Life 2.0
Copyright© 2026 by Megumi Kashuahara
Chapter 13
Week 19, Day 133: Meeting Paul Nakamura
Monday during lunch, Ji-Eun took the elevator from the twelfth floor to the fifteenth. Her stomach churned the entire ride up. Firing Michael over email was one thing. Committing to a lawsuit that could take years was something else entirely.
Brent met her in the lobby of his firm—sleeker than hers, more expensive art on the walls, the kind of place that screamed “we win big cases.” Or we charge enough to afford this, Ji-Eun thought.
“You okay?” Brent asked quietly.
“Nervous.”
“Paul’s good. Just be honest with him.”
A receptionist led them down a hallway to a corner office. Floor-to-ceiling windows overlooked the Manhattan skyline, the kind of view that cost millions in real estate. Paul Nakamura stood from behind a massive desk—grey hair, sharp eyes, expensive suit that fit too well to be off-the-rack.
“Ms. Park.” His handshake was firm, assessing. “Brent. Have a seat.”
Ji-Eun sat in one of the leather chairs facing his desk. Brent took the other. Paul pulled out a file—thick, already well-organized—and opened his laptop.
“I’ve been reviewing your case since Brent sent me the initial information Friday.” Paul turned his laptop screen toward them. “Let’s start with what we know. You were struck by Daniel Matthews on March 15th. Police report confirms he was legally intoxicated—BAC of 0.14. He ran a red light. You sustained catastrophic injury requiring below-knee amputation. Is that accurate?”
“Yes,” Ji-Eun said.
“Your previous attorney, Michael Chen, advised you to settle for $500,000 from Matthews’s insurance policy. You declined after Brent did independent research on Matthews’s financial situation.” Paul pulled up a document. “This is what Brent found. What did Michael tell you Matthews was worth?”
“About six million dollars.”
“He lied.” Paul turned the screen fully toward her. “This is Daniel Matthews’s actual financial profile.”
Ji-Eun leaned forward. The document was dense—SEC filings, real estate records, investment disclosures. But one number at the top was impossible to miss:
Estimated Net Worth: $125,000,000
Her breath caught. “That’s—”
“Twenty times what Michael told you.” Paul scrolled down. “Matthews is a senior managing director at Goldman Sachs. He’s been with them eighteen years. Made partner seven years ago. His annual compensation last year was $12.4 million—base salary plus performance bonuses.”
“Twelve million dollars,” Ji-Eun repeated. “In one year.”
“Correct.” Paul clicked to another section. “Real estate holdings. He owns a townhouse on the Upper East Side—purchased in 2015 for $9.2 million, currently valued at approximately $12 million. Estate in the Hamptons—purchased 2018 for $5.1 million, now worth about $6.5 million. And a condo in Miami—$3.8 million.”
Ji-Eun stared at the properties. Three homes. More than twenty million dollars in real estate alone.
“Investment portfolio is harder to pin down exactly,” Paul continued. “But based on SEC disclosures and what we can see in public records, he’s got at least $90 million in stocks, bonds, and private equity. Probably more that’s shielded in trusts or offshore accounts.”
“So Michael’s six million estimate was—”
“Either gross incompetence or deliberate fraud.” Paul’s voice was hard. “This information is publicly available. Any competent attorney doing basic due diligence would find this in thirty minutes. Either Michael didn’t look, or he looked and hid it from you.”
Ji-Eun’s hands clenched in her lap. “Why would he hide it?”
“Because a defendant worth $125 million changes everything.” Paul leaned back in his chair. “Juries award bigger damages. Settlement negotiations start higher. But getting those bigger awards means work—depositions, expert witnesses, trial preparation. Could take eighteen months, maybe two years. Much easier for Michael to push you toward a quick $500,000 settlement, pocket his $150,000 fee, and move on to the next case.”
“But I would’ve been screwed.”
“Completely.” Paul pulled up another document. “Brent sent me your medical records and the life care plan Dr. Wong prepared. Have you reviewed this?”
“Yes. $2.8 million in projected lifetime costs.”
“Which doesn’t include potential complications, doesn’t account for prosthetic technology becoming more expensive, and assumes you live to exactly 81 years old. It’s conservative.” Paul scrolled through the report. “Nineteen prosthetic replacements over your lifetime at current costs. That alone is $1.8 million. Add in liners, sockets, adjustments, therapy, complications—yeah, $2.8 million is reasonable. Could be more.”
Ji-Eun felt the weight of that number settle over her again. Nearly three million dollars. For the rest of her life. Because Matthews drove drunk.
“The insurance settlement already paid $500,000,” Paul said. “Which barely covered your first four months of medical costs. That leaves $2.3 million in future medical needs. The question is: who pays for it?”
“Matthews should,” Brent said quietly.
“Agreed.” Paul closed the laptop, folded his hands on the desk. “Which is why we’re going to sue him personally. Civil lawsuit for gross negligence and reckless endangerment. We’re asking for compensatory damages to cover lifetime medical costs, and we’re asking for punitive damages.”
“What’s the difference?” Ji-Eun asked.
“Compensatory damages compensate you for actual harm. Medical costs, lost wages, pain and suffering. That’s making you whole—or as close to whole as money can get.” Paul pulled out a legal pad, started sketching. “Punitive damages punish the defendant. They’re not about compensating you. They’re about saying ‘your conduct was so egregious, so reckless, that we’re going to hit you where it hurts so you never do this again.’”
“How much can we ask for?”
“In New York, there’s no statutory cap on punitive damages for cases like this. It’s up to the jury.” Paul wrote numbers on the legal pad. “Typically, punitive damages run at a ratio to compensatory. One-to-one, two-to-one, sometimes higher depending on the defendant’s wealth and conduct.”
“What ratio would you argue for?” Brent asked.
“Given Matthews’s net worth and the fact that he drove drunk? I’d ask for five-to-one.” Paul circled a number. “Compensatory damages of $2.3 million times five equals $11.5 million in punitive damages. Total award: $13.8 million.”
Ji-Eun’s vision blurred. Thirteen point eight million dollars. It was incomprehensible.
“That’s what I’d ask a jury for,” Paul clarified. “Settlement would be lower. Matthews will want to avoid trial—juries hate drunk drivers, and seeing a 23-year-old paralegal who lost her leg because a Goldman Sachs director making $12 million a year decided to drive drunk? That’s a nightmare scenario for him. His attorneys will push hard for settlement.”
“What would a settlement look like?” Ji-Eun asked.
“Depends on negotiation. But realistically? I’d expect $5 to $7 million. Maybe higher if we can make him nervous enough about trial.”
“And your fee?”
“Contingency. Thirty-three percent of whatever we recover. If we settle for $6 million, I take $2 million, you get $4 million. If we go to trial and win $13 million, I take roughly $4.3 million, you get $8.7 million.” Paul met her eyes. “If we lose at trial, you pay nothing. I eat all the costs—expert witnesses, court fees, deposition expenses, everything.”
“How much do those costs run?”
“For a case like this? Probably $200,000 to $300,000. Maybe more if it goes to trial.” Paul pulled out a contract. “But that’s my risk, not yours. You don’t pay a penny unless we win.”
Ji-Eun looked at Brent. He gave her a slight nod—your choice.
“What are the chances we lose?” she asked Paul.
“Ten percent. Maybe fifteen if Matthews’s team gets lucky with jury selection.” Paul leaned forward. “Here’s why we’ll win. Burden of proof in civil court is fifty-one percent—preponderance of evidence. We just have to show it’s more likely than not that Matthews’s drunk driving caused your injury. That’s easy. Police report confirms he was drunk. Traffic camera footage shows he ran the red light. Medical records confirm catastrophic injury. That’s a slam dunk on liability.”
“What will they argue?”
“That your damages are inflated. That prosthetics will get cheaper in the future. That you’re exaggerating limitations. That $2.8 million is unrealistic.” Paul smiled—sharp, predatory. “And we’ll destroy every one of those arguments. Dr. Wong’s life care plan is bulletproof. She’s testified in dozens of cases. Prosthetic costs are documented. Your medical records don’t lie. A jury will see a young woman whose life was destroyed by a drunk driver worth $125 million, and they’ll make him pay.”
“What do I have to do?” Ji-Eun asked.
“Survive discovery.” Paul’s expression sobered. “Matthews’s attorneys will depose you. Probably six to eight hours of questioning. They’ll ask about your injury, your limitations, your medical history, your work performance. They’ll try to make you look like you’re exaggerating or seeking a windfall. It’s brutal.”
“I’ve already been through one deposition with Michael.”
“This will be worse. Michael was on your side. Matthews’s team will be hostile.” Paul pulled out another document. “They’ll also request medical records, employment records, financial records. Everything about your life becomes discoverable. It’s invasive and exhausting.”
“What else?”
“We’ll depose Matthews. Make him sit across from you and answer questions about his wealth, his drinking, his decision to drive that night. That’s satisfying but also difficult—you’ll have to see him, hear him try to minimize what he did.”
“How long does all this take?”
“Six to nine months for discovery. Then trial prep, jury selection, trial itself. Figure twelve to eighteen months total from filing to resolution.” Paul closed the file. “It’s a long process, Ms. Park. And it will be emotionally draining. You’ll relive the accident over and over. You’ll be questioned and challenged and forced to prove you’re really as injured as you claim. It’s not easy.”
“But at the end?”
“At the end, you’ll have financial security for life. You’ll never worry about affording prosthetics. You’ll never have to beg insurance companies for coverage. And Matthews will face real consequences for destroying your life.” Paul’s voice hardened. “He got eighteen months in criminal court, out in nine with good behavior. That’s not justice. Making him pay millions—that’s justice.”
Ji-Eun sat in silence, processing. Eighteen months of legal battle. Depositions, interrogations, reliving trauma. Facing Matthews across a table while he tried to minimize what he’d done. All for a chance at financial security and real accountability.
“What if I can’t do it?” she asked quietly. “What if it’s too hard?”
“Then you walk away. Take the $500,000 insurance settlement, try to make it stretch.” Paul’s tone wasn’t judgmental, just factual. “But in three years when you need your first prosthetic replacement and insurance denies half the cost, you’ll be $40,000 short. In six years, another $40,000 short. Over your lifetime, you’ll pay hundreds of thousands out of pocket. Maybe millions. Because Matthews gets to keep his wealth while you struggle.”
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