Lawyers make money off of their clients. Plain and simple. Just how much money is out there to be made, no one teaches you in law school.  At least not the one I went to.  There are no classes to sign up for on how to get your hustle on when you're just starting out.

Maybe in the Ivy leagues they don't need to teach young lawyers on how to make their first millions, because they were born with their investment bankers at their side counting their money for them.  For the rest of us corporate and lowly street lawyers from B-schools, and without trust funds, we have to learn and earn as we go.

My daddy wasn't a lawyer. Neither was my granddaddy. Nor my Uncle Mike.  As a matter of fact, except for my aunt Gloria who graduated community college, I was the first to step foot at university.  I had to figure things out for myself every step of the way.  Which was okay.  I'm Latina. On one hand, I had my mother teaching me how to coordinate my handbags, shoes and underwear so that I could land me a husband. And on the other, I had my dad teaching me the virtues of hard work, entrepreneurship, and honesty. I never much cared for the husband part of that equation.

Almost all law students and practicing attorneys become familiar with the "Lodestar Method" of calculating legal fees.  It basically states that the more experience you have, and the more expertise you've developed, the more money you can bill your clients per hour.  So, in essence, a 30-year veteran should be able to bill more per hour than a young attorney with only 10-years of experience under his or her belt.  That's the way it works in theory.  Except for wrongful death and personal injury cases where any idiot can bill at a standard 33 1/3% of recovery (plus fees and expenses), if no suit is filed, and 40% the instant a lawsuit is commenced.  In most cases, "commencing a lawsuit" means filing a one-page document with the courts called a "Notice of Action," and Viola! You've just increased your fee by over 6%!

What I figured out very early on, is that some of the male attorneys practicing in the same ranks as I was, were sexist, lazy alcoholics that all belonged to the same good ole boys club as their daddies and granddaddies before them.  I had to work extra long hours to overcome the fact that I was a Latina woman with no previous professional ties to the community.  It was not long before I was jumping hurdles and running way ahead of them.  Maybe it wasn't because I was any smarter than they were, but because I took great pleasure in working night and day to crush them in the courtroom. That was my modus operandi as I worked to make a name for myself - Kill or be Killed!  But, of course, with a sweet smile and a smartly coordinated briefcase. It worked like a charm - most times.

Except for this one relentless slimy creep of an insurance defense attorney who wouldn't let up on his company's purse strings.  We negotiated for weeks that turned into months.  He wouldn't budge. I wouldn't budge.  We were spending thousands of dollars wrangling with this clown who protected the insurance company's money as if it was his own. Granted, he was probably being paid a handsome bonus dependent on how much money he saved the company.  But, dammit! I wanted to max out every bit of my 40%, with a sizable amount left to my client after fees and expenses.

I tried everything in my arsenal, but nothing worked against this squeaky little man. So, I enlisted the help of co-counsel.  Someone with much more experience than I had.  Surely she could wrest a large settlement off of this guy's insurance company.  But, no...he started taking pot-shots at her from day one - just shy of calling her a lesbian with an ugly hat, as he slapped her hat right off of her head sending it flying across the room.  He quickly grabbed his stuff and stormed out.

At our next settlement meeting, my co-counsel and I rode up to the 20th floor fuming mad, plotting our every move and preparing for war! He appeared out of nowhere opening the conference room doors for us and said...

"Ladies first." A thick sarcasm hanging onto each of his words.

"I'm not a lady. I'm a lawyer!" I said, glaring past him.

He broke down and laughed, easing the tension for a brief moment.  The negotiations went south very fast soon after. 

"You want to take this outside?" I asked, sizing him up.

Mentally taking in the location of either the nearest baseball bat or my gun.  I was ready to beat the crap out of this little f*#@er!  I was tired of his snide remarks and sideways glances at my friend and co-counsel.  He was being so politically incorrect, and she's not even gay!  But nonetheless, this meant war - and it was on!!!