The sad fact is that honest lawyers sometimes have crooked clients. In a notorious 1980 case of client fraud, a pair of businessmen used the services of an unsuspectinglaw firm to close hundreds of millions of dollars worth of crooked loans for their computer leasing company.
The businessmen created forged leases to inflate the value of their company’s contracts, which they used as collateral for the loans. In the evenings, the pair would turn the lights off in their office.
Goodman would crouch beneath a glass table shining a flashlight upward so that Weissman could trace signatures from genuine leases on to the forgeries. New loans serviced previous loans in a decade-long pyramid scheme.After nearly ten years, Goodman and Weissman’s accountant stumbled across their frauds. He wrote a detailed warning to the swindlers’ law firm, which the accountant’s lawyer tried to hand-deliver to Joseph Hutner, the law firm’s lead partner.
But Hutner didn’t want to see it. In fact, he wanted the accountant to take the letter back. Above all, Hutner seemed to want to preserve his own oblivion. As the accountant’s lawyer later recounted, “I had visions of him clamping his hands over his ears and running out of the office.”[395]
Well, wouldn’t you? Hutner had been used. He had mouths to feed in his firm, and the computer crooks represented more than half the firm’s annual billings. His flight reaction probably came straight from the gut. It may also have been the result of a calculation, however. Legal ethics rules forbid lawyers from knowingly participating in fraud, and Hutner may have reasoned that if he didn’t know about any fraud, his firm would not have to part ways with its bread-and-butter client. At the very least, maintaining deniability might buy some time to figure out the next move.
The fact is that ignorance can be vital. A white-collar defense attorney offers the following recollection: “I can remember years ago when I represented a fellow in a massive case of political corruption. I was very young, and I asked him, ‘Would you please tell me everything that happened.’ And he said, ‘What, are you out of your mind?’ ”[396]
The man had a point.
Because lawyers are forbidden from lying or knowingly putting on perjured testimony, knowing too much can tie a lawyer’s hands.[397] The lawyer is foreclosed from using the strongest arguments on the client’s behalf because, unfortunately, the strongest arguments are false.Lawyers often complain that it’s hard to get clients to tell them the unvarnished truth. But it can be an equal challenge to avoid facts that the lawyer really doesn’t want to know. Criminal defense lawyers rarely ask their clients, “Did you do it?” Instead, they ask the client what evidence he thinks the police or prosecution have against him - whom he spoke with, who the witnesses are, what documents or physical evidence he knows about. If the client seems too eager to spill his guts, the lawyer will quickly cut him off, admonishing him that time is short and that it will be best if the client answers only the questions his lawyer asks him. The lawyer will pose the questions carefully and frame them narrowly. “Don’t ask, don’t tell” is the strategy, and the preservation of deniability is its goal.[398]
Lawyers may be exceptional in the self-conscious casuistry they bring to their quest for deniability, but they are in no way exceptional in the quest itself. The very word “deniability,” which originated after the Bay of Pigs debacle, gained currency in the Watergate era to describe something that Richard Nixon’s subordinates wanted to preserve for him at all costs. The Iran-Contra principals turned out to be veritable Balanchines when it came to choreographing Ronald Reagan’s deniability. They knew very well that deniability is a politician’s best friend. Business managers also understand the value of deniability. Analyzing the authority system in large American corporations, sociologist Robert Jackall writes that “pushing down details relieves superiors of the burden of too much knowledge, particularly guilty knowledge.”[399] In the familiar corporate adage, bad news doesn’t flow upstream.
A superior will say to a subordinate... “Give me your best thinking on the problem... ” When the subordinate makes his report, he is often told: “I think you can do better than that,” until the subordinate has worked out all the details of the boss’s predetermined solution, without the boss being specifically aware of “all the eggs that have to be broken.”6
Deniability refers to one’s capacity to deny guilty knowledge truthfully. Clearly, deniability is a state of affairs desirable almost beyond price, and not only for lawyers, politicians, and executives. Deniability is the key to succeeding at the world’s work, which is often dirty, while keeping a clean conscience - or at least a serviceable facsimile of a clean conscience. Perhaps the truth will set us free, but sometimes ignorance of the truth leaves us freer still.
Virtually all of us prefer not to know things, if knowing them will require us to take unwelcome action. Why does our conscience work that way? The reason, I suspect, is that the quest for deniability seems not as bad as dishonesty. A dishonest person learns the truth and then simply lies about it. Evading truth is an expedient for avoiding lies. It’s a stratagem for tarnished angels like you and me, not for unrepentant scoundrels. It’s the homage that vice pays to virtue.
And yet avoiding lies cannot be as simple as shutting one’s eyes. Hungry lions don’t go away when the ostrich in the legend sticks her head in the sand - that is one reason we know that the story must be a legend. Guilty knowledge is a hungry lion, and it can’t be ignored out of existence. Or can it? This is the question I propose to investigate. Soon it will lead us into complications, but for the moment we can pose the question itself in three simple words: Does deniability work?