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Reuters: Why Lawyers in Trouble Shun Treatment — at the Risk of Disbarment, by Jenna Greene

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Jeff Grant, featured in this article, is a Member of our White Collar Support Group, that meets online on Zoom on Monday evenings.

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Reprinted from Reuters.com, November 9, 2021

(Reuters) – The statistics have become depressingly familiar: Lawyers have significantly higher levels of problem drinking, substance abuse, anxiety and depression when compared with the general population.

The toll isn’t just personal. Clients can suffer if their counsel is impaired. The question is, what to do about it? How should bar authorities respond when a lawyer’s misconduct stems from addiction or mental health issues?

A new report by the New York State Bar Association on lawyer well-being dives into these questions and the feasibility of diversion programs for lawyers with substance abuse or mental health issues and who are facing disciplinary actions as a result.

These programs allow a court to stay an investigation or proceeding and direct the lawyer to an appropriate treatment and monitoring program. The report authors urge such options to be expanded to all disciplinary proceedings and applied “in the broadest possible fashion.”

It sounds enlightened and compassionate — but making it work is likely to prove challenging.

New York has had a diversion program in place since 2016, but the report authors note that few lawyers have taken advantage of it.

The Albany-based Appellate Division, Third Department, for example, “has seen only a handful of diversion applications over the past five years, with only one such proceeding reaching successful fruition,” according to the report.

Why don’t more lawyers see this as a lifeline? After all, it could be a chance to enter recovery and halt a potentially ruinous disciplinary action. As the report authors noted, potential beneficiaries “include the impaired lawyer, the lawyer’s family, partners, employees and clients, as well as the courts and the legal profession as a whole.”

But lawyers tend to be reluctant to seek help out of a deep-rooted fear of professional consequences, Patrick Krill, an attorney who advises law firms on well-being matters, told me.

“The message from the beginning of the law school experience is ‘Thou shalt not practice law while impaired,’” Krill said. “There’s less discussion about the disease of addiction.”

The result is a pervasive fear of being “perceived as impaired” that makes lawyers disinclined to let anyone know, he continued. “They keep it hidden and it grows and gets worse.”

That’s what happened to Jeff Grant.

“I was an alcoholic and a drug addict and living double life,” Grant, who regained his New York law license earlier this year after losing it in 2002, told me. (I wrote previously about Grant here.)

There was no diversion program when his world as head of a small firm in Mamaroneck, New York, started to fall apart 20-odd years ago. I asked if he thought such program might have made a difference or prevented his downfall, which culminated in serving 14 months in federal prison for fraudulently obtaining a loan.

“I’d like to believe it would,” he said. But at the same time, Grant also said that “nothing was going to get through to me before hitting bottom.”

In the roughly 9,000 (yes, 9,000) recovery meetings he’s attended in the last 19 years, he added, “I’ve never met anyone who was ready to get help before hitting bottom.”

The report’s authors — dozens of lawyers served on the task force that created the 167-page document — recognize this is an obstacle.

As is, the program “contemplates a lawyer ready, willing and able to seek treatment at the time when the disciplinary investigation or proceeding remains pending,” they wrote. “All too often, the attorney’s threshold acknowledgment of impairment or condition comes only after the disciplinary process has resolved disfavorably.”

In other words, it happens when the lawyer hits bottom and it’s too late for a diversion. (Though successful treatment can certainly help a lawyer get reinstated.)

Anecdotally, the report’s authors said they found many attorneys prefer to “take their chances” with the outcome of a disciplinary investigation rather than admitting to a problem. After all, most professional misconduct complaints are ultimately dismissed or resolved via confidential letters of advisement or admonitions.

Asking for a diversion means lawyers “not only expose themselves to the vulnerability of raising a mental or physical health condition or impairment, but could also be subject to the rigors and requirements of a monitoring program for a period of a year or more. Further, while a diversion order is confidential, some attorneys may still be reluctant to have any order issued that addresses their underlying condition or impairment.”

Both Krill and Grant, while supportive of robust diversion alternatives, also urge more attorney outreach and education about substance abuse and mental health issues starting in law school and continuing via mandatory CLE.

“If we as lawyers knew from day one if you start to experience mental health or substance abuse problems that there is track available to get help, and that it will insulate your (law) license somewhat from disciplinary problems,” Krill said, “I think we’d see a lot more” lawyers seeking help.

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Jenna Greene writes about legal business and culture, taking a broad look at trends in the profession, faces behind the cases, and quirky courtroom dramas. A longtime chronicler of the legal industry and high-profile litigation, she lives in Northern California. Reach Greene at jenna.greene@thomsonreuters.com.

Reuters: Jeff Grant ‘Let Go of the Outcome’: How this Felon Beat Addiction and Won Back his Law License

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By Jenna Greene, Reprinted from Reuters.com, May 21, 2021

When lawyers through greed or hubris or desperation become white-collar criminals – sent to prison and disbarred – their stories often feel like car crashes. We gape at the wreckage of their lives and move on.

But what happens afterwards, once they’ve done their time? How do they pick up the pieces?

Jeffrey Grant found a path to redemption. Seventeen years after he pleaded guilty to fraudulently obtaining $247,000 through a 9/11 disaster relief loan from the U.S. Small Business Administration, the Appellate Division of the Supreme Court of the State of New York earlier this month reinstated his law license.

“I’m beyond excited, but I also take the responsibility very seriously,” he told me. “I’m really grateful for a second chance.”

His journey is extraordinary, from opioid-addicted real estate lawyer to federal prison inmate to seminary student to head of a criminal justice nonprofit. And now, at age 64, he has come full circle to practice law again.

But this time around, he intends to do it very differently.

A 1981 New York Law School grad, Grant, before everything fell apart, headed his own 20-employee firm, Jeffrey D. Grant & Associates, in Mamaroneck, New York, serving as outside general counsel to large real estate companies.

“I viewed life as a competition,” he said, describing himself as akin to “a paid assassin.”

“It was me against everyone else, or me and my client against everyone else.”

After a sports injury, he was prescribed the painkiller Demerol and over the course of a decade, he became addicted to prescription opioids.

When he couldn’t meet payroll for his firm, he borrowed money from client escrow accounts. With a New York state attorney grievance committee investigation pending, he surrendered his law license on July 28, 2002. That night, he attempted suicide by overdose, he told me.

He wound up in rehab, embracing recovery with three meetings a day. He’s been clean and sober ever since.

But his past caught up with him in 2004, when he learned there was a warrant for his arrest. “No one was more surprised than me,” Grant said. Once informed of the charges, though, it “all came rushing back.”

In the wake of the September 11, 2001 attacks, he had applied for federal financial aid and falsely claimed that his firm had an office in New York City. In reality, he merely had an arrangement to use a conference room on occasion in the city.

Did he somehow convince himself this qualified? I asked. “I was a lawyer who represented sophisticated businesspeople,” he said. “I knew better.”

“There’s no question drugs had a lot to do with it, but I can’t blame the drugs,” he continued. “I was desperate, clutching at anything I could.”

Grant served 14 months at a low security prison in White Deer, Pennsylvania – but it was a “real prison with bars,” he said, not one of the so-called Club Fed camps where white-collar offenders typically do their time.

As a “privileged kid from the suburbs,” he said, “I had to learn hard lessons there. But it was exactly what I needed to wipe the last smirk off my face.”

Released in 2007, he knew he wanted to use his experiences to help others. He’s Jewish, but a pastor he knew suggested he consider attending a seminary.

“I didn’t know what that meant,” Grant recalled. (His first reaction: Is that where you train to be a monk?) But he discovered that seminaries, at least the progressive ones, “are basically places where you learn about social justice and faith.”

In 2012, he earned a master of divinity degree from Union Theological Seminary in New York City. He’s been baptized, but he’s also still a Jew. “I’m a double-belonger,” he said.

Grant and his wife Lynn Springer went on to co-found Progressive Prison Ministries. Based in Greenwich, Connecticut, they say it’s the world’s first ministry focused on serving the white-collar justice community.

It includes a weekly white-collar online support group for people “who have a desire to take responsibility for our actions and the wreckage we caused, make amends, and move forward in new way of life centered on hope, care, compassion, tolerance and empathy.” More than 310 people around the country have participated, according to the group’s website.

From 2016 to 2019, Grant also served as the executive director of Family ReEntry, a criminal justice nonprofit with offices and programs in eight Connecticut cities.

Three years ago, he began the process of getting his law license back. The first step was taking the multi-state professional responsibility exam and completing CLE. He also submitted “about 12 inches of paperwork,” he said, including his personal story.

He wrote 14,000 words. “I wanted to tell them everything, the whole story, warts and all,” he said. “It didn’t make a difference to me if strategically it was the right thing to do.” He added, “I let go of the outcome.”

He had a hearing via videoconference last May. “I was scared,” Grant said, but he was surprised to find that the panel members questioning him were “kind.”

“They were thorough and probing, but they were not out to tank me. They were supportive,” he said. “It helped me remember the best parts of being a lawyer.”

On May 5, his license was officially reinstated, and he promptly launched GrantLaw PLLC. With an office on West 43rd Street in Manhattan, he’s offering his services as a private general counsel specializing in white-collar crisis management.

That might include helping a white-collar defendant interview defense lawyers and other specialized counsel, reviewing the lawyers’ work product and billing, and acting as a sounding board, all with the goal of achieving a better and more-cost-efficient outcome.

“Most white-collar defendants are very bright, who have a lot of professional experience and are highly educated,” Grant said. “They don’t realize they’re in trauma – and are making generally very bad decisions while in trauma.”

They need “someone who understands trauma,” he said, “and somebody to trust.”

Given his life experiences, it’s hard for me to imagine a lawyer more uniquely qualified.

 

Jenna Greene writes about legal business and culture, taking a broad look at trends in the profession, faces behind the cases, and quirky courtroom dramas. A longtime chronicler of the legal industry and high-profile litigation, she lives in Northern California. Reach Greene at jenna.greene@thomsonreuters.com.

Reuters: Jeff Grant 'Let Go of the Outcome’: How this Felon Beat Addiction and Won Back his Law License

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By Jenna Greene, Reprinted from Reuters.com, May 21, 2021

When lawyers through greed or hubris or desperation become white-collar criminals – sent to prison and disbarred – their stories often feel like car crashes. We gape at the wreckage of their lives and move on.

But what happens afterwards, once they’ve done their time? How do they pick up the pieces?

Jeffrey Grant found a path to redemption. Seventeen years after he pleaded guilty to fraudulently obtaining $247,000 through a 9/11 disaster relief loan from the U.S. Small Business Administration, the Appellate Division of the Supreme Court of the State of New York earlier this month reinstated his law license.

“I’m beyond excited, but I also take the responsibility very seriously,” he told me. “I’m really grateful for a second chance.”

His journey is extraordinary, from opioid-addicted real estate lawyer to federal prison inmate to seminary student to head of a criminal justice nonprofit. And now, at age 64, he has come full circle to practice law again.

But this time around, he intends to do it very differently.

A 1981 New York Law School grad, Grant, before everything fell apart, headed his own 20-employee firm, Jeffrey D. Grant & Associates, in Mamaroneck, New York, serving as outside general counsel to large real estate companies.

“I viewed life as a competition,” he said, describing himself as akin to “a paid assassin.”

“It was me against everyone else, or me and my client against everyone else.”

After a sports injury, he was prescribed the painkiller Demerol and over the course of a decade, he became addicted to prescription opioids.

When he couldn’t meet payroll for his firm, he borrowed money from client escrow accounts. With a New York state attorney grievance committee investigation pending, he surrendered his law license on July 28, 2002. That night, he attempted suicide by overdose, he told me.

He wound up in rehab, embracing recovery with three meetings a day. He’s been clean and sober ever since.

But his past caught up with him in 2004, when he learned there was a warrant for his arrest. “No one was more surprised than me,” Grant said. Once informed of the charges, though, it “all came rushing back.”

In the wake of the September 11, 2001 attacks, he had applied for federal financial aid and falsely claimed that his firm had an office in New York City. In reality, he merely had an arrangement to use a conference room on occasion in the city.

Did he somehow convince himself this qualified? I asked. “I was a lawyer who represented sophisticated businesspeople,” he said. “I knew better.”

“There’s no question drugs had a lot to do with it, but I can’t blame the drugs,” he continued. “I was desperate, clutching at anything I could.”

Grant served 14 months at a low security prison in White Deer, Pennsylvania – but it was a “real prison with bars,” he said, not one of the so-called Club Fed camps where white-collar offenders typically do their time.

As a “privileged kid from the suburbs,” he said, “I had to learn hard lessons there. But it was exactly what I needed to wipe the last smirk off my face.”

Released in 2007, he knew he wanted to use his experiences to help others. He’s Jewish, but a pastor he knew suggested he consider attending a seminary.

“I didn’t know what that meant,” Grant recalled. (His first reaction: Is that where you train to be a monk?) But he discovered that seminaries, at least the progressive ones, “are basically places where you learn about social justice and faith.”

In 2012, he earned a master of divinity degree from Union Theological Seminary in New York City. He’s been baptized, but he’s also still a Jew. “I’m a double-belonger,” he said.

Grant and his wife Lynn Springer went on to co-found Progressive Prison Ministries. Based in Greenwich, Connecticut, they say it’s the world’s first ministry focused on serving the white-collar justice community.

It includes a weekly white-collar online support group for people “who have a desire to take responsibility for our actions and the wreckage we caused, make amends, and move forward in new way of life centered on hope, care, compassion, tolerance and empathy.” More than 310 people around the country have participated, according to the group’s website.

From 2016 to 2019, Grant also served as the executive director of Family ReEntry, a criminal justice nonprofit with offices and programs in eight Connecticut cities.

Three years ago, he began the process of getting his law license back. The first step was taking the multi-state professional responsibility exam and completing CLE. He also submitted “about 12 inches of paperwork,” he said, including his personal story.

He wrote 14,000 words. “I wanted to tell them everything, the whole story, warts and all,” he said. “It didn’t make a difference to me if strategically it was the right thing to do.” He added, “I let go of the outcome.”

He had a hearing via videoconference last May. “I was scared,” Grant said, but he was surprised to find that the panel members questioning him were “kind.”

“They were thorough and probing, but they were not out to tank me. They were supportive,” he said. “It helped me remember the best parts of being a lawyer.”

On May 5, his license was officially reinstated, and he promptly launched GrantLaw PLLC. With an office on West 43rd Street in Manhattan, he’s offering his services as a private general counsel specializing in white-collar crisis management.

That might include helping a white-collar defendant interview defense lawyers and other specialized counsel, reviewing the lawyers’ work product and billing, and acting as a sounding board, all with the goal of achieving a better and more-cost-efficient outcome.

“Most white-collar defendants are very bright, who have a lot of professional experience and are highly educated,” Grant said. “They don’t realize they’re in trauma – and are making generally very bad decisions while in trauma.”

They need “someone who understands trauma,” he said, “and somebody to trust.”

Given his life experiences, it’s hard for me to imagine a lawyer more uniquely qualified.

 

Jenna Greene writes about legal business and culture, taking a broad look at trends in the profession, faces behind the cases, and quirky courtroom dramas. A longtime chronicler of the legal industry and high-profile litigation, she lives in Northern California. Reach Greene at jenna.greene@thomsonreuters.com.