Fiction: George and the Philanthropath – Part V. THE LAWFARE TRAP (The Noose of Procedure)

This continues from Part IV

ACT 9: The Bureaucratic Abyss

“In which our hero is lost in a labyrinth of parchment and procedure, with no thread to guide him.”

On returning home, I recounted to Claire the events with Sterling. She seems quiet, not entirely convinced and obviously worried the situation is becoming more high stakes with the mounting lawyer’s costs, “We have to win, or all is lost! Are you sure he said we have a good chance?” I manage to reassure her enough to calm things down.

Over the next couple of weeks, I keep on with the studio, writing weblogs and doing interviews. But is it hard to keep focused and motivated knowing it could all be for nothing. Not a word from Sterling during this period and all seems quiet until another registered letter arrives in the mail from Corvina’s lawyer, and the court. I can’t make sense of the formal legalese, but it seemed I was accused not just of default on the loan, but also of fraud and IP theft. I forward the letters on to Sterling but receive no acknowledgement. The emotional/financial pressure mounts as bills start arriving from Jarvis and Sterling for fees and costs expended to date. The bank balance is starting to look decidedly threadbare. I finally start emailing Sterling every couple of days for updates, receiving vague replies: “Awaiting a court date,” “The system is slow.” The deadline for the initial repayment is long past, triggering eyewatering penalty clauses.

One evening, Claire expresses her frustrations and worries about the situation, we get into an argument and various accusations are exchanged. “You should have taken more care with the contract, how could you be so stupid to sign such a document?” and “After what happened to James, I can’t take this, it’s killing me.” And my unthinking response hiding more than a year of grief, “Well, if you hadn’t encouraged him to get the jab, he’d still be alive.” The icy chill in the room was ominous as she went deathly quiet and turned towards our bedroom. The next day, when I returned home from the studio, Claire and the kids were gone. My life stood in tatters.

A couple of weeks after Claire left, the barrage of legal letters is joined by a notice advising she had filed for divorce and wanted our property divided and the house sold. I consult yet another lawyer to help with the divorce, the money will have to come out of my share of the house. Claire engages a real-estate agent who comes to the house with a photographer to take photos for the sales advert next Saturday morning.

Time is passing and my initial hope curdles into frustration, then into a gnawing anxiety as I realise I am just a passive player in a game I don’t understand. The weight and drawn-out time-wasting of the formal, antiquated bureaucracy is a form of mental torture. The number of people making money from us now is truly unbelievable, three solicitors, a barrister, one real estate agent and now a property photographer. And then there’s Corvina’s costs in the horror eventuality that I lose the case. My usual conscientiousness at my work inevitably suffers and to add to the stress, subscribers cancel their payments, some demanding refunds. How can I cope with this?

After two months of nothing, I get a positive email from Sterling who is pleased to tell me we finally have a court date in a month. He’s preparing the paperwork and will let me know more closer to the trial date. Finally, we get to fight this.

The vice tightens.

ACT 10: The Inversion of Justice

“In which justice is served, but only to the party who bothered to show up for dinner.”

The trial was for 9am on a cold Friday morning in at the courts in the centre of the city. I arrived in the city at 7:30am to make sure I would not be late because of rush hour traffic and give me time to have breakfast and coffee at a nearby café. I positioned myself at a table with a view of the court steps. The eggs benedict with bacon arrived and a mug of long black coffee which helped to settle my nerves, although I was careful not to get any on my dress shirt and suit.

After half an hour or so, lawyers filed in—2 or 3 at a time— wearing their gowns each ordering a coffee and maybe a bagel or cake. They sat in groups at tables, filing through thick folios of papers, obviously preparing themselves for the courtroom battles of the day. I had arranged to meet Sterling at 8:45 in the court foyer. Plenty of time to sit and observe while reviewing what I had to say to the judge and practicing in my mind how to say it, without fumbling the words or making matters worse by saying something that might turn the tables against me.

Around 8:40, I get up and make my way across the plaza to the court steps and enter through the security barrier with it guard scanning people’s belongings, presumably for knives and guns in case of any crazies taking the law into their own hands, I guess. After submitting to this scan, I sit on a bench by the wall in the inner foyer expecting Sterling to arrive at any moment. The second hand of the clock on the wall opposite sweeps around marking the time as first 8:45 passes, then 8:50 and a try to call Sterling on the phone only to get voice mail. At 8:55. I’m looking around nervously, when my phone rings, it’s Sterling, “I’m afraid I have a family emergency, my apologies, the court was understanding, we’ll reschedule.” I don’t quite know what to say, but he’s the professional, it’s his territory. So, I say, “That’s ok, we can touch base later.”

Back home I feel as empty as my house. Hours passed in a daze. I pour myself a wine, sit on the sofa to watch the late news and finally drag myself to bed. Next day, a formal judgment arrives in my inbox. Due to my non-appearance and the “absence of any evidence to the contrary,” default judgment is granted in Corvina’s favour. She wins everything: the loan repayment with penalties, legal fees, the company and 51% of my IP. The default judgment explicitly states that the debt is immediately due, and, upon non-payment, an involuntary bankruptcy petition will be filed by Corvina’s lawyers to seize assets.

I sink to a chair, phone in hand; the fines and costs are catastrophic and I am bankrupt. Then, finally, the realisation strikes me that—in betrayal even deeper than Corvina’s—my own lawyer, Sterling, has sabotaged me. Could they be working together? Paranoia sinks in—who else knew? Jarvis, for sure, he set me up with Sterling, and Corvina’s “friend” who set me up with him. Did the friend even exist? My emotions swing though a bewildering blend of rage, utter isolation and helplessness. The legal system and officers of the court I trusted have officially teamed up against me and taken me down.

A text message arrives from Corvina’s number: “A shame about the court result. Call me if you want to discuss terms. For now.”

The blade falls.

Stripped of everything, what would you do? The final choice—despair, atonement, or truth—is revealed in the stunning conclusion in Part VI.