I pick up the phone and dial Harris's direct dial number.
“Robert Harris,” comes the response.
“Bob, Scott Winslow here.”
“What can I do for you, Scott?”
“Well, you can produce the documents I requested, for starters,” I say impatiently. “I waited a month for documents and got nothing.”
“You'll have to fix the problems with your requests if you want anything produced; you know that,” he says, as if trying to be as condescending as possible.
“Perhaps you can explain to me why documents pertaining to the reasons for Mr. Walters's termination are not relevant. I don't think the judge will have much trouble seeing the relevance.”
My law partner, Bill Simmons, walks through the open door to my office carrying two beers and hands me one of them. It looks great, so I take a swig while I wa
