assistirfilmes Chapter 65 Thug Lawyer
Chapter 65 Thug Lawyer
"Zick, I've made the stupidest mistake of my career. The law firm could fire me at any time as a scapegoat, and I have $20,000 in student loans. If I'm blacklisted by the industry, I'm finished. Please, don't ruin me now..."
Herbert stood in the Casablanca conference room, his face pale, his eyes dark, and his suit wrinkled, a far cry from the dignified image of an elite Ivy League lawyer. His voice trembled, choked with sobs, almost pleading.
Zik leaned back in his chair, looking at his face, feeling a mix of emotions.
He could imagine Herbert's miserable journey; he probably flew from New York to Los Angeles in tears.
The young man who had graduated from a prestigious university and had a bright future was now like a frightened child.
Zeke had only intended to put some pressure on the law firm to resolve the issue; he never intended to drive Herbert to despair. He sighed, his tone softening:
"Herbert, I never intended to ruin you. I'm very grateful for all the extra hours you worked to help me with contracts, copyrights, and other coordination. As long as the royalties can be recovered, I won't go on the radio to expose this."
Herbert looked up abruptly, his eyes reddening, and grabbed Zeke's hand as if it were his last straw:
"Thank you, thank you, Zeke! Let me be your legal counsel for free this time. I'm familiar with the accounting practices in the New York record industry, and I know how a record production company like Jacques' operates internally. I swear, I'll be your sharpest knife, helping you get every penny that belongs to you back!"
Accompanying Herbert to Los Angeles was a severely overweight Brooklyn Jewish man. He wore a dark suit, had a protruding belly, sharp eyes, and exuded a youthful arrogance and angular charm.
He is Alan Grubman, a senior partner at the law firm Grubman Indursky & Schindler, from which the firm's name "Grubman" comes.
Allen glanced at Herbert, his tone direct and crisp:
"Zick, we botched this case. Due to Herbert's negligence, we failed to verify the legal standing of the contracting parties. As compensation, our law firm will handle this for you free of charge."
Upon hearing that it was free, Zeke was secretly delighted. This trick really worked, but it seemed a little too good, especially for Herbert. He really didn't expect to make Herbert suffer so much.
He asked calmly, without showing any emotion:
"Are you really going to fire Herbert? Even if I sue, you have insurance to cover it, right?"
He had seen in the news before that the US insurance industry is extremely developed, and even professional institutions like law firms are equipped with "professional liability insurance" to specifically deal with claims disputes caused by lawyers' professional errors.
A cold smile curled at the corner of Allen's lips:
"The insurance will cover it, but the premiums will skyrocket. In the end, Herbert will be held responsible for this, with his bonuses docked, his promotions frozen, or even his professional license suspended."
Zik clicked his tongue in amazement.
Herbert was hardworking and reliable, even working overtime on Christmas Day. He must have made a lot of money for the law firm during the week. But when things went wrong, he abandoned the firm without hesitation, showing no mercy whatsoever.
But then he thought again, Allen said his strategy was to start directly with Casablanca and try to dig up dirt on Jacques Morali. This ruthless style was actually a good thing for him at this moment.
Allen turned to look at the door, his tone impatient: "When the hell are those Casablanca legal counsel going? I can't wait to beat them to a pulp."
Tino crossed his arms and said, "Don't worry, they should be here soon. I hope you really have the ability."
As soon as he finished speaking, a thin, middle-aged man wearing gold-rimmed glasses pushed open the door and entered.
"I'm Dick Etlinger, the legal representative for Casablanca," the man said with a smile, his tone gentle.
"Alan Grubman."
Allen immediately stepped forward and shook hands with him.
The force was astonishing, like a wrestler testing the waters before stepping into the ring.
Dick frowned slightly as his hand was pinched, and unconsciously shook it as he pulled it away, barely managing to maintain a professional smile.
"Alan, we hope to establish a healthy working relationship."
Allen scoffed, instantly becoming extremely aggressive, every word dripping with Brooklyn profanity:
"A healthy relationship? Bullshit!"
"You think you can get rid of Zicco Rossi? If he can't get his royalties back from Jacques Morali, and he comes to you crying and begging, will you pay him any attention?"
"All you'll do is let him sleep with his mother!"
"Zick did his job perfectly from start to finish. He wrote the songs and delivered hits. It was Casablanca that messed things up. You guys gave money to Jacques's shell company! So now you want to screw over Zicques."
"Let me tell you, you failed to have sex with him, you had sex with yourselves, and now it's your turn to be fucked by me."
The entire conference room fell into a deathly silence.
Zik was dumbfounded.
He had never seen such a foul-mouthed and tough lawyer in his life. Almost every sentence contained the word "fuck," yet he cursed with intonation, sharp logic, and imposing manner.
He secretly nudged Allen's leg under the table, signaling him not to escalate the situation too much.
Dick's face turned pale and then red, suppressing his anger and putting on an innocent, agreeable act: "What does this have to do with Casablanca? It was Jacques Morali and his partner who cheated Zeke. No one from our company was present when that contract was signed; we knew nothing about it."
"Bullshit!" Allen, completely unfazed, interrupted sharply, his tone even more menacing. "Casablanca paid the royalties to Jacques' company, Can't Stop Productions! Therefore, Casablanca has an obligation to ensure the downstream distribution is legal! Jacques' embezzlement of royalties belonging to the creators constitutes 'unfair dealing'!"
He stepped forward and stared intently at Dick:
"If you do not assist in recovering the royalties, we will sue Casablanca for 'aiding and abetting the misappropriation of creators' property'!"
He changed the subject, pinpointing the other person's weakness:
"You were just acquired by PolyGram, right? Do you want PolyGram executives to see this financial scandal?"
Dick's expression changed completely; beads of sweat appeared on his forehead, and his Adam's apple bobbed a few times.
"Recovering the royalties..." he gritted his teeth, trying to struggle, "We need Jacques' cooperation, which is probably..."
"Don't try to pull this on Jacques!" Allen slammed his hand on the table, making a water glass clang loudly. "I only recognize Casablanca! Now, immediately, pull up all the accounts you made to Jacques! Let us check!"
Dick was completely overwhelmed by this momentum, his shoulders slumped, and he finally relented:
"Okay...okay, we will cooperate fully."
"It should have been done a long time ago." Allen straightened his suit cuffs, as if the arrogant and domineering demeanor he had just displayed was not his own.
He turned to look at Zeke, raised his chin, and said, "Let's go, Zeke, let's see how this bastard stole your money."
"Wow, Allen..."
Zik quickly stood up, feeling utterly astonished. He had never imagined that such extreme foul language and bravado could be so effective. It turned out that in this circle, politeness didn't earn respect; only a mad dog could get the money.
As lawyers, Allen and Dick are at opposite ends of the spectrum. Allen is a complete thug, like an unstoppable bulldozer, who completely obliterates all of Dick's clumsy excuses and pretexts.
Dick called over a young accountant, who led everyone through the corridor to a huge server room.
The air conditioning in the server room was blasting, and the noise was deafening. A giant machine occupied the space of three or four offices. Rows of silver-gray metal server racks stood on the floor, almost reaching the ceiling. The floor was covered with a dense network of wires, and the machine's casing was marked with a blue "Wang" logo.
"Wow, this thing is huge! Wang Laboratories?" Zeke exclaimed in amazement, looking at the behemoth before him. "Is this a company founded by Chinese Americans?"
"Yes, it was founded by the Chinese-American genius An Wang." The accountant nodded and introduced, "This is a star product in the computer industry that PolyGram installed after acquiring us. In addition to applications in finance and word processing, it can also be used to manage inventory and supply chain. Auto parts distributors use it to control the inflow and outflow of thousands of parts. It has particularly powerful functions."
"That's really cool." Zeke smiled, feeling a sense of familiarity. He hadn't expected to see high-tech equipment produced by a company founded by Chinese Americans in the United States in 1978.
Dick stood at the door with his arms crossed, looking somewhat disdainful, as if he was certain that this group of people couldn't possibly handle such high technology.
"This is all we can do for you. Every financial transaction and inventory change between Can't Stop and Casablanca is recorded in this machine. Whether you can find any clues depends on yourselves."
He turned and left without lingering for another second.
"Forehead..."
In front of the terminal control panel with the CRT screen, Zeke, Tino, and even the previously aggressive Allen were all perplexed by this behemoth.
They really don't know how to use these large commercial computers.