I think I mentioned before that I’m the son of a plaintiff’s personal injury attorney. Essentially, growing up, this meant my family’s fortune was pinned onto the misfortune of others. Paying a water bill for my father wasn’t a matter of billing time so much as it was a matter of hoping someone got bit by the neighbor’s dog or t-boned by a semi truck. There were Christmas’s where a wrongful death suit meant a new Nintendo, and there were nights where a bad jury verdict meant the family was playing Uno by candlelight and filling up empty gallon jugs with water until the utilities were turned back on. Feast or famine was the name of the game in those days, and all because of the concept of a contingency fee.
Which is why lawyers, like shitbirds of all stripes and colors, turned to lenders to meet their normal expenses.