I couldn’t help but notice the passenger one row up and across the aisle from me on my first leg. Her laptop was on and clearly visible. The brightness on the screen was turned up to what seemed like 10000% against the dim nighttime plane lighting. She had papers strewn about her seat area, too.

In a matter of seconds, and without really trying to, I figured out she was a lawyer. Not only that, I learned what specialty she worked in, what her major upcoming deadlines were, her staffing needs for the next few months, and the fact that she was waiting for a particular federal appellate decision to guide her strategy in her case in the lower court. How did I learn this? Bright screen, high contrast, big font.

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.

Breaking up is hard to do. (After all, it’s cuffing season.) This axiom is as true in a professional setting as it is in a personal one. How to ditch your quarantine bae before they’re vaccinated is beyond the scope of a legal ethics blog (as is whether I should ever use the term “quarantine bae” ever again). But firing a client and withdrawing from representation is sometimes absolutely necessary, regardless of what the calendar says. Perhaps they won’t return your calls, or are refusing to pay your bill, or you can’t see eye to eye about the objectives of representation. Some clients and cases are just albatrosses that you can’t and shouldn’t see through.