The Oath
Can a man who is a facile liar still have integrity, and swear to uphold the law?
Note: To the best of my knowledge and belief, this story is fair use of copyrighted material, as there is no commercial use and no loss of potential market or value of the original material will occur.
"I solemnly swear (or affirm) that I will support the Constitution of the United States and the Constitution of the State of California, and that I will faithfully discharge the duties of an attorney and counselor at law to the best of my knowledge and ability."
Solemnly swear.
Mark fidgeted in his chair, absorbing the words, feeling that the meaning was being burned into him with branding iron like in one of Hardcastle's favorite western movies. Or, at least the California legal system was trying burn the intent of the oath into him.
Mark was listening to an ethics lecture, part of his course work in law school. He glanced around briefly, failing to detect any inner turmoil from his classmates. They took the words for granted, as if following them would never be a problem, or, if violated, their connections would prevent any repercussions.
The regular daytime law school classes had a different feel from the night classes he had taken in secret. There the classes were smaller, filled with working stiffs like himself-well, not exactly like himself, they had surely always been respectable law abiding citizens, but who had day jobs and could only attend law school belatedly and on a part-time basis.
Mark acutely felt the difference between himself and the other students in the daytime classes. These people had mostly come directly from college, with top grades, attending through parental tuition payments or scholarships, maybe some money from summer work. Mark was also about a decade in years older than most of them, and a century older in life experience. He tried to feel a kinship with those few students he sensed came from a less privileged background, but even they had worked harder than anyone to earn that first college degree, burning with ambition and focus to make it through law school. But no one in that class burned as much as Mark McCormick.
Solemnly swear.
None of these students had royally screwed up as much as he had done. Certainly none of them were ex-cons just off probation. They must have done everything right.
Mark had made no new friends in law school. The differences were too great, and he found he had little tolerance for his classmates' antics in blowing off steam in the local bars than he did when Warren Wingate was dancing there. He did interact with the others. There were study discussions, and informal debates, where Mark found himself in company with some other type-A, argumentative, sharp tongued personalities. It was odd that those qualities were actually valued here. Mark used them to save his life in prison; when he was on his game in the debates no one could top him.
There were other reasons for his classmates to give him some skeptical sideways glances. They knew he was responsible for a distinguished attorney and lecturer being sent to jail. Even now, when there was a guest speaker who was a judge or other noted attorney, the students would notice that Mark was almost unfailingly invited to lunch after class with said legal eagle. The eagles had all soared with Hardcastle, and knowing Hardcastle meant they knew about Mark McCormick. Mark shrugged off the resentful glances. Tough luck.
Solemnly swear. He was uncharacteristically quiet during the lecture and discussion. His thoughts were anything but silent, nagging at him from various opposing factions.
The lecture ended, and Mark gathered up his books and notes. He was distracted enough that he missed the question directed at him from one of his classmates. "Did you say something?"
"No invite this time, McCormick? It's Friday, no happy hour celebrations?"
"I have to work tomorrow." Work. Ha. If you could call high speed test driving the next year's Italian sports car model at Willow Springs over the weekend as "work." He would be paid five thousand dollars for the privilege.
"Too bad." This classmate was one of golden boys: son of an attorney, future position in the family law firm guaranteed. "I have a date with Miss California. Who will you be with, Miss..take?" He laughed at his own joke.
Mark grinned back. "No. Miss Ferrari."
HHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH
After enjoying the jibe, Mark found his doubts returning. Taking the oath was serious business to him. He would have to mean it. It was like when he agreed to Hardcastle's bargain. He had given his word, and meant it, and he remembered how it started to hurt that it took some time for Hardcastle to completely believe and trust him. Could he take that oath, fully intending to keep his word?
Mark reflected on the events during his time with Hardcastle. He had certainly broken the law during their case investigations. Multiple breaking and entering and theft were chief among them. Even during the past year, when he first started thinking about his post-parole career, and the possibilities of law school, he was still breaking the law. Yet, what would have happened if he didn't? He impersonated a doctor, to stay close to Kiki, and it saved her life. He broke into O'Connell racing, and stole the tie rod as evidence-later unusable-to prove to himself and Hardcastle that there was a murder attempt. Mark had broken into a government office, a crime scene, and stole some plans to investigate murder of an elected official, when Hardcastle was planning that mayoral bid. Mark had broken Hardcastle out of jail; there was a stolen motorcycle, a stolen police car, forged credentials and an impersonation of a military officer. Yes, the actions had worked and lives were saved, but he had not tried to follow all legal channels. Would Mark's actions all have met the standard of flagrant necessity? A cold hearted examination implied to him that they would not, at least at the time of event. All involved lies and a crime, but they saved lives.
Lying came so easily to him. He remembered when he started lying as a matter of course. It began when his father left, and Mark's creative childhood mind created the stories necessary for him to cope. His father didn't really run away. He had a huge special offer for a big star. He was on a secret special assignment, and he was really a big hero and Mark was secretly helping him. The playacting became second nature for him, as he had few friends and was forced to rely on his own imagination. Later, he was able to acknowledge the truth, in the face of his classmates' taunts, but lying and making up stories remained easy for him. As he grew older, the lies and faking proved essential for his own survival in the tough area he was growing up in, and later in prison. The fast and forked tongue could shoot rapid fire then, and he would maintain his composure at least until he was back in his cell. There, in private, he would sometimes start shaking at the close call. As an attorney, a sworn officer of the court, he would have to put his old habits behind him. The sea change rattled him, and he saw only one solution. He would have to speak to Hardcastle.
The amiable glance Hardcastle threw at Mark when he entered the den quickly changed as the Judge read his friend's expression and body language. The casual look morphed into more focused concern and the scrutiny intensified. "What's the matter?"
Mark was silent for a moment before blurting out his words. "I can't go through with it."
"What are you talking about? Can't through with what?"
"Law school. I've made a mistake, it can't work.."
"What is this? You're doing well. Why do you think you can't go through with it?"
"It's the oath, Judge. I have to swear to uphold the law, mean it, and do it. I don't think I can do it, and after everything that's happened."
"You're just worked up about something. You'll be fine, and I know you can do it."
"You don't get it! I don't want to do it! I can't do it! Look at everything that's happened in the past year, what I did. Breaking and entering, stealing things, fraudulently impersonating people, but I had to do those things, Judge, or else people would have died, you would have died, and other people would have gotten away with murder."
Hardcastle sighed. "Is this all? I've explained to you about flagrant necessity. Now, I wouldn't try it that often, but-"
"But does it really apply in all these cases, and all the other cases we worked on? Can you honestly say that?"
They stared at each other, and Mark detected the wavering in Hardcastle as he recognized some truths. The Judge spoke again. "We don't have to risk temptation and keep going with these cases."
Mark's shoulders slumped as he gave his final rationale. "We didn't always seek these cases, Judge. Some of them just fell into our laps. What would have happened if I were already a sworn attorney? People would have died if I didn't do what I did. And the bottom line is, I'd do all of this over again, and I'll do it fresh from now until the end of my days to save someone and get them justice. So, knowing I likely will break the law, how can I take the oath to uphold it?"
He could see Hardcastle struggle briefly with the notion. The Judge himself was trying to find words to contradict Mark, and persuade him to continue with law school, but he was losing the battle with himself, surrendering with admiration in the face of absolute integrity. There were some who would have taken the oath anyway, but Mark would not.
"Well," said Hardcastle, "I guess you can't."
They looked quietly at each other for a moment, then Mark looked at the floor and then away. "I've got some things to do before I head out. I'll see you at dinner."
After Mark left, Hardcastle sighed and leaned back in his chair. Why did he feel like this wasn't quite the end of the story? What was the kid's future?
The thoughts were interrupted when the door to the den swung open with a crash, and Mark crossed to the desk in what a single leap.
"Judge, a paralegal isn't a sworn officer of the court, right?" He was grinning wildly.
"Right, but they can't formally give legal opinions, though I think that might change for some simple legal matters."
"But they can help with clients, though, as long as an attorney signs off on it, right?"
"Yeah, okay, I see where you're going with this-"
"And, since a person can represent themselves in court, they can also designate someone else to represent them, even if not an attorney?"
"Yes, but-"
"That's the answer! I'll keep on with law school, but be the best paralegal anyone has seen. You'll sign off as an attorney when it has to be done." Mark sobered again. "And when I'm ready, when I'm sure I can say those words and mean them, I'll take that oath." The wild, wicked grin returned, and Mark's eyes glazed over at his internal vision. "In the meantime, I'll still be fighting for truth, justice and the Hardcastle way! Yes, yes, I'll be the prototype for a new breed of justice seeker. Faster than a speeding Coyote! More powerful than a Hardcastle elbow jab! Able to leap tall flowerbeds and low sports cars in a single bound!"
Mark bounced out of the den as quickly as he had entered, a string of superhero-style declarations trailing behind him. Hardcastle shook his head, and couldn't help smiling. Whatever happened, he was confident that it would work out for the best. He was certain though that this prototype would never be put into production. The mold had been broken after Mark McCormick.