Delaware's top corporate-law judge blasted the lawyers who challenged last year's takeover of retailer Talbots Inc., saying the settlement they negotiated benefited their firms more than the shareholders they represented.
Trial lawyers market themselves as champions of the little guy against corporate America. So how's that working out for the little guy? Not so well, according to a new study by the Mayer Brown law firm for the Chamber of Commerce Institute for Legal Reform, which shows that in the vast majority of class actions, the class members end up empty-handed. In two-thirds of the resolved class actions studied, the class members didn't see a penny.
If you’re a cancer survivor, you know what a relief it is — after agonizing over the possibility of a life cut short and enduring the trauma of treatment and its aftermath — finally to learn that the disease is in remission and you’ve got a chance to live a normal life again.
The thing to keep in mind when the subject is tort reform is that any reform will remain a half solution; the trial lawyers will work night and day to find ways around reform. That's the lesson from the American Tort Reform Foundation's annual Judicial Hellholes report, which reveals new lawsuit abuses sprouting despite efforts across the country to reduce the damage from this politically powerful profession.
To the casual observer, the narratives of economic growth in American cities seem fairly obvious: the Sunbelt is adding people, the Rustbelt is failing, and big cities like New York, Chicago, Boston and D.C. are coming back. But the reality is far more complicated once you start adding real-world statistics into the picture.
Toyota had been vigorously fighting hundreds of complaints that its cars are prone to unintended acceleration. Now it's moving toward a global settlement as a consequence of a single Oklahoma lawsuit that appears to establish that Toyota can't prevail if it can't prove a negative—that its software didn't go haywire in some untraceable and unreplicable manner.
On April 22, 2011, a Missouri resident named Linda Burke received a phone call from a woman who identified herself as “Sarah.” Burke didn’t know Sarah, but that didn’t stop the caller from asking some exceptionally personal questions. Had anyone in the Burke household died after taking a diabetes drug called Avandia? Sarah “refused to tell me who she worked for, [her] address, or phone number, and hung up,” Burke said later, according to state court records.