I have occasionally seen lawyers make great pitches for new business.
I haven’t delivered one of those pitches, mind you. When I worked at a law firm, I tended to develop business the more difficult way: I wrote articles, gave talks, served on boards and bar committees, and gently stayed in touch with folks, thus shooting 1000 arrows in the air and hoping that one would strike its mark. For me, at least, the arrows that struck tended to be the substantive ones: I wrote and spoke widely to develop a reputation in a field, and that ultimately led to business. I attended beauty contests, to be sure, but I was no Miss America.
The beauty-contest star I watched in action — one of my former partners, years ago — gave a remarkable performance. He trotted through all the preliminary PowerPoint slides — awards the firm had won, clients the firm worked for — with complete nonchalance, implying that he knew this was all unpersuasive silliness that he was obligated to say and that he’d said a million times before. But he somehow worked in a couple of trial stories: “Oh, yes — the firm represents BigCo. Ha! I tried a case for BigCo a couple of years ago, in downstate Illinois. The trial ran for nearly three months; I came home for only one weekend, to see my kid’s high school graduation. We drew the jury from Hell; we were just toast. But the other side had this one expert who self-destructed. [Amusing anecdote.] If not for that, I’m not sure we would’ve gotten out of that courtroom alive. That expert did us a helluva favor; he probably cost his client the whole seven billion dollars it sought in damages.”
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You get the idea: It’s an extended humblebrag. You act as though you’re just telling a cute war story, but you sneak in things like “three-month jury trial,” high stakes, remarkable dedication to task, famous lawyer against you in the courtroom, defense verdict, and the like. The war story might have recounted the only trial this guy ever won in his life, but it sure sounded good.
Now that I’m in-house, I watch out for these things. I always follow up with questions like: How many jury trials have you personally first-chaired? How many of those went to judgment? What were the verdicts? Please give me the names of your clients and the opposing counsel in the cases. And so on.
No one asked my partner those questions many years ago — although, frankly, if asked, he would have had perfectly good answers. But that guy was Superman; he wasn’t a mere mortal, like you and me.
Let’s talk a bit about Clark Kent. What three mistakes have I seen (either in my old law-firm life or my new in-house role) that you should avoid?
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First, I’ve seen folks so nervous about landing the client’s business that they ignored the client during the pitch. The pair of lawyers I’m thinking of had analyzed the complaint, shared with the potential client an outline of what they’d say in a motion to dismiss, and prepared some general strategic points about defending the case.
But, during the beauty contest, their preparation got in their way. The two lawyers were so intent and earnest about making the pitch that they ignored the potential client. When the client plainly was about to ask a question, the lawyers kept talking — because they had prepared these great ideas, and by God they were going to present them. The lawyers generated a monologue (actually — there were two lawyers monopolizing the discussion, so it wasn’t a monologue; what the heck is the word for that?) instead of encouraging a conversation with the client. The client ultimately went elsewhere.
That’s the first mistake. A good presentation will focus largely on the client’s concerns and the client’s questions; your preparation should focus on that, rather than on what you’d like to say if the client doesn’t interrupt you.
Second, I’ve seen folks effectively beg for business.
I don’t mean dropping to their knees and pleading, “Please, please, please hire me.”
But effectively doing the same thing. Thus, I’ve heard:
“I’d really like to represent you. My firm rates me, and pays me, based on the business I generate, so it’s very important to me that you hire me.”
Or:
“I’m our firm’s relationship lawyer for you as a client. That means that I’m responsible for making sure we get an increasing amount of business from you over time. And you haven’t retained us in three years; that makes my firm think that I’m ineffective. You should really hire me.”
Sorry, Charlie: Superman doesn’t beg. This is not effective salesmanship.
Finally, I’ve seen lawyers implicitly threaten clients to try to attract business. It isn’t phrased like a threat, but it is one: “You haven’t retained us in a new case in nearly three years. You really have to give us some new business. If you don’t give us new business, then I won’t be able to keep you on as a client, and that will mean that my partners and I will start suing you on behalf of other clients. I’m sure you wouldn’t want that to happen, so you should hire me.”
In the words of the second President Bush: “Bring ’em on.”
Just not as our lawyers.
Mark Herrmann is the Chief Counsel – Litigation and Global Chief Compliance Officer at Aon, the world’s leading provider of risk management services, insurance and reinsurance brokerage, and human capital and management consulting. He is the author of The Curmudgeon’s Guide to Practicing Law and Inside Straight: Advice About Lawyering, In-House And Out, That Only The Internet Could Provide (affiliate links). You can reach him by email at [email protected].