MONDAY MORNING. NOW THAT I’M A man of wealth and leisure, I sleep until nine, dress casually in khakis, loafers, no tie, and arrive at the office at ten. My partner is busy packing away the Black documents and removing the folding tables which have cramped our front office for months. We’re both grinning and smiling at everything. Pressure’s off. We’re rested and it’s time to gloat. He runs down the street for coffee, and we sit at my desk and relive our finest hour. Deck’s clipped the story from yesterday’s Memphis Press, just in case I need an extra copy. I say thanks, I might need it, though there are a dozen copies in my apartment. I made the front page of Metro, with a long, well written story about my triumph, as well as a rather large photo of me at my desk. I couldn’t take my eyes off myself all day yesterday. The paper went into three hundred thousand homes. Money can’t buy this exposure. There are a few faxes. A couple from classmates with words of congratulations, and jokingly asking for loans. A sweet one from Madeline Skinner at the law school. And two from Max Leuberg. The first is a copy of a short article in a Chicago newspaper about the verdict. The second is a copy of a story dated yesterday from a paper in Cleveland. It describes the Black trial at length, then relates the growing troubles at Great Benefit. At least seven states are now investigating the company, including Ohio. Policyholder suits are being filed around the country, and many more are expected. The Memphis verdict is expected to prompt a flood of litigation. Ha, ha, ha. We delight in the misery we’ve instigated. We laugh at the image of M. Wilfred Keeley looking at the financial statements again and trying to find more cash. Surely it’s in there somewhere! The florist arrives with a beautiful arrangement, a congratulatory gift from Booker Kane and the folks at Marvin Shankle’s firm. I had expected the phone to be ringing like mad with clients looking for solid legal representation. It’s not happening yet. Deck said there were a couple of calls before ten, one of which was a wrong number. I’m not worried. Kipler calls at eleven, and I switch to the clean phone just in case Drummond is still listening. He has an interesting story, one in which I might be involved.