Every shot makes someone happy.
-P.W. Bowen
This morning began early with preparation for the mediation in a dispute between a homeowners' association and a sketchy contractor. I represent the association. As I usually do in these lawsuits over nonpayment of an invoice, I sat down with all of the records we've accumulated in discovery, and tried to figure out what the contractor has spent in excess of what he's been paid. That's usually a good starting point for making an offer at mediation: we'll pay you whatever you paid the paint supplier or the crew who crawled up on the roof to lay felt and shingles. From there it's just a question of how much of the contractor's own upside to offer, and how much he's willing to leave on the table, remembering always that he also has attorneys to pay. It has little to do with the merits, which lay people find distasteful. And yet it's how cases get settled.
But alas, this morning it was an exercise in futility. My math suggested we'd actually overpaid this turd, with half a dozen pretty good legal arguments as to why we shouldn't have paid him as much as we did, if anything. It's hard to settle a case on that basis, however, convincing one side they should just fold tents and move along. They didn't, predictably, and the mediation resulted in an "impasse", which is mediator-speak for a mediated negotiation that does not result in a settlement.
I usually feel a little defeated when that happens, and a case goes forward after what is usually the best opportunity for resolution. Why wasn't I persuasive enough to keep the negotiations plodding toward settlement? It's more of a concern when I'm the mediator. Oh well. Another trial means another fee.
And there's certainly an upside to having my scheduled workday end early. It's glorious out there!
I'm always happiest working here at the home office at Wyldswood, with that big ol' tree right outside and cattle cruising around the pastures.
And if you're thinking I may knock off a little early today and go hit the links . . . you're exactly right. Peg's in town getting the Willys pickup registered finally, so when she gets back maybe we'll drive it over to the golf course. Or not. Can't have those clubs scratching the bed of our baby. And there surely won't be any Wal-Mart inflatable swimming pools stuffed back there.
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