I still can’t figure out why he picked me to work with him on that sensational murder case he was to argue that first summer. Though I had graduated from Harvard Law School, his alma mater, I certainly wasn’t the brightest intern at the firm, and my family pedigree reflected no blue blood. My father spent his whole life as a security guard at a local bank after a stint in the Marines. My mother grew up unceremoniously in the Bronx. Yet he did pick me over all the others who had been quietly lobbying him for the privilege of being his legal gofer on what became known as “the Mother Of All Murder Trials”; he said he liked my “hunger”. We won, of course, and the business executive who had been charged with brutally killing his wife was now a free man-or as free as his cluttered conscience would let him be. My own summer education that summer was a rich one. It was far more than a lesson on how to raise a reasonable doubt where none existed-any lawyer worth his salt could do that. This was a lesson in the psychology of winning and rare opportunity to watch a master in action. I soaked it up like a sponge.
-John (flashback) The Monk Who Sold His Ferrari
-John (flashback) The Monk Who Sold His Ferrari