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class-action lawsuit against the City of Dallas. When he had left the Ford Stevens law firm—that is to say, when he had been fired two years before—Scott had gone to the other side, from representing corporations that pay to people who can't—not what most lawyers would call a shrewd career move; from representing those whom the laws protected to representing those whom the laws oppressed—the "dissed" of Dallas. The dispossessed, the disenfranchised, the disrespected.
    And so it was that day.
    "That image of Dallas shocked the world—including the business world. And above all other things, Dallas was a city of business, by business, and for business. So the rich white businessmen who ran Dallas decided to polish up the city's image.
    "Back then, seedy bars, strip clubs, and liquor stores lined the streets of downtown. Those businessmen wanted to close the liquor stores, but couldn't; the stores were grandfathered under the zoning ordinance. So they struck a deal with the liquor industry: if they moved out of downtown, they could have free rein in South Dallas. Not in North Dallas where white people lived, but in South Dallas where black people lived.
    "At the time, South Dallas was a thriving community of small businesses and families living in neat homes. Today, there are three hundred liquor stores in South Dallas—twenty-five stores per square mile—and South Dallas is a community of drunks, drug dealers, addicts, hookers, crack houses, and crime. And citizens are prisoners in their own homes, hiding behind burglar bars. There are no grocery stores, no shopping centers, no Starbucks in South Dallas. There is only liquor and hopelessness. That is the reality people in South Dallas live with every day. Those businessmen changed the image but not the reality of Dallas.
    "But you can. You can change that reality today. You can get rid of the liquor and give the people of South Dallas hope. Right here and right now, you have the power to change Dallas.
    "Those liquor stores are grandfathered under the zoning ordinance, just as they were in downtown. The only way to get them out of South Dallas is to buy them out—at a cost of one hundred million dollars. The city leaders say they want to redevelop South Dallas, but they just can't afford that price tag. It's the economy, they say. Of course, the city can afford billions for a convention center hotel, for the basketball arena, for the Trinity River project, for everything North Dallas wants, but they can't afford to get rid of liquor stores in South Dallas.
    "One million people live in Dallas. One hundred million dollars comes to one hundred dollars per person. That's all. One hundred dollars per person gets rid of every liquor store in South Dallas. One hundred dollars gets rid of the drunks and dealers and addicts and hookers and crack houses and crime. One hundred dollars frees the citizens of South Dallas from their prisons, allows them to remove the burglar bars from their homes and to rebuild their community. One hundred dollars rights this wrong. One hundred dollars, ladies and gentlemen. And you have the power to make it happen."
    Scott spread his arms out to the courtroom like a televangelist at his podium.
    "This is where regular people like you have power. This is where people like you can change things. This is where real change in America happens, in courtrooms just like this all across the country, by juries just like you. Juries that stood up to the tobacco companies and the drug companies and Wall Street and even their own government. Juries that had the guts to do the right thing. Juries that changed America and made our lives better. Juries just like you.
    "This is your chance to change Dallas."
    They didn't take the chance. An hour later—barely enough time for the jurors to go to the restroom, eat lunch, and take a single vote—the jury returned a nine-to-three verdict in favor of the City of Dallas. Nine whites versus three minorities. North