Every lawyer builds up a collection of client “wish lists” over the years. Mine recently gained a fine new addition.
Here’s how it went.
The situation: a complex international case. A Russian citizen, permanently residing in Thailand, is pregnant by a German citizen who splits his time between Munich and Phuket.
Background: no registered marriage, a budget of €5,800 a month (villa rental, food, a maternity wardrobe), a scheduled delivery at a private clinic for another €7,000, and a firm intention to “sue in Germany without getting up from the deck chair.”
I suggested starting with a legal audit: the answer here depends not on abstract fairness, but on the actual law of a specific country.
Under the Russian Family Code (Articles 89–90), the right to maintenance before birth belongs only to a spouse or former spouse, and only if the pregnancy began during the marriage. Cohabitation without a registered marriage doesn’t qualify.
But the child’s father is a German citizen. German law (Section 1615l of the Civil Code, the BGB) gives an unmarried mother a right to maintenance too. That right, though, is no blank check for any sum: a German court, like a Russian one, will require proof of genuine need and of both parties’ actual income, rather than simply taking a villa-and-wardrobe budget on faith.
Instead of an audit, the client produced a fresh masterpiece:
“Could you maybe just send a letter for now? I’ll take the full package later, once I’m back at work. How much would it cost if I write the text and you just send it? And how much if you write the text?”
Translated from client-speak into plain language, this asks for three things at once: do the work for a pittance, or on account of some illusory future success; put a lawyer’s signature under a legally worthless “wish” in euros; and be reduced to the role of a courier pressing the “send” button.
This goes beyond a private oddity: it’s a classic marker of disrespect for expert work.
The “Just Send It” Syndrome: Where the Catch Is
Behind the phrase “just send it” there’s almost always an attempt to shift responsibility for an unripe position onto the expert.
A lawyer’s signature is a brand and a personal accountability. By sending a document under my own name, I guarantee that the position has been checked, the legal basis is current, and the practice has been studied. A “raw” letter with a price pulled out of thin air immediately shows the other side its own legal illiteracy, and negotiations proceed from their position of strength.
If someone just needs to send a text they wrote themselves, that doesn’t need a lawyer at all: it can be done for free, from a personal email. But people come to a lawyer anyway, because somewhere, deep down, they know: euro figures with no official backing convince no one. They need someone else’s authority as a shield. They just don’t want to pay for it.
”I’ll Pay You Later”: Why Extending Credit to a Client Is a Professional Sin
Phrases like “once I find work / once I win in court / once business picks up — I’ll pay” are a classic trap. The rescuer instinct kicks in: “this person is struggling, I should help.”
Here it’s worth separating two things.
- A success fee or third-party litigation funding is a working, legal tool: the terms, risks, and payment are all fixed in a contract in advance.
- A promise to pay “someday” with no contract and no structure is just ordinary work on credit.
I’ve already paid my own price for free work: that’s a story worth its own note.
Why this doesn’t work:
- A discounted service isn’t valued. People simply forget about it the next day.
- It’s an illusion of a sale. Whoever stalls on paying for the basic review now will stall when the bill grows into the thousands.
- It steals a resource. Working on credit for a client who devalues expert labor eats into time owed to paying clients, and into the lawyer’s own rest.
Why Only a Written Opinion, and Only Prepaid
Qualified legal help doesn’t tolerate superficiality. People come to me for protection, not guesswork, so there’s only one correct format for a matter like this: a comprehensive written legal opinion.
It has four required parts:
- A budget and claims audit cuts out anything a court will never award, and keeps only what can actually be justified.
- A jurisdiction review compares the risks, timelines, and costs of proceedings in Russia and in Germany.
- An evidence file — a clear checklist of the documents a pre-trial demand needs to carry any weight.
- A roadmap — a step-by-step document bearing my signature that protects against errors and distortions in retelling.
It’s insurance for both sides, and a document I’m personally, professionally, and reputationally accountable for, unlike a voice message that can later be reinterpreted however anyone likes.
How the written format helps when a client arrives with a chatbot answer is covered in the note AI and Lawyers: A Client Arrives With a ChatGPT Answer.
The Main Lesson
If someone tries from the start to talk the price down to the cost of a sheet of paper, asks to have their own thoughts “just sent,” or promises to settle up “someday,” that’s a conversation worth walking away from.
Expertise built over years of practice is sold whole, upfront, or not at all. No budget for a lawyer? Use free legal aid clinics, look for templates online, send the letters yourself.
But if you’ve come for professional expertise, you’re not paying for a letter on letterhead. You’re paying for peace of mind, predictability, and a risk someone has already worked out in advance.