The phone call was eagerly awaited, hearing from my client whose time was served and return to his family complete.  He survived.  Even though some clients prefer to never speak with their lawyer again, as the personification of one of the worst experiences of their life, I almost always hear from mine when their term is over.  I want to know how they are, how they fared.  I want to learn from their experience.

The case was a financial crime, what others call “white collar,” a phrase I prefer not to use as it carries connotations that it’s somehow of a higher order, less nasty and brutish than street crime.  It skews the defendant’s perspective into thinking that his charge is somehow less felonious and the possible imprisonment more gentile.  It’s taken less seriously, and acquiescence to prosecution somehow more acceptable.  This is total crap, but the realization doesn’t hit home until it’s too late.

My client’s voice was animated, filled with stories to tell me about his experience inside.  But the stories carried one theme, that he never really understood all that I had told him until he heard the stories of others.

He told me about defendants who were never fully informed of what a guilty plea entailed.

He told me about defendants who paid two, three times as much as he did and ended up with half the work and twice the sentence.

He told me about defendants who had no money to pay and never had a chance.

He told me about defendants who were innocent, or at least not nearly as guilty as the government would have it, who never had a chance to tell their lawyer before the deal was cut.

He told me about defendants who thought this could never really happen to them, right up until the cell door slammed shut.

A fellow he befriended inside, also convicted of a financial crime, explained that he didn’t learn that his lawyer had reached an agreement with the government for him to plead guilty until he arrived at court.  Sure, they had talked about the possibility of a plea beforehand, in cursory terms and with an eye toward hopeful outcomes. 

The defendant was confident that he would end up fine.  After all, he had paid an extraordinary fee, and like any good businessman, expected to receive the best of results for his money.  His lawyer had the right pedigree, and held a respected position in a fine law firm, with vast resources and many little lawyers scurrying about in the background to do this bidding of his lawyer.  You don’t get to wait in mahogany paneled rooms if your lawyer isn’t great, right?

It didn’t turn out that the deal was quite as good as desired.  In fact, it didn’t turn out to meet his expectations at all.  The discussion happened on a bench in the hallway outside the courtroom.  He couldn’t hear very well because of the echo.  He had trouble processing the information, the lawyer words used to explain the details.  He tried to formulate questions, but couldn’t quite find the right words to ask because his head was spinning.  Then it was time to walk into the courtroom and do it.  His lawyer told him that this was what he had to do, so he did.  He had plenty of time later to think about it.

My client told his friend how he had spent many hours talking about the plea before making his decision.  There were numerous meetings of as many days, each time new questions and issues popping into his head and requiring not merely another answer, but time to digest the answer.  Answers were often vague, as in “it’s up to the judge,” and it was difficult to appreciate that there were often more variables than absolutes.  The options were discussed, and often discussed again.  And again.

Inside, my client finally got the answers he sought.  He had all the information one could possibly possess, with both the good, as well as the bad, clearly spelled out.  He realized that he was told certain truths that he couldn’t possibly appreciate at the time, but that he was told them anyway.  He realized for the first time that he wasn’t the only one in this situation, a realization that often escapes defendants charged with financial crimes who think they are the first and only person to be put through this torture by a harsh and personally vindictive government.

My client laughed on the phone, admitting that he thought I was nuts when I recommended that he take the plea.  He told me of other guys, like him, who couldn’t wrap their head around the idea that their conduct was worthy of a criminal prosecution, and refused anything short of an apology and ceremonial dismissal.  Not because they didn’t commit the crime, but because they just didn’t deem their conduct worthy of punishment.  These were the guys who were there when my client arrived and and still there when my client left.  They will still be there many years from now.

We talked about what his life would be like moving forward.  He had learned a great deal about injustice and reality, and wanted to do something about it to help those he left behind.  I offered him some ideas about things he could do, but cautioned him against making this too big a part of his life.  He’s got a family, and his family needs his attention more at the moment. 

He told me he was surprised that his friends and neighbors didn’t avoid him like the plague.  In fact, they welcomed him back and embraced him.  I explained that people, some of whom are his friends and neighbors, are far closer to understanding his situation than he could have ever imagined.  He asked me why I didn’t tell him that beforehand.  I told him that until he lived through the experience of prosecution and imprisonment, he never would have understood.

We’re going to sit down for lunch soon.  Not as attorney/client, but as two guys who both understand.  This time I’ll pay.