✏️ Legal Pad
The Most Dangerous Lawyer in the Courtroom
One of the wildest legal stories floating around these past couple of weeks is about a former JPMorgan investment banker who filed a deeply salacious lawsuit alleging that a female colleague sexually harassed and assaulted him over a period of months. The allegations themselves are graphic enough that the case immediately detonated across Wall Street and social media.
But what happened this week is equally as explosive, just in the opposite direction: his lawyer quit. Which is something lawyers don’t do when they think they have a good case (or any case).
But buried in the consent order allowing the attorney to withdraw was a denial as to giving the plaintiff additional time to retain a new attorney. And now there’s a very real possibility this guy could end up representing himself. Which means he would have the ability to call the woman he’s accused of sexual assaulting him to the stand, put her under oath, and ask her questions.
The old saying is that a lawyer who represents himself has a fool for a client. That phrase gets overused, but it survives because it’s true. But even so, this would be appointment television.
Litigation is emotionally disorienting even when you have counsel. Deadlines move quickly. Procedural rules matter. Small mistakes become permanent problems. Judges lose patience. Opposing counsel absolutely will not “take it easy on you” because you’re unrepresented (particularly when it’s becoming more and more apparent that you’ve made up some heinous lies about her client…)
And this case is already operating at maximum difficulty.
The plaintiff initially filed anonymously as “John Doe,” but the court has now ordered the case refiled under his real name because, as the defense pointed out, his identity was already circulating publicly…because he sat for multiple interviews. Meanwhile, the allegations have gone viral online, meaning this case now exists simultaneously in a courtroom and in the court of public opinion- the worst possible environment for someone trying to navigate litigation without counsel.
What fascinates me most is how quickly litigation can turn from offensive to defensive.
At filing, the plaintiff controlled the narrative. The allegations dominated headlines. But once procedural problems start appearing, lawyers withdrawing, anonymity fights failing, judges denying continuances, the energy changes. Suddenly the focus shifts from the allegations to the stability of the case itself.
And jurors, judges, and the public notice those shifts whether litigants want them to or not.
The lesson is simple: lawsuits are not social media posts. They are machinery. Complicated, unforgiving machinery. And once they start moving, they can crush people who underestimate them. You have a right to represent yourself. But nine times out of ten, you don’t have the ability. And that’s a crucial distinction.
💡 Sidebar
Lawyer Trick #322: Don’t Cramp Out
Coming into this year’s French Open, #1 tennis player in the world, Jannik Sinner, looked untouchable (he’s a cheater, but that’s a conversation for another day).
The world No. 1 was putting together one of the most dominant stretches modern tennis has seen: a 30-match winning streak, five consecutive ATP Masters 1000 titles, and betting odds so lopsided they hadn’t been seen at Roland Garros in nearly 80 years. With Carlos Alcaraz sidelined by injury, the conversation wasn’t whether Sinner would win the French Open- it was who from the field would eventually get sacrificed to him.
And then, in a sport that depends so heavily on mental fortitude, it wasn’t his mind that failed him.
It was his body.
Cramping. Tightening. Betraying him on the edge of putting away a vastly inferior second-round opponent.
That’s the thing about high-level performance, whether in sports or trial work: the mind only goes as far as the body will carry it.
During trial, I pay far more attention to what I put in my body than I normally do. Not because I’m world-class athlete, but because the body is the machine that allows the mind to function. If your body is exhausted, dehydrated, sleep-deprived, and fueled exclusively by gas station coffee and fast food, eventually your brain starts making withdrawals from an account with insufficient funds.
By the time trial begins, the hard work should already be done anyway. Trial is not the time to become a hero by pulling all-nighters and surviving on Bojangles. Trial is the time to execute.
So eat real food. Drink water. Sleep. Move around a little. Stretch. Take care of the machine.
Because juries can tell when a lawyer starts fading physically. The sharpness dulls. The patience shortens. The timing slips.
And nothing is worse than doing months (or years) of work preparing a case, only to cramp up and wilt when the lights come on.
⚖️ Closing Arguments
It’s late May, which means law school graduations are happening all over the country. Families are gathering. Diplomas are being handed out. Dinner reservation are being made. Everyone is dressed up, smiling, celebrating the accomplishment making it through the last three years.
And it is an accomplishment. But it’s not THE accomplishment.
Passing the bar exam is.
If you’re smart, the celebratory phase after graduation lasts about a week. Then it’s time to lock in for two months of the most focused, rigid, and uncompromising academic work of your life. And you have to treat it like a job.
For me, that meant being in my study room by 8:00 every morning (laughable, given how early I get to my office these days). Around lunchtime, I’d take a half-hour break to eat with my now-wife and watch an episode of Seinfeld. Then it was back to work until about 6:00, followed by a run along the canal in downtown Columbia to clear my head before heading back to the house for dinner. Then I’d wake up the next morning and do the exact same thing all over again.
I did that every single day for two months. Saturdays and Sundays included. It was all one, long stretch of the same day, same schedule. Because at the end of the day, those three years of law school don’t matter at all if you can’t show up and perform for two days in late July (no cramping).
That’s the hard truth nobody really tells graduates during commencement speeches. Law school supposedly teaches you how to think. The bar exam tests whether you can focus on a singular task long enough to be granted the privilege of practicing law.
The people who pass aren’t always the smartest people in the room. They’re the people who can sustain discipline long enough to complete the task. The people who can sit still, stay focused, trust the process, and continue working long after the novelty wears off.
I’m sure there are people who can have “fun” while studying for the bar and still pass. But I’ve never once met a fellow member of the Bar who said “man, I really wish I hadn’t study so hard that summer.”
By the time you sit for the bar, most people will have spent 19 years in formal education. When you think of those 19 years culminating in 60 days of sustained effort before a two-day test, the math is easy.
Skip the happy hour. Reschedule the rafting trip. Mentally commit yourself to having the most mundane summer of your life so that you can finish the job.
Hyperbole gets thrown around a lot in higher education, but at this point in your life, this is an objective reality: the bar exam is the most important test you’ve ever taken. Treat it like it, every day for 60 days.
Then send me your Venmo and the first drink is on me.
Court is in recess- see you next Friday.
