The Jury Master
Chapter One
San Francisco
THEY SHUFFLED INTO the courtroom like twelve of San Francisco's
homeless, shoulders hunched and heads bowed as if searching the
sidewalk for spare change. David Sloane sat with his elbows propped
on the stout oak table, hands forming a small pyramid with its apex
at his lips. It gave the impression of a man in deep meditation, but
Sloane was keenly aware of the jurors' every movement. The seven men
and five women returned to their designated places in the elevated
mahogany jury box, bent to retrieve their notebooks from their
padded chairs, and sat with chins tucked to their chests. When they
lifted their heads, their gazes swept past Sloane to the
distinguished gentleman sitting at the adjacent counsel's table,
Kevin Steiner. A lack of eye contact from jurors could be an ominous
sign for an attorney and his client. When they looked directly at
the opposing counsel it was a certain death knell.
With each of Sloane's fourteen consecutive trial victories and his
growing notoriety, the plaintiffs' firms had rolled out
progressively better trial lawyers to oppose him. Non ... read full excerpt from The Jury Master ebook
