From Pro Bono Client to My First Defendant

Zack Lindell stood in the bank lobby, his hands trembling as he clutched a check for 500,000 dollars.

He pressed a hard kiss against the paper before turning to me with a massive grin stretching across his face.

"William, I owe you one. If it weren't for you, that corrupt company wouldn't have paid me a penny!"

I let out a long breath, massaging my throbbing temples.

For the past two weeks, I'd barely slept while fighting his employment arbitration case. I'd even turned down a multi-million-dollar corporate merger, which cost me at least six figures in legal fees.

But Zack and I had known each other since college. When he'd called me in tears and threatened to jump off a rooftop, I simply hadn't had it in me to turn him away.

"At least you got your money. Next time, be more careful about who you work for."

I began packing my briefcase, desperate to go home and catch up on sleep, when Zack suddenly reached out to stop me.

"Hey, hold on a second."

He dug into his pocket and pulled out a crumpled receipt, thrusting it right in front of my face. "William, now that the money has hit the account, we should square up."

I froze, completely baffled. "Square up?"

I'd handled his entire case pro bono, even paying for the printing and filing fees out of my own pocket.

Zack tapped the receipt with a finger, speaking as though the answer should've been obvious.

"This is the parking receipt from last time we went to court to submit the paperwork. It's 50 dollars. I drove my car that day, so I'll let the gas money slide, but the parking was because you had business at the courthouse, so that should be your expense, right?"

Staring at the parking receipt, I could barely believe my ears.

"Zack, you're the one who insisted on tagging along that day because you claimed you were worried I wouldn't take your case seriously. Besides, I was in such a rush that I didn't even eat lunch. I bought my own sandwich on the way."

Zack furrowed his brows, his tone turning sharp and impatient. "Business is business! You're the lawyer. Going to the courthouse is part of your job. Why should your client be paying your business expenses?"

Just then, Zack's wife, Helena Lindell, joined us.

She'd just finished verifying the bank balance at the counter, her face flushed with a greedy excitement that vanished the moment she overheard us, instantly pulling her face into a long frown.

"He's right, William," she chimed in. "I hear you big-shot corporate lawyers make insane money. Tens of thousands, and even hundreds of thousands of dollars at a time.

"Zack's been unemployed for so long that our family's barely been scraping by. You're not seriously going to stick us with a 50-dollar parking bill, are you?"

Several people nearby stopped what they were doing to stare, their eyes filled with curiosity.

I stared at the couple.

Zack was clutching the 500,000-dollar check as though someone might take it from him, while Helena was holding up a 50-dollar parking receipt and demanding that I reimburse them.

Bit by bit, whatever goodwill I had still felt toward them disappeared.