Celebrating Justice

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Oct 2026

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Welcome to "Celebrating Justice," the podcast that shines a spotlight on top trial lawyers, their career and the cases that matter most. Each episode goes beyond the courtroom drama to gain insights into the personal journeys of each guest. From early inspirations and pivotal moments that steered them toward becoming trial lawyers, to the hurdles they've overcome in pursuit of justice, the podcast offers a unique glimpse into the dedication and perseverance required in the legal profession. Our episodes cover a wide range of topics, including personal injury, civil rights, medical malpractice, and much more. "Celebrating Justice" is produced not just for legal professionals but for anyone intrigued by the complexities of law and its impact on society. Whether you're drawn to the strategic gamesmanship of trial work or moved by stories of advocacy and reform, "Celebrating Justice" promises rich, informative, and truly inspiring content.

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October 16, 2026Episode 7039 min

Eric Fong

Eric Fong took the only job he could get out of law school: public defender in Bremerton, Washington, $24,000 a year. The courtroom did the rest. He is unusually honest about how little of it was planned. Law school came after college, which came after high school, in a family where more education was simply assumed. He majored in sociology, wasn't much of a student and graduated without the offers his classmates were chasing. So he took the job nobody wanted. Then somebody handed him a file and pointed him at a jury. The work found him — "when I was thrown into that courtroom, it found me." What followed is an apprenticeship that barely exists anymore. Five or six cases set for trial in a single week. Misdemeanors that grew into felonies, felonies that grew into federal cases, 11 years of essentially living in a courtroom. He is blunt that the jury trial has become something close to an endangered species, especially on the civil side, and that the comfort to stand in front of strangers and braid logic and emotion into a story is not a talent you are born with. It's reps. He got his because the lawyer who hired him told him not to settle cases — go try them. The other half of his education came from Jerry Spence. Fong went through the ranch in 2001 and taught alongside him for years afterward, and what he took away had almost nothing to do with technique. Ask what makes him unique as a trial lawyer and he turns the question around: it's the same thing that makes every lawyer unique, and the hard part is finding the confidence to express it. The real work is deprogramming — peeling off the layers of expectation stacked on us since childhood until what's left can be said plainly, in front of 12 people, unfiltered. The civil practice he built at Fong Law carries the two largest compensatory verdicts in Washington state, including $91 million against a 24-hour convenience store that ignored the laws meant to protect the people inside it. What he's proudest of isn't the number — it's hearing afterward that a major insurer would stop covering those late-night operations unless they fixed their training and their policies. The same instinct shows up in the trespass cases he consolidated as a young public defender and argued twice before the Washington Supreme Court, because people were being arrested for visiting family in public housing and nobody had built the due process argument yet. He also talks about the ones he lost, which most lawyers won't. A young Navy nuclear engineer — wrong place, wrong time, innocent in Fong's view — and the sound the man made when the verdict was read. Responsibility, he says, is a weight, and a profession that treats losing as shame leaves its people carrying it alone. Which brings him to the part he could have left out. In his "Closing Argument," Fong talks about the divorce that started the fall, the substances that masked it, the years he couldn't look at himself in the mirror and the 12 steps that gave him back a life he'd stopped believing was available — and what he'd say to anyone standing in that same place right now. Key Takeaways · Most trial careers aren't chosen at 9 years old — they start when someone takes the only job on offer and discovers, in front of a jury, what they were built for. · Courtroom instinct is a volume business, and the comfort to weave logic and emotion into a story only comes from reps the modern docket rarely hands out. · The hardest part of persuasion isn't technique; it's unlearning the expectations layered on you since childhood so you can say something true in front of strangers. · A verdict's real value is often measured in the training, policies and insurance requirements it forces an entire industry to change. · Losing is inseparable from trial work, and a profession that treats it as shame leaves its people carrying that weight in private. · Carrying responsibility for another person's life is real weight, and without a healthy way to set it down, people find unhealthy ones. The Trial Lawyer's Journal is Presented by CloudLex and Lexvia.ai . TLJ Instagram TLJ YouTube TLJ LinkedIn

October 15, 2026Episode 6922 min

Mark Seitelman

Mark E. Seitelman doesn't have the Perry Mason origin story. He came to the law culturally — through the example of an uncle who practiced and later became a judge — and built a plaintiffs' practice on one steadying conviction: know who you are. There was no lightning bolt. Seitelman grew up around professionals — lawyer, doctor, accountant — and, with a certified public accountant for a father, first tried accounting before deciding it didn't suit him. Law was the next step. He is candid that what the profession calls "trial law" rarely resembles the courtroom drama of television; in plaintiffs' personal injury work, much of the job is investigation, client relationships, and the patient work that happens short of picking a jury. He gravitated to the field for a plain reason he borrows from bank robber Willie Sutton — that is where the activity is. Look out the window onto Broadway, he says, and you are looking at the clientele. What sets him apart is not a gimmick. Having spent years on the insurance-defense side before opening his own plaintiffs' firm, he reads a case from both directions and brings a working knowledge of insurance coverage to every claim. Above that sits something simpler. "I know who I am. I'm not gonna try to be anyone else." That is who the jury sees, who the judge sees, and who the client sees — and, he adds, the same client whose problem keeps him up at 3 a.m. long after the billable hour has stopped. At Mark E. Seitelman Law Offices, P.C. , the cases he remembers are rarely the biggest verdicts. He recounts a client severely burned when a roach-bomb insecticide ignited in her kitchen; the manufacturer defaulted and went out of business, so he pursued the neighborhood grocery store as a distributor in the chain of commerce, arguing the product relied on an unnecessarily flammable accelerant. The recovery helped her buy a co-op and move forward with her life. He is equally at ease describing the craft of complex insurance litigation — including his team role in the MGM Grand Hotel fire coverage fight — but keeps returning to the human ledger: the client who thanks you, the case that mattered because the person did. Much of that work, he notes, now resolves in mediation before a retired judge or in direct settlement, not at trial. Seitelman closes the episode with a "Closing Argument" on what the work actually demands — heart, dedication, and a great deal of time for people at their most vulnerable — and a caution to prospective clients: don't be seduced by the billboard or the "call now" commercial, but ask family and friends, get references, and choose a lawyer the way you would for anything genuinely personal. Key Takeaways · A trial lawyer's authenticity is an asset — the jury, the judge, and the client should all meet the same person. · Having worked both defense and plaintiff sides sharpens a lawyer's read on how the other side values a case. · In modern personal injury practice, most resolutions come short of the courtroom — through mediation and direct settlement. · The most rewarding outcomes aren't always the largest verdicts; sometimes it's helping an injured client rebuild an ordinary life. · Liability can follow the chain of commerce — when a manufacturer defaults, a distributor may still answer for an unsafe product. · Clients are better served by references from family and friends than by choosing counsel from a flashy advertisement. The Trial Lawyer's Journal is Presented by CloudLex and Lexvia.ai . TLJ Instagram TLJ YouTube TLJ LinkedIn

October 6, 2026Episode 6839 min

Tim Felice

Timothy C. Felice did not grow up planning to be a trial lawyer. The son of a sheet rocker and a mother who worked for Hallmark, he was, by his own admission, a washout in his first semesters of community college. Then, after closing the bar one night, he picked up Gerry Spence's "How to Argue and Win" and read it straight through until nearly four in the morning. He went back to school, finished a bachelor's degree in a single year, and went on to law school. Spence, he says, is the biggest reason he became a lawyer. Two decades later, at Felice Trial Attorneys in West Palm Beach, Felice is the lawyer other lawyers call when a case is hard. Major firms and advertisers across Palm Beach County and beyond refer him their most difficult files, because he has built a reputation for turning lemons into lemonade. "I find the path through the forest, so to speak, to get to the right ending," he says — and the cases he describes bear that out. Those cases are not for the faint of heart. He took over as the sixth or seventh firm for a young man left an incomplete quadriplegic by a shooting, dug into a criminal file no prior firm had read, uncovered overlooked evidence, and turned a $250,000 recommendation into a confidential resolution that secured the man's future. In an ultra-conservative Suwannee County venue — where the largest verdict in county history had been $7 million — he won a landmark verdict of more than $77 million for a professional musician catastrophically injured, and her friend killed, by an intoxicated commercial driver whose employer never checked a driving history that should have kept him off the road. And in a case involving a U.S. figure skating coach who sexually abused a teenage student, Felice helped drive an international warrant, an extradition, a guilty plea, and a $100 million arbitration judgment. Running through all of it is a conviction that too few lawyers are willing to actually try a case. Felice tries several a year, and he is now building a working courtroom inside his office to train the next generation. In his "Closing Argument," he turns to the work he says gets him up in the morning — teaching, mentoring, and giving back to the profession — along with his candid concerns about where that profession is headed. Key Takeaways • A single book — and the willingness to chase an unlikely calling — can redirect an entire career. • Insurance carriers will often pay far more to avoid a lawyer they fear at trial than to settle with one they don't. • The overlooked file — the criminal record no prior firm bothered to read — is frequently where a case is won. • Employer negligence in putting an unfit driver on the road can weigh even heavier with a jury than the driver's own conduct. • Even the most conservative venue will return an extraordinary verdict when the human damage is made real. • Trying cases is a craft, and passing it on to other lawyers is how the plaintiff's bar stays strong. The Trial Lawyer's Journal is Presented by CloudLex and Lexvia.ai . TLJ Instagram TLJ YouTube TLJ LinkedIn

September 25, 2026Episode 6725 min

Nathan Hittle

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September 18, 2026Episode 6618 min

Mu'min Islam

The phone rang three times before six-thirty in the morning. Mu'min Islam almost let it go — and the case on the other end became the one he still measures every other one by. Mu'min Islam did not set out to be a trial lawyer. At Temple University's business school, he noticed how many corporate executives held law degrees and saw law school as a runway toward the C-suite. Graduating in 2008, into the teeth of the financial crisis, rerouted that plan — his Philadelphia firm laid off nearly its entire first-year class — and a corporate lawyer who insisted he "didn't want to litigate" slowly became one who lives for it. What carries through his story is a particular kind of tenacity he traces back home. "You can Google, what is a Philadelphia lawyer?" he says — shorthand for a grind he argues you had to have to survive in Philly. Now managing partner at Ace Law, LP, splitting his time between the Atlanta area and Philadelphia, he brings that grind to a Georgia market where, he observes, plenty of firms will take a case, try to settle it quickly, and refer it out if they can't. Islam works a file, in his words, to the umpteenth degree, and handles matters soup to nuts — from intake through trial — rather than passing them along. He credits range, too. Raised in a Jamaican family where he says he worked every job under the sun, he relates to the UPS worker and to the client who made one bad decision alike — an everyman fluency he thinks sets him apart as much as any courtroom aggression. Then there is the case that stuck. It began with that early-morning call: an immigrant day laborer killed on a construction site, electrocuted when the hook of a bucket he was raising struck a live wire. Because the man was not a citizen, the threshold question was whether his family could recover at all. Islam dug up case law from other states, reconstructed the man's earnings from the money-transfer receipts he had kept each time he sent money home, and flew to Mexico with an interpreter so the family could settle the estate. He negotiated a settlement with the utility company. Years later, he returned to hand the man's now-grown son — today living in the United States — a couple hundred thousand dollars held in trust. It is that long arc — the client you helped years ago resurfacing through someone they sent your way — that Islam returns to in his "Closing Argument," a reflection on why this work, for all its stress, is the kind that stays with the people you do it for. Key Takeaways · Tenacity is a habit, not a talent — working a file to the umpteenth degree is what separates a quick settlement from a real result. · Taking a case from intake through trial, instead of referring it out, keeps a lawyer accountable to the client the whole way through. · A lawyer who has worked every kind of job can meet clients where they actually are, whatever their circumstances. · Threshold questions — like whether a non-citizen's family can recover — are won with research and creativity, not assumptions. · The impact of a case can outlast the verdict by years, resurfacing when a former client sends the next one your way. The Trial Lawyer's Journal is Presented by CloudLex and Lexvia.ai . TLJ Instagram TLJ YouTube TLJ LinkedIn

August 21, 2026Episode 6555 min

Rich Ruohonen

Some trial lawyers walk into a courtroom hoping they are ready. Rich Ruohonen walks in the way a world-level athlete steps onto the ice — because he has already thrown the shot a hundred times before it matters. Rich Ruohonen never set out to be a trial lawyer. Raised to never give in and to win every argument, he drifted toward the courtroom after a high-school mock trial, briefly imagined a career in contracts or as a sports agent, then discovered in his first business law class that behind-the-scenes work would never suit him. He wanted to be out front, helping people. Nearly three decades and roughly 90 trials later, he is one of Minnesota's most recognized plaintiff personal injury lawyers — and, improbably, the oldest U.S. Winter Olympian in history. That second life as a nationally ranked curler is not a footnote; it is the key to how he practices law. Ruohonen draws a direct line between elite competition and trial work: thinking several moves ahead like a chess match, weathering the roller-coaster of good and bad days across a week-long trial, and above all, preparing until the outcome feels inevitable. "People don't practice," he says. "They just think they can walk in and give an opening statement or give a closing argument without having ever said it, without having ever done it before." At TSR Injury Law he built a ritual the firm calls Fight Club, where a lawyer delivers an opening in front of roughly 20 colleagues who offer nothing but criticism. Then does it again, and again. Before one of his biggest cases he rehearsed his opening more than ten times. He is just as deliberate about the psychology of persuasion: how a single word can plant an image in a juror's mind, why belief in your own case is contagious and how a well-run focus group can expose which defense arguments jurors simply do not care about. The case that shaped him most was a three-year-old boy beaten and raped at a daycare where he was left unwatched for over an hour. Told he would never beat a million-dollar ceiling, Rich won a 13 million dollar verdict, watched the trial court set it aside, and tried the entire case a second time to secure another multimillion-dollar result. The child is now a thriving young adult; an outcome Rich counts among the most meaningful of his life, and one that pushed him to reduce his fees for children and to testify for stronger daycare-safety laws. For his "Closing Argument," Rich turns from craft to conviction, the duty he believes lawyers carry to use whatever platform they are given,and the courage it takes to speak up for the rule of law and for people who need help. Key Takeaways Preparation is the line between hoping you are ready and knowing you are — rehearsing an opening ten times before trial is not excessive, it is the job. An athlete's mindset transfers directly to the courtroom: think several moves ahead, expect good days and bad, and compete to the last shot. How you frame a sentence to a jury matters as much as what you say — tell them your client had the green light, never that he did not run the red. A well-run focus group can reveal that the defense's favorite argument means nothing to jurors, and give you the confidence to ask for a case's full value. Belief is persuasive; if you do not fully own what you are asking a jury for, they will sense the doubt. The Trial Lawyer's Journal is Presented by CloudLex and Lexvia.ai . TLJ Instagram TLJ YouTube TLJ LinkedIn

August 14, 2026Episode 6425 min

Kate Feroleto

For years, the defense insisted the case was worth $10,000. Kate Feroleto believed her client — and the truth — were worth far more, and she spent four years proving it. Kate Feroleto did not have a single aha moment. She grew up inside the practice of law in Buffalo, New York — her father a plaintiff’s trial lawyer raised on the city’s West Side, her mother a defense attorney who later became a judge. She heard both sides of the coin at the dinner table, but what stuck with her was watching how deeply her father cared about his cases, and how he kept friendships with clients long after the matters had settled. Determined to build her own path, Feroleto started on the defense side rather than joining her father straight out of law school. It was deliberate: learn how insurers evaluate, deny, and minimize claims, then carry that knowledge to the plaintiff’s side — which is exactly what she does today at Feroleto Law PLLC , the Buffalo firm she now leads. What sets her apart is not a billboard (her face is on any), and she likes it that way. She calls herself an “extroverted introvert,” and for a long time she wasn’t sure you could be kind and also be a trial lawyer. Experience taught her the opposite: warmth with a client builds the trust that wins cases. She traces her analytical streak to childhood, when she was the one who wanted to know why the sink was leaking — the same instinct she brings to trucking and catastrophic-injury litigation, stepping back to trace where a system broke down months or even years before a crash. The case that captures all of it involved a 77-year-old client whose landlord repeatedly failed to fix a broken lock on her kitchen window. An intruder climbed through it and brutally attacked her. For years the defense valued the case at $10,000 and built a theory that blamed the victim’s own kindness toward her neighbors. Feroleto spent four years earning the trust of a woman from a generation that does not speak about trauma — until, sitting in her client’s living room, she heard the words that changed everything: “I trust you. I’ll testify.” One week before trial, the defense paid the full available policy. In her “Closing Argument,” Feroleto returns to that case to make a larger point for every trial lawyer listening — that kindness was never the weakness she once feared, but the very thing that built the trust to hold the line when it would have been easier to accept less. Key Takeaways Starting on the defense side can teach a plaintiff's lawyer exactly how insurers evaluate, deny, and minimize claims. Kindness and warmth toward a client aren't a weakness in the courtroom — they build the trust that lets you hold the line. In trucking and catastrophic-injury cases, the real cause often traces back months or years before the crash itself. Preparing every case as if it will go to trial changes what the other side is ultimately willing to pay. A genuine personal relationship with a client can be the turning point that decides whether a case is winnable. Being human with your client and relentless with your opponent are not in tension — paired with preparation, they are a force multiplier. The Trial Lawyer's Journal is Presented by CloudLex and Lexvia.ai . TLJ Instagram TLJ YouTube TLJ LinkedIn

August 7, 2026Episode 6327 min

Boris Grushko

He was seventeen when a torn meniscus ended a professional soccer career in Ukraine — and put him on a plane to a country whose language he did not yet speak. Boris Grushko has been building on that improbable start ever since. Boris Grushko, a Brooklyn-based personal injury trial lawyer whose road to the courtroom ran through two arenas most attorneys never see: a professional soccer pitch and a Marine Corps boot camp. Grushko arrived in the United States at seventeen with little English, worked weekends as a busboy, and slowly found his footing before enlisting in the Marines out of a search for discipline and direction. Nearly four years of service, he says, gave him the perseverance, the organization, and the leadership that now shape how he prepares a case. The law itself came later, and largely through his sister — an accomplished tax attorney who became mentor, role model, and something like family after his parents stayed behind in Ukraine. Every decision she made with him, he says, was a positive one. Grushko tried on criminal prosecution and criminal defense, enjoying the latter for a full year, before a veteran solo practitioner named Robert Marcus showed him the craft of plaintiff-side injury work. What emerges across the conversation is a through line of care. Grushko is an extrovert by his own description, someone who can walk into a room and find common ground with almost anyone — a judge, a colleague, a client. He ties that ease partly to his own nature and partly to the perseverance the Marine Corps drilled into him: the strength to stand up, introduce yourself, and keep going whether or not it lands. That same discipline shows up in the small habits of his practice — clearing his desk and writing tomorrow’s notes before he leaves each night — and, he argues, in how he treats the people he represents. As he puts it, “you tend to represent people better with care.” He is candid, too, about the losses. Grushko walks through a bruising small claims matter where the law, as he read it, was on his side and the outcome still went the other way — a case where he put in hours of preparation, presented his evidence, and watched the court sympathize with the other party anyway. It taught him to adjust his approach, to sometimes absorb a setback, and to carry on with the plan of his day. Now practicing at Karasik Law Group, P.C. , he treats each proceeding as a place to learn as much from difficult results as from favorable ones. Perhaps what stays with the listener most is where Grushko lands in his “Closing Argument,” a reflection on gratitude, opportunity, and what his adopted country made possible for a young man who arrived with almost nothing. Key Takeaways Discipline built outside the law — in sport, in the military — often becomes the foundation of a trial lawyer’s daily practice. Caring genuinely about clients is not soft; it is a competitive advantage that sharpens attention to their needs and details. The ability to find common ground with anyone in the room — judge, opponent, or client — is a skill worth cultivating deliberately. A loss you believe was wrongly decided can teach more than a win, if you use it to adjust your strategy rather than stew in it. Sometimes the right move is to absorb a setback with composure and carry on with the plan of your day. The Trial Lawyer's Journal is Presented by CloudLex and Lexvia.ai . TLJ Instagram TLJ YouTube TLJ LinkedIn

July 31, 2026Episode 6237 min

Denis Delja

As a kid, Denis Delja wanted to be a gunslinger — the man with no name who lives by his own code and always ends up fighting for the weaker guy against the bully or the land baron. He grew out of the cowboy stage, but never out of the ethos. Delja found his way to that fight through the courtroom. Raised in the San Fernando Valley on the classic Westerns of the 1950s and '60s, he was drawn to the figure who takes up someone else's cause — and later learned in law school that trial lawyers trace back to the champions people once hired to settle disputes by combat. He went to Yale Law School, then followed the well-worn track to a big corporate firm, doing litigation for companies like Monsanto and Visa. The salary was large and the actual courtroom work was nonexistent. A pro bono opportunity to co-chair a murder trial changed that; afterward, going back to managing document reviews felt impossible. He quit without another job lined up and crossed over to the plaintiff's side, drawn to the idea of representing a person he could actually know rather than a corporation. As he puts it, "For me, being a trial lawyer is the epitome of what it is to be a lawyer." Today he runs Delja & Delja | Injury Attorneys in Monterey with his wife, Tara — a deliberately small, home-based practice where clients work directly with the attorneys instead of a case manager. What makes the firm unusual is exactly that partnership: two lawyers who live, breathe, eat, and sleep their cases, trading strategy over dinner or on a walk, building a depth of understanding of each client that a volume shop simply can't match. It also produces results. Delja recounts the firm's first seven-figure case — one he took despite breaking his own "rule of three": never be the third attorney, never take a case more than three years old, never one with a file thicker than three inches. This one had all three. The client, a Gulf War combat veteran, had stepped through a rotted board on an apartment stairway and injured his knee, and prior counsel had been signaling to the insurer that they would never try it. With roughly five months to trial, Delja and his wife deposed the landlord and the workers who had repaired the stairway, lined up the medical experts, filed some fifteen motions in limine, and served a statutory settlement demand — moving fast enough that the insurer couldn't reassess a case it had undervalued for years. It settled five days before trial for a million dollars plus the client's costs. The lesson he draws is blunt: being genuinely ready to try a case, and having the other side know it, is what wins. But the segment that lingers is his "Closing Argument," where Delja steps away from strategy to talk about the emotional toll of this work — the case that first made him feel the weight of making a living from someone else's loss, and why he believes sharing in a client's grief, rather than guarding against it, is what keeps a trial lawyer from becoming the very stereotype the profession is accused of. Key Takeaways · Being genuinely ready to try a case — and having the other side know it — produces better settlements than any billboard ever will. · The "rule of three" (never the third attorney, never a case older than three years, never a file thicker than three inches) is worth breaking only when the client and the facts are compelling enough. · Moving quickly on a case can lock in an insurer's stale valuation before it has a chance to reassess the real risk of trial. · A husband-and-wife practice that lives and breathes its cases builds a depth of client understanding a high-volume shop can't replicate. · Aligning the lawyer's incentives with the client's — no billing by the tenth of an hour — changes how the work actually gets done. · Sharing in a client's grief rather than guarding against it is what separates real advocates from the ambulance-chaser stereotype. The Trial Lawyer's Journal is Presented by CloudLex and Lexvia.ai . TLJ Instagram TLJ YouTube TLJ LinkedIn

July 24, 2026Episode 6128 min

Jason Green

Jason Green never planned to be a trial lawyer. He grew up watching Perry Mason and LA Law with his father — a former civil rights attorney — and went to law school thinking he would practice law, not try cases. Then a mandatory first-year moot court competition changed everything. He entered because it was required, barely tried, and kept advancing until he reached the round of eight. That was the first inkling. The path, as he puts it, was chartered. What followed was a career built on a single conviction: prepare every case as though it will go to trial. Green spent more than a decade as a prosecutor, trying serious felony and death penalty cases, before crossing into civil law. He learned the defense side first — five years in insurance defense — and it taught him how insurers weigh a claim, where the levers are, and what moves them. But it also convinced him he was on the wrong side. Too many files crossed his desk where, in his words, he felt he wasn’t using his powers for good. He made a hasty exit, and, as he says, "ever since then I’ve been on the side of truth and justice." That prosecutorial bent is what Green believes makes him unique in the courtroom. Criminal trials in Georgia are often tried by ambush, with little of the discovery that governs civil practice, and he learned to think on his feet, to stay fearless, and to build a case from the first day it lands on his desk. Above all, he learned to let one thing guide him: "I’ve learned to let the truth of the matter be my North Star." Sift through the spin and subterfuge, he says, and the truth eventually gets you where you need to go. The episode moves through cases that have stayed with him. A capital arson trial in which five people died in a hotel fire, reconstructed piece by piece alongside the ATF. The Espinoza case — a working mother of three, sole caregiver for a bedridden husband, seriously injured in a T-bone collision and left with far worse deficits after she flatlined during a medical procedure. Green won by refusing to let the case be reduced to medical bills, showing instead the full human toll on a family that could not afford to lose. It is a tension he names honestly: the very facts that devastate a client are the ones a trial lawyer knows how to use. You are happy as an advocate and distraught for them as a human, all at once. Green now serves as Lead PI Attorney at Bader Law Injury Lawyers in Atlanta, representing plaintiffs in complex personal injury and wrongful death cases. In his "Closing Argument," he shares the case of a young professional fighter — struck by an Atlanta police detective while riding a dirt bike — whose career was sidelined for two and a half years, and how a trial-by-human approach turned a nuisance offer into a seven-figure verdict that let his client buy a home and start a nonprofit for troubled young men. · Building every case for trial from the first day it lands on your desk changes how you investigate, prepare, and negotiate. · Time spent on the defense side reveals how insurers evaluate claims — knowledge a plaintiff’s lawyer can turn to a client’s advantage. · Letting the truth of a case serve as your North Star keeps you oriented through subterfuge, spin, and shifting defenses. · The most persuasive cases are told through human toll, not medical bills — the daily, personal cost of an injury on a client and their family. · Fearlessness and quick thinking, forged under pressure, often matter more in the courtroom than any script. · A life-changing verdict can become a force multiplier, giving a client the means to rebuild and to lift others up. The Trial Lawyer's Journal is Presented by CloudLex and Lexvia.ai . TLJ Instagram TLJ YouTube TLJ LinkedIn