A few days ago, a link to this piece in the State Bar of Wisconsin’s Inside Track caught my eye—“Senior Lawyers: Are We Really Ruining The Profession?” The piece purported to be responding to “Dear Senior Lawyers—You’re Ruining the Profession,” an entry on a law blog out of Queensland, Australia.
I was in California this week for a family funeral, and I was prepared to write this blog entry about all of the grace and understanding colleagues and adversaries have shown. Extensions, offers to cover, and forgiveness for delays were free-flowing. And that’s true, and maybe I will write about that at some point, because this profession is a whole lot less horrible when we can acknowledge each other’s humanity.
No, today I’ll write about that time (today) someone walked off with my laptop at LAX and it did not break my ethics brain.
Bloomberg Law is reporting that Vrdolyak Law Group, based in Illinois, has been sued in the U.S. District Court for the Northern District of Illinois for secretly recording employee phone calls and and meetings without permission, and then concealing their efforts.
Now, Illinois has some pretty stringent eavesdropping laws and is a two-party consent state, which means that absent particular circumstances, all parties to a conversation need to consent to recording it. So the particular course of action may not be available to aggrieved employees in other states, but hearing about this suit got me wondering—is it ethical to surveil your employees in such fashion?
The folks at the Monroe H. Freedman Institute for Legal Ethics at Hofstra University’s Deane School of Law have invited me and a fantastic panel of others—including Michael Teter, the 65 Project’s executive director—to have that conversation at a Zoom event, “Holding Trump’s Lawyers Accountable.”
This week, we learned about a new group, the 65 Project, dedicated to seeking professional discipline for lawyers involved in President Trump’s post-election litigation. Already, complaints have been filed with several states’ regulators. The “65” refers to the number of post-election lawsuits that were filed, that, in the group’s words, were “based on lies to overturn the election and give Trump a second term.”
Remember getting accosted at cocktail parties and bar mitzvahs? Your cousin’s date found out you’re a lawyer and has a question or twelve for you about their esoteric legal issue. Before you can get a word in, you’ve learned that the date lives in Oregon, the problem arose in Florida, and involves various distinctions between importing live poultry and importing poultry that has been processed for retail grocery sale.
Or, more commonly these days, you fire up your social media and find that a friend, a friend-of-a-friend, or a stranger has tagged you and wants you to weigh in on a legal question. (I call this the “Facebook subpoena” even though generally it has the force of “oh come on now what?” more than anything.)
Of course, you have no obligation to answer any of these questions. But can you? Should you?
Model Rule 1.8(j) (Wisconsin counterpart here) is the one rule (other than, perhaps, don’t steal from your clients) that non-lawyers seem to know. Not that this has ever been polled, but if I had to guess, it’s the rule that attorneys other than professional responsibility lawyers can cite most often without looking up. Law students try to stump their professors with increasingly fanciful scenarios. Of course this Rule seems more interesting to most observers than imputed conflicts and multijurisdictional practice.
This post is about what happens when your client asks you to get to “X” despite all available authority telling you “X” is not possible (which I speculate may have happened in the above transaction). “We need to enforce this poorly drafted restrictive covenant.” “I want maintenance from my spouse despite only being married for 9 months and voluntarily waiving it.” “I don’t care what the law says, just fix it.”
Can you get to X?
Today’s breaking news is not that. We learned that the House select committee investigating the January 6, 2021 attacks on the Capitol issued subpoenas for Rudy Giuliani, Jenna Ellis, Sidney Powell, and Boris Epshteyn. All four are attorneys who were involved in some way in the January 6 insurrection or the litigation seeking to overturn the election results.
While predictions as to how that will play out are beyond the scope of this blog, I do occasionally get asked whether attorneys can be subpoenaed to testify about, or produce documents related to representation of, former or current clients.
If I had to hazard a guess (and I am far from the first person to make a similar guess), Rule 1.6 (governing confidentiality) has the highest violations-to-prosecutions ratio of all of the Rules (or, at least, perhaps second after everyone violates 8.4(c) when they talk about the Tooth Fairy with their kids or how often they floss with their dentist). Why? Because it’s natural to want to debrief your day with your spouse or significant other and it’s hard to avoid discussing specifics.
By now, most of us are veterans at remote work (right)? In her State of the Judiciary address earlier this month, Wisconsin’s Chief Justice Annette Ziegler pointed out that some of the COVID-19 adaptations, including videoconferencing, were here to stay in at least some form.
We’ve all probably hit “reply all” when “reply” was the better call.
But what happens when “all” includes the represented, opposing party?
First, this is a pro-vaccine blog. If you are able to get the vaccine, get the vaccine. I understand you may be worried about side effects; talk to your doctor about that.
Aside from that, though, do lawyers have an obligation under the Rules of Professional Responsibility to get the vaccine if they are able?
The job market is hot, your student loan balance is, well, eek, and you’ve been asked to do some legal work on the side—maybe it’s document review for a contract firm, or overflow for a solo practitioner friend.
Can you ethically do this?
Tread carefully, if at all.
Yes, I am running out of puns, and this is information isn’t breaking news anymore, but 110-page opinions have bad habits of dropping while I’m on vacation.
Anyway, while I was gone, Hon. Linda Parker of the Eastern District of Michigan sanctioned several attorneys, including Sidney Powell and Lin Wood and a few less famous, but all associated with the post-election “Kraken” litigation. My nerd friend Don Campbell did his best with exceedingly bad facts, but.
This is a remarkable opinion. It is also 110 pages, so it’s not a beach read (well, maybe it is, I won’t judge), but if this interests you at all you should read it.
A quick reminder from our friends at the State Bar of Wisconsin: it is pretty much always scamming season and attorneys are not at all immune. The Inside Track newsletter this week offers some practical tips for recognizing and avoiding trust account scams.
Greetings to all of you new people who visited me through the Legal Talk Today podcast (give it a listen here) or through my interview with the State Bar of Wisconsin’s Inside Track (watch here). And, sorry all of that new content that Inside Track seemed to suggest happened on a regular basis did not actually happen.
Over the weekend, mythical sea creature /(probably) soon-to-be-sanctioned lawyer Sidney Powell announced that she was joining a legal team to aid who she termed “political prisoners” (people who are accused of participating in the January 6 insurrection and are now in jail).
While, okay, everyone deserves a defense, what caught my eye was that this announcement was, of course, attached to a request for donations to Powell’s 501(c)(4). It is not clear whether donations would actually go to some sort of legal defense fund, some other project of the organization, or anywhere else.
This blog isn’t about politics so I’m not going to dive down that rabbit hole (except to remind Ms. Powell that 8.4(c) is a 24/7 law and misleading donors can get her sanctioned just as readily as misleading clients). So instead I’ll talk about crowdfunding legal fees.
More and more, clients (and employers) are expecting their lawyers to be available on weekends and holidays. (We can probably thank smart phones for that.) But does that expectation translate into an duty?
Like most ethics lawyers, I get questions about how to respond to online criticism fairly often. Of course, lawyers have always endured criticism, but until relatively recently, the comments were made around water coolers and on the courthouse steps, and maybe in a grievance filing. Newspaper editors generally didn’t publish letters about attorneys who weren’t otherwise public figures. Now, however, everyone has a platform and anyone can post a scathing review about anyone for any reason.
