone for civilization, to draw boundaries for conduct, to define fundamental rights and responsibilities, and to right wrongs. We’re the conscience of society and the buffer between the government and the governed, striking the balance between the state and the individual. We protect against anarchy on the one hand and dictatorship on the other. Our job is to breathe life into that glorious two-hundred-year-old document they keep under glass a few blocks west of here. God help me, I hope we’re both up to the task.”
Lisa stood in stunned silence. What could she say? Oh, I’m sure you’ll combine the wisdom of Solomon with the compassion of Gandhi and the strength of Zeus. And I’ll be right there beside you… corrupting the process, violating everything you believe in.
She had never known anyone like Sam Truitt. He was truly afraid of falling short, of failing to live up to his own standards and those who came before him. Here was a Galahad whose greatest fear was that he could not attain the Holy Grail.
She admired and respected this man who was honest and devoted to principles, not to the accumulation of power and personal wealth. He was everything Max Wanaker wasn’t. What a sad irony that she had to betray Sam Truitt’s trust and tarnish his beloved bronze statues. For a moment, she felt such shame that she could not look him in the eyes.
He guided her toward the door, grabbing his coat for the walk down the corridor to the chief’s chambers. “Wait!” he said at the last moment, and she tensed.
What is it? Has he seen through me? Maybe he’s the mind reader!
“I’ve completely failed to ask what substantive areas of the law interest you,” he said.
With the self-discipline and poise that had brought her so far, she chased away the guilt and the fear. “Aviation law has always fascinated me,” Lisa Fremont said.
IN THE SUPREME COURT OF THE UNITED STATES GLORIA LAUBACH,
individually and as representative of the
Estate of Howard J. Laubach, deceased, et al.
Petitioners, vs. ATLANTICA AIRLINES, INC.,
Respondent.
ON PETITION FOR A WRIT OF CERTIORARI TO THE UNITED STATES COURT OF APPEALS FOR THE ELEVENTH CIRCUIT PETITION FOR A WRIT OF CERTIORARI QUESTIONS PRESENTED
Whether the 1978 Airline Deregulation Act bars Petitioner’s claims under the Florida Wrongful Death Act for the death of her husband in the crash of a commercial aircraft, and if there is no such federal remedy, leaves Petitioner without the right to sue for money damages?
Whether Petitioner presented sufficient evidence as to Respondent’s negligence so as to preclude the entry of summary judgment and to permit jury consideration of that issue?
REASON FOR GRANTING THE WRIT
The decision below (a) radically departs from established case law; (b) subverts the intention of Congress; and (c) immunizes the tortfeasor from liability, thus permitting a wrong without a remedy, an abhorrent result in a case involving the deaths of nearly three hundred persons.
Respectfully submitted,
Albert M. Goldman, Esq.
CHAPTER 5
Reservoir Dog
Lisa drove around for hours before heading back to the apartment. She passed the Washington Monument, the circle of American flags crackling in the autumn breeze. She drove by the elm trees and the Reflecting Pool, and just as the lights came on, she curled behind the Lincoln Memorial with its distinctive Doric columns resembling the Parthenon. She slowed the car and fought the urge to join the tourists and walk up to old Abe-now dramatically backlit-and soak up all that corn-pone Americana. Thinking about it, she felt like a character in a black-and-white movie, Ms. Fremont Goes to Washington.
What she was feeling now was every bit as hokey as the old Frank Capra tearjerker. A vague disquiet settled over her as she considered notions of justice and honor and the young Scrap Truitt sweating on the football field in a noble but losing effort.
How could I do it? How could I sit there and smile and wow him with my intellect, all the time planning to sabotage his treasured work? How low can I go?
She crossed the Arlington Memorial Bridge and headed to the national cemetery, parking the car and sitting there in the enveloping darkness. Scattershot thoughts raced through her mind, but one kept returning, kept nagging at her.
“ Tell me about Lisa Fremont, the person.”
No. You wouldn’t like Lisa Fremont, the person. But I can change. I want to believe all the flowery phrases about duty and justice and principle. Sam, I want to be like you!
She didn’t want to be like Max. She was angry with him for manipulating her.
“ After all I’ve done for you, don’t you think you owe me this?”
No! Not this.
She believed there was a time in a person’s life when one decision affects everything else. You head down that crooked side road one mile too far, and you’ll never get back on the highway. But it wasn’t too late to play it straight, and this time, there was nothing Max could say that would change her mind. When she got back to the apartment, she’d tell him. Not only wouldn’t she try to sway Justice Truitt’s vote on the Atlantica case, she’d recuse herself from even preparing the bench memo.
Her cellular phone rang, startling her. It was Max, wondering when she’d get home. She told him she’d gotten the job; she left for later the rest of the day’s news.
Max didn’t congratulate her, just mumbled uh-huh, like it was no big deal.
Like every day a poor girl from Bodega Bay, a teenage runaway, an underage stripper with no future, gets to be a law clerk on the Supreme Court of the United States.