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Описание: My dad was defending a guy who rear-ended someone at a red light. Clear-cut liability case, right? The plaintiff's attorney was this arrogant hotshot named Chad who treated everyone like garbage. He drove a Porsche, wore Italian leather shoes that probably cost more than most people's rent, and had an artificial tan that screamed boutique salon.
During depositions, Chad kept interrupting my dad, rolling his eyes dramatically, and making snide comments about "small-town lawyers who should stick to divorce cases." He'd answer his phone mid-question, pacing around like he owned the place. "Sorry, more important client calling," he'd announce smugly, leaving everyone waiting fifteen minutes.
My dad, practicing law for thirty years, just sat there taking notes, staying professional. But I could tell Chad's attitude was wearing on him.
Chad's client claimed severe back injuries from the fender-bender, couldn't work construction anymore, needed extensive surgery. Chad was demanding five hundred thousand dollars for what was essentially a minor collision.
My dad requested all medical records from birth to present. Standard procedure. Chad kept stalling, saying records were "being compiled" and he'd get them "very soon, counselor."
This went on for months. Every deadline Chad missed, he'd file last-minute motions for extensions, clearly playing games to force a settlement.
Two weeks before trial, Chad finally produces a massive stack of medical files. Hundreds of pages, bound in multiple volumes. He's grinning as his paralegal wheels them into my dad's office, thinking he'd buried my dad in paperwork with no time to review everything. Classic dirty trick.
My dad starts going through everything methodically. Birth records, vaccinations, broken arm from little league, every doctor visit for twenty years. Chad had dumped everything to overwhelm us.
Then my dad finds something interesting on page eight hundred forty-seven, between routine dental cleanings and athlete's foot medication. A military medical exam from three years before the accident.
The report shows the guy had sustained the exact same back injury serving in Afghanistan. L4-L5 disc herniation and fusion surgery already completed. Full recovery documented. Return to active duty approved. The medical terminology matched Chad's current claims perfectly.
Trial day arrives. Chad struts in wearing a five-thousand-dollar suit, rolling exhibits and blown-up photographs. He presents his opening about this "life-altering tragedy."
Chad calls his client, who limps to the witness stand like he's auditioning for soap opera, wincing dramatically. Chad guides him through his rehearsed sob story about debilitating pain.
"Prior to this collision, had you ever experienced back problems?" Chad asks confidently.
"Never in my life," the client states under oath. "Perfect health until this happened."
Chad nods smugly. "No further questions."
My dad stands for cross-examination, holding one piece of paper. The courtroom is silent.
"You testified you never had back problems before this accident, correct?"
"Absolutely right."
"Never had back surgery before?"
"Absolutely not. First time in my life."
My dad walks to the witness stand and hands him the military report Chad had provided.
"Please read the highlighted section aloud."
The guy goes white, hands shaking. "Patient underwent successful L4-L5 disc fusion surgery following combat injury. Full recovery achieved. Patient cleared for active duty with no restrictions."
"This report is dated three years before the accident. The exact same injury you're claiming."
The courtroom erupts. The judge is furious about perjury. Chad's screaming objections, but it's too late.
His own evidence proved his client committed perjury and insurance fraud.
We didn't just win. His client got charged with felony fraud and Chad got sanctioned by the state bar.