FOR THE NEXT MEETING of the Dyloft Plaintiffs' Steering Committee, Defendant Patton French chose a hotel in downtown Atlanta, where he was participating in one of his many seminars on how to get rich stalking drug companies. It was an emergency meeting.

French, of course, had the Presidential Suite, a gaudy collection of wasted space on the hotel's top floor, and there they met. It was an unusual meeting in that there was no comparing notes about the latest luxury car or ranch, none of that. Nor did any of the five care to boast about recent trial victories. Things were tense from the moment Clay entered the suite, and they never improved. The rich boys were scared.

And with good reason. Carlos Hernandez from Miami knew of seven of his Dyloft Group One plaintiffs who were now suffering from malignant kidney tumors. They had joined the class action and were now represented by Helen Warshaw. "They're popping up everywhere," he said, frantically. He looked as if he hadn't slept in days. In fact, all five looked beaten and weary.

"She's a ruthless bitch," Wes Saulsberry said, and the others nodded in agreement. Evidently, the legend of Ms. Warshaw was widely known. Someone had forgotten to tell Clay. Wes had four former clients now suing him. Damon Didier had three. French had five.

Clay was mightily relieved to have only one, but such relief was temporary. "Actually, you have seven," French said, and handed over a printout with Clay's name at the top and a list of ex-clients/now plaintiffs under it.

"I'm told by Wicks at Ackerman that we can expect the list to grow," French said.

"What's their mood?" Wes asked.

"Total shock. Their drug is killing people right and left. Philo wishes they'd never heard of Ackerman Labs."

"I'm with them," Didier said, shooting a nasty look at Clay, as if to say, "It's all your fault."

Clay looked back at the seven names on his list. Other than Ted Worley, he did not recognize any of them. Kansas, South Dakota, Maine, two from Oregon, Georgia, Maryland. How did he come to represent these people? A ridiculous way to practice law—suing and settling for people he'd never met! And now they were suing him!

"Is it safe to assume that the medical evidence is substantial here?" Wes was asking. "I mean, is there room to fight, to try and prove that this recurring cancer is not related to Dyloft. If so, it gets us off the hook, and Ackerman as well. I don't like being in bed with clowns, but that's where we are."

"Nope! We're screwed," French said. At times he could be so blunt it was painful. No sense wasting time. "Wicks tells me that the drug is more dangerous than a bullet to the head. Their own research people are leaving because of this. Careers are being ruined. The company

might not survive."

"You mean Philo?"

"Yes, when Philo bought Ackerman they thought they had a handle on the Dyloft mess. It now looks as if Groups Two and Three will be much larger and much more expensive. They're scrambling."

"Aren't we all?" Carlos mumbled, then he too looked at Clay as if a bullet to the head might be in order.

"If we are liable, then there's no way we can defend these cases," Wes said, stating the obvious.

"We have to negotiate," Didier said. "We're talking survival here."

"How much is a case worth?" Clay asked, his voice still working.

"In front of a jury, two million to ten million, depending on the punitives," French said.

"That's low," said Carlos.

"No jury will see my face in court," Didier said. "Not with this set of facts."

"The average plaintiff is sixty-eight and retired," Wes said. "So, economically, the damages are not great when the plaintiff dies. Pain and suffering will up the tally. But in a vacuum, you could settle these cases for a million each."

"This ain't no vacuum," Didier snapped.

"No kidding," Wes snapped right back. "But throw in such beautiful defendants as a bunch of greedy mass tort lawyers, and the value goes through the roof."

"I'd rather have the plaintiff's side than mine," Carlos said, rubbing his tired eyes.

Clay noticed that not a single drop of alcohol was being consumed; just coffee and water. He desperately wanted one of French's vodka remedies.

"We're probably going to lose our class action," French said. "Everybody who's still in is trying to get out. As you know, very few of the Group Two and Three plaintiffs have settled, and, for obvious reasons, they want no part of this lawsuit. I know of at least five groups of lawyers ready to ask the court to dissolve our class and kick us out. Can't really blame them."

"We can fight them," Wes said. "We got fees out there. And we're gonna need them."

Nonetheless they were not in the mood to fight, at least not then. Regardless of how much money they claimed to have, each was worried, but at different levels. Clay did most of the listening, and he became intrigued by how the other four were reacting. Patton French probably had more money than anyone there, and he seemed confident he could withstand the financial pressures of the lawsuit. Same for Wes, who had earned $500 million from the tobacco scam. Carlos was cocky at times, but then he couldn't stop fidgeting. It was the hard-faced Didier who was terrified.

They all had more money than Clay, and Clay had more Dyloft cases than any of them. He didn't like the math.

He picked the number of $3 million as a possibility for settlement. If his list stopped with seven names, then he could handle a hit in the $20 million range. But if the list kept growing . . .

Clay brought up the topic of insurance, and was shocked to learn that none of the four had any. They had all been terminated years earlier. Very few carriers of legal malpractice would touch a mass tort lawyer. Dyloft was a perfect example of why not.

"Be thankful you've got the ten million," Wes said. "That's money that won't come out of your pocket."

The meeting was nothing more than a bitch-and-cry session. They wanted the company of each other's misery, but only briefly. They agreed on a very general plan to meet with Ms. Warshaw at some undetermined poin............