Jakob stopped for a fast-food cheeseburger on the way back to his office. A first-generation immigrant from the former Soviet Union, he reveled in every aspect of freedom and had no interest in restricting himself by following Jewish dietary rules. However, when eating out with other Jews, he didn’t intentionally offend them. Instead, he waited to see what they ordered before making a selection. He loved all different kinds of food, and finding something he liked wasn’t a challenge.
Jakob inherited his fierce love of freedom from his father, a Jewish refusenik who sought for years to flee communism but was denied exit visas for himself and his family. Because of his open desire to emigrate, Anatoly Brodsky suffered persecution, including being sentenced to a six-month stint in jail. The elder Brodsky had passed along his broad stubborn streak to his youngest son. Only after the Berlin Wall fell was the family able to leave the Soviet Union and settle in New York City. A large, framed photo of the Statue of Liberty hung in the living room of the house on Long Island where Jakob lived from age ten forward. Jakob’s father was a skilled aeronautics worker, and his mother, a classically trained musician, found part-time employment with a second-tier orchestra. Once immersed in America, Jakob quickly lost his Russian accent, and the intonations of New York took over.
Jakob’s representation of Ben Neumann came through the recommendation of a former client named Ken Smith. Jakob agreed to meet with Ben and listened sympathetically to what took place in Hurva Square, but it wasn’t until he watched the surveillance video on Ben’s laptop that a familiar fire had begun to burn in Jakob’s belly. To him, it was a sign that he should consider taking the case. But there was one question he had to ask before allowing himself to take the next step.
“Why do you want to file a lawsuit?” he asked Ben. “It’s just going to make you think more about your loss.”
“Do you think that isn’t already the case?” Ben asked. “Every time I look at my daughter I see her mother’s face. And when I kiss Sadie’s cheek, my lips touch the scar left by my wife’s murderer. The love of my life is gone, but she would want me to do something, anything, that might make it less likely for another family to suffer like we have. When I read about the antiterrorism laws and this type of lawsuit, I knew I had to pursue it as far as I could.”
As Jakob listened, he reached one conclusion: if given the chance, Ben Neumann could share his story in a way that would soften the heart of the most callous juror.
“Ken said you weren’t intimidated by a challenge,” Ben continued. “He told me how you dug and dug until you found out who was responsible for the injuries to his son. The other lawyers I’ve talked to tell me that’s what I need—someone who can dig and find out if the murderers acted alone or not.”
“I have no experience in this area of the law,” Jakob said. “And it would be very expensive to investigate and litigate this type of claim.”
“I understand,” Ben said with obvious disappointment. “Thanks for agreeing to meet with me.” He closed his laptop and stood up.
“Don’t leave,” Jakob said, holding up his hand. “Not until you look over a proposed attorney-client contract.”
Traffic was snarled due to an accident, so it took Jakob twice as long as it should have to reach his office located in a two-story building that contained eight suites. One of the downstairs offices served as a common conference room. Five of the eight tenants were lawyers. The nonlawyers included an insurance agent, a financial planner, and a naturopath.
A receptionist on the main floor answered the phone for all the tenants. Maddie had the impressive ability to instantly give the right greeting depending on which light blinked on the phone.
“Jakob Brodsky, attorney at law,” she said to a caller as Jakob entered the building. Then, after a short pause, “I’ll put you right through to him.”
“That was mean!” Jakob called out as he dashed up the stairs, taking two at a time.
His voice mail would turn on by the fifth ring. Often, people looking for a personal injury lawyer were working their way down a list of attorneys and wouldn’t leave a message. He fumbled his key for a second, but managing to open the door, he lunged for the phone on the corner of his desk and pressed the receive button.
“This is Jakob Brodsky,” he said, slightly out of breath. “How may I help you?”
“I’m calling to help you, Mr. Brodsky,” a perky female voice replied. “I was looking at your firm website, and we can take it to the next level. Are you in a position to take on more clients?”
“Yes, but not more overhead expense,” Jakob replied, sitting down in the leather chair behind his desk.
“A detailed website analysis by our firm won’t cost you anything,” the woman responded quickly. “Aren’t you interested in learning how to increase your internet marketing footprint for pennies a month?”
“How many pennies?”
“Fewer than you think. We’ve worked with other Atlanta-area law firms that have increased monthly contacts by fifty to sixty percent. And we guarantee our results. How often do you hear the word ‘guarantee’ from a marketing firm?”
“Not often.” Jakob felt himself being drawn in like a fish on a lure. Guaranteed results might let him avoid flushing precious dollars down a marketing black hole. Competition for new business was intense, and any edge was worth exploring.
“One of our sales representatives is going to be in your area on Wednesday afternoon and would love to meet with you,” the woman continued confidently. “He’ll bring a free gift that I’m sure you’ll find—”
The other phone line to Jakob’s office blinked, signaling a new call.
“Gotta go,” Jakob said as he swam away from the hook. Hoping it wasn’t someone else wanting to sell him something, he pressed the button to accept the new call.
“Mr. Brodsky?” asked a female voice.
“Yes.”
“This is Amanda Brooks with Brookstone Adjusting Services. You’ve been talking with Natalie Fletchall in our office about the Harrison case.”
Jakob sat up straighter. It was the case he’d hoped would generate the fee he could use to fund his share of the costs in the Neumann litigation. Mr. Harrison had been defrauded by a disability insurance company after an agent forged Harrison’s initials on a medical questionnaire.
“Yes,” he said. “I sent a demand of eighty thousand dollars to Natalie in an email last week along with a copy of the complaint I’ll file in Fulton County Superior Court if we can’t reach a settlement. That’s as low as I can go to get this case resolved prior to litigation.”
“We have a deal. The insurance company wants to put this claim in the rearview mirror. You’ll have our standard release in your in-box within the hour. Once we receive a signed copy of the release, we’ll overnight the check, payable to you and your client.”
Jakob called to give his client the good news, then unsuccessfully tried to reach Ben Neumann. He left Ben a succinct voice mail: “Good news. Call me.”
Hana brushed her teeth to avoid sharing the pungent garlic in the labneh dip and the spices in the makanek with her coworkers. She then worked on legal documents written in Hebrew and sent them to a client in Ra’anana. Just as she was about to take a break there was a knock on her door. She answered in Hebrew before correcting herself. Mr. Collins entered. The bald, overweight lawyer in his midsixties rarely came to her office.
“Sorry,” Hana began. “I’ve been going back and forth between English and Hebrew.”
“Which is a good thing for the law firm. You said, ‘Yes, please.’ Correct?”
“That’s right.”
Mr. Collins closed the door and sat down in the single chair across from Hana’s desk.
“Did you think of something else I should have included in the Jezreel Software agreement?” she asked. “I sent the revised contract to the management team in Israel a few minutes ago. It’s not too late to make changes—”
“No, I wanted to talk to you about your meeting this morning with Leon.”
Jim Collins was more turtle than rabbit, and Hana knew it might take him awhile to get to the point of his visit.
“Did he ask you to research Jakob Brodsky’s background and experience?” the senior partner asked.
“No, but he mentioned that he might have some follow-up questions later.”
“And you watched the surveillance tape of the terrorist attack in Jerusalem?”
“At first I said no to watching it and then changed my mind.”
“Why is that?”
Hana thought the answer should be obvious. “A woman was stabbed to death, and her little girl’s face slashed with a knife. The young Arab man who did it was shot and killed. It wasn’t something I wanted to see or have as a memory.”
“Leon didn’t give you a heads-up about the meeting?”
“Heads-up?”
“Inform you in advance.”
“No, but he apologized and told me I was a last-minute addition after Mr. Brodsky arrived at the office.”
Hana felt uneasy. It seemed Mr. Collins was accumulating information to oppose his colleague in the partners’ meeting.
“What else did Leon say to you about the case?”
“He mentioned the challenges that existed to finding a solvent defendant who could pay monetary damages, and that it would be up to the equity partners to decide whether the law firm became involved.”
Mr. Collins nodded and then looked Hana directly in the eyes. “If you had a vote, would you be in favor or opposed?”
“Mr. Collins,” Hana protested. “It isn’t my place—”
“It is if I ask you a direct question.” The senior partner spoke more emphatically than normal. “And that’s exactly what I’m doing. You’re an Arab and a citizen of Israel. You have a perspective on this none of the other lawyers in the firm can share. I came to see you because I want to know what you think.”
Images of Gloria Neumann falling to the ground and Abdul Zadan crumpling on top of her flashed through Hana’s mind. “I’d vote no,” Hana answered.
“Why?”
Hana was tempted to use the difficulty of finding a defendant with money as her primary reason, but she knew that wasn’t true. “In Israel, we always talk about not letting the violence that surrounds us keep us from living normal lives,” she said. “I didn’t move to Atlanta to try to escape that world, but I thought I would leave it behind while working here. That’s the best answer I can give.”
Jim Collins was silent for a moment and then stood up. “Thanks, I respect your perspective,” he said, leaving the room and shutting the door behind him.
Hana took a deep breath. For several moments, she stared out her window. However, she didn’t see the normal skyline view of modern buildings against a clear blue sky. Instead, in her mind’s eye she traveled from north Atlanta to Hurva Square in Jerusalem.