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Printed in the United States of America. All rights reserved under International Copyright Law. Contents
and/or cover may not be reproduced in whole or in part in any form without the express written
Published in Boise, Idaho by Russell Media
Manuscript prepared by Rick Killian, Killian Creative, Boulder, Colorado.
All Scripture quotations are taken from the New American Standard Bible
Copyright 1960, 1962, 1963, 1968, 1971, 1972, 1973, 1975, 1977, 1995
by The Lockman Foundation. Used by permission. www.Lockman.org
21 20 19 18 17 16 15 14 13 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12
Turning actual events into a concise narrative involves challenges.
How do you keep readers interested while presenting a multitude
of details? What is needed and what should be excluded from
roughly 2,000 pages of court testimony and documents? Can sworn
testimony be edited and summarized without compromising the
facts? Will compressing the timing of events skew what actually
happened? Just how much can be changed and the story still be
With these questions in mind, the following story is presented,
to the best of our ability, to be true to the events surrounding
the case of Dotson vs. Pfi zer
that was tried before a Federal Court
in May 2006. Names have been changed to protect privacy.
Summaries of court proceedings and repetitive testimony have
been condensed to propel the narrative while preserving the
trial’s essential elements, adhering to facts, and doing our best to
maintain an honest, objective perspective. Some lines of argument
that, in our opinion, added nothing to the case or the story have
At the same time, this gripping personal experience refl ects a
transformative shift in American social culture—one that holds
great signifi cance—now and for the future. Thus we have done
what we can to preserve its integrity. It is truly a story that needs
to be told with as much fi delity to the facts and events as possible.
With these considerations in mind, we humbly submit that:
THE FOLLOWING NARRATIVE IS
BASED ON A TRUE STORY.
I dedicate this book to my precious daughter Lillian Aselya.
You helped me understand the important lessons in life regarding faith
and family. We are honored to have you as a member of our family.
To my wife Ann and our children Hillary, Bennett, and Hunter,
your willingness to sacrifi ce for the truth and the courage and faith you
displayed are an inspiration to me.
Thanks to my “trusted truth tellers,” close friends who love me enough to
say the hard things: Paul, Scott, Dave, Chris, Geoff, and Steve.
Rick Killian, your gifts in helping me craft the story were invaluable
and Barbie Burgess, your help with the early manuscript was crucial.
The Dotson Family hopes this book will encourage others to consider the
PROLOGUE | 1
CHAPTER ONE | 5
CHAPTER TWO | 9
CHAPTER THREE | 19
CHAPTER FOUR | 31
CHAPTER FIVE | 41
CHAPTER SIX | 51
CHAPTER SEVEN | 63
CHAPTER EIGHT | 73
CHAPTER NINE | 87
CHAPTER TEN | 99
CHAPTER ELEVEN | 109
CHAPTER TWELVE | 123
CHAPTER THRTEEN | 135
CHAPTER FOURTEEN | 143
CHAPTER FIFTEEN | 155
CHAPTER SIXTEEN | 163
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN | 171
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN | 181
CHAPTER NINTEEN | 191
CHAPTER TWENTY | 205
CHAPTER TWENTY ONE | 211
CHAPTER TWENTY TWO | 225
CHAPTER TWENTY THREE | 235
CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR | 243
CHAPTER TWENTY FIVE | 259
CHAPTER TWENTY SIX | 269
CHAPTER TWENTY SEVEN | 287
CHAPTER TWENTY EIGHT | 303
CHAPTER TWENTY NINE | 315
CHAPTER THIRTY | 323
CHAPTER THIRTY ONE | 337
CHAPTER THIRTY TWO | 351
CHAPTER THIRTY THREE | 363
CHAPTER THIRTY FOUR | 375
CHAPTER THIRTY FIVE | 385
CHAPTER THIRTY SIX | 393
EPILOGUE | 401
FINAL THOUGHTS | 416
As I sat at the plaintiff ’s desk awaiting the jury’s verdict, I took
out a legal pad, fl ipped past my notes and found a blank page.
While everything was still fresh in my mind, I began a letter to
my three-and-a-half-year-old daughter Aselya. I knew one day
she’d have a fl ood of questions about her adoption—and how
something so wonderful could have shaken our family to its very
core. Who could have thought that her arrival would be the fi rst
domino in a cascade that led to this courtroom where our future
and my reputation were about to be determined? But there would
be other questions—questions about the events that changed our
family forever. I knew there was no better time to capture my
responses to those questions than now, probably just moments
As I write this, I sit at a very large wooden table, with my
three attorneys, facing a U.S. Federal Judge. I am just ten feet
away from the jury box where, any moment now, the verdict I
have fought for two-and-a-half years to hear will be rendered.
Despite my former employer’s relentless efforts to prevent this
case from going to trial, I am thankful for the opportunity to
present the facts in a court of law and for the decision to rest in
the hands of a jury of my peers. No one, including my attorneys,
thought things would go this far, but they did. It made no
practical sense that my former employer, Pfi zer Pharmaceuticals,
would allow the case to go on this long, let alone get to trial.
They have fought us tooth and nail every step of the way.
But even giants don’t have the right to twist the truth and
get away with whatever they want. Someone has to stand up to
them, and that was my and your mom’s goal from the beginning.
While my termination was intended to hurt me, looking back,
I see it was used for good. I lost my career, but I reconnected
with my heart. I regained my family and each of us developed
an inner strength to sustain us regardless of life’s circumstances.
This diffi cult journey helped me realize that what my family
needed most was “me” not the “stuff” I worked so hard to
provide. You and your brothers and sister needed love, time, and
encouragement to thrive and grow into healthy confi dent young
men and women—because of that, despite the hardships, I am
thankful for this journey. It has not been easy, but neither has
Regardless of the jury’s coming verdict, your mom and I want
you to know that there is no regret regarding the journey we
experienced leading to your arrival. It is such a small price to
pay for what you mean to our family. These events represent
a badge of honor I will proudly display whenever I am given
the opportunity to defend the actions I took surrounding your
adoption. Pfi zer can take my job, our home, our possessions,
and standard of living, but nothing can take that which matters
most: our love for you and a new level of understanding and
appreciation for what it means to be a family.
Each day of the two-and-a-half year journey from my
termination to today has brought me pride and honor to fi ght
for you, Lillian Aselya Dotson, and to see that the truth of
your story is told. One of the greatest privileges of my life
was bringing you into the Dotson family, and I will never let
anyone tarnish the memories of what brought that about. I am
a different man because you are my daughter—a better man,
regardless of the outcome of this trial. I am thankful for every
moment you have been with us, no matter the cost.
At the sound of a door opening, I looked up. A man entered
and handed the court clerk a note. The jury had reached a verdict.
It was late in the afternoon—5:14 pm by the clock on the wall.
The courtroom was almost empty as many had already headed
out to get a jump on their Memorial Day weekend. My whole
legal team, my wife Ann, and our supportive friends remained, but
Pfi zer’s counsel had just kept a skeleton crew. Life continued for
the rest of the world, even though it stood still for my family and
Looking at the clock again, I calculated the minutes. The jury
had only been deliberating fi ve hours. What had my lawyers said
about that? A short deliberation usually went to the plaintiff? Or
was it to the defendants? My mind was a fog. I would know soon
enough. This case had never been about playing the odds anyway;
it was about telling the truth as best I could.
Judge Britt returned to the courtroom and called for the jury.
They fi led in and took their places. The foreman handed the
verdict to the clerk, who crossed the courtroom to Judge Britt. A
My mind raced. I thought, Is this fi nally it?
In a matter of seconds,
the labyrinth of triumph, deception, and painful realization that
I’d traveled for the last two decades would be over.
May 11, 2006
Trial: Day One
I had a very strange feeling as I walked the three blocks from
where I had found free parking toward the Federal Courthouse
in downtown Raleigh. Just a few years ago, I would have thought
nothing to have the car valeted, slipping the carhop an extra ten to
see it was better cared for. Now I was just glad to have found free
parking so close. Things had certainly changed.
Upon arrival at the marble steps of the courthouse, I paced back
and forth along the sidewalk waiting for my attorneys. I must have
stuck out as everyone around me bee-lined for work. I folded my
arms against the morning’s fading chill and nervously fi ngered the
darning thread camoufl aging a moth hole in the forearm of my
Armani suit. I looked at my watch again—I was twenty minutes
As I waited for my attorneys, I was struck by an eerie sense of
. My mind fl ashed back to October 17, 2003, when I paced
like this in front of a courthouse in Saratov, Russia with my wife,
Ann. We were waiting for the judge’s decision on our adoption
of a thirteen-month-old orphan named Aselya. Too restless to sit
still, we had wandered to the park near the courthouse. Tiny snow
fl urries started falling against a sunny backdrop. Ann and I strolled
arm-in-arm, praying and hoping—giddy with excitement and
dreading further delay before we could take our sick daughter
home. We felt as if the entire world lay before us. I had a great
career with the world’s largest pharmaceutical company, Pfi zer,
Incorporated. I enjoyed great benefi ts and a hefty salary. We were
on the verge of completing a family dream. For the last two years
we’d wanted to adopt a daughter. We trusted that in just a matter
of days we would be returning to the United States with Aselya.
Our family would be complete. It was a great time of hope and
Within less than two weeks all of that changed.
The arrival of Bill Barrett and Josh Krasner, the top members of
my legal team, jarred me from my reverie. Shaking hands, we all
greeted one another, brimming with anticipation for what would
begin in just a matter of minutes—something we had fought delay
We checked through security just inside the front door, and an
offi cer gave us directions to the elevators, instructing us to go up
to the third fl oor, courtroom number four, where Judge Earl Britt
presided. Our steps echoed on the marble of the courthouse’s vast
lobby. None of us spoke above a whisper as we made our way to
The courtroom, with its dark wood paneling and red carpet,
was a decisive place—a room for argument, debate, and ultimately
judgment. We moved by the spectators’ seats, passed through the
gate separating participants from observers, and arranged our
things on the table to the right of the judge’s bench—the place
designated for the plaintiffs in civil cases. To our right the jury box
sat empty. I looked at the vacant chairs trying to remember each
of the twelve faces selected earlier in the week to decide my case.
My gaze turned to the witness stand with its solitary black
leather chair and wooden table—bare except for a microphone.
This is where I would spend most of the next two or three days as
the fi rst witness against my former employer.
Bill Barrett had informed me that when not testifying, I would
sit in the chair closest to the jury. The jurors’ eyes would be on me
constantly. He suggested that I avoid direct eye contact with any of
them, and keep my emotions and expressions in check. For a man
who generally wears his heart on his sleeve, this would not be easy.
The empty room was soon transformed with a bustle of activity.
Pfi zer’s lead attorney Felix Price and his team arrived and set
themselves up at the defendant’s table to our left. The court clerk
stood to quiet the room and then announced, “All rise.” Judge W.
Earl Britt entered and took his seat. According to Bill, the man
presiding over my destiny was a recently retired federal judge—a
Jimmy Carter nominee, confi rmed in 1980—with a no-nonsense
reputation. He was working part time to help ease this district’s
backlog of cases. Federal judges serve life terms. This meant Earl
As he had during the previous days of jury selection, the judge
got quickly to business, working through a number of questions
about evidence and the proceeding for the next few days. Once
done with that, he called for the jury and the court clerk empaneled
them. The case of Jim Dotson vs. Pfi zer, Incorporated
, a civil suit for
wrongful termination, was ready to begin.
“Members of the jury,” Judge Britt began, “now that you have
been sworn, I want to give you some preliminary instructions.”
As Judge Britt began his directives for the jury, I thought back
to what had brought us here. For fi fteen years Pfi zer’s best interests
had been my own. The company was the focal point of my life.
I assumed I’d retire as a Pfi zer executive. Never could I have
imagined I would be sitting on the other side of the aisle from
Pfi zer representatives opposing them in a court of law.
The tension in the air reminded me of another day—one forever
November 11, 2003
As I got settled into my bright-red Chevrolet Trailblazer that
morning, I found a yellow sticky note from Ann attached to
the steering wheel: “I am praying for you today and I love you.” It
made me smile even as a lump formed in my throat. I took it from
the steering wheel and placed it on top of my portfolio of papers
and notes for the day, started the car, and made my way down our
As the engine roared to life accelerating onto the highway, I
once again felt the thrill of being behind the wheel of one of
Pfi zer’s prestige company vehicles. It had been awarded to me
the year before because I’d fi nished among the top ten percent of
Pfi zer’s Regional Sales Managers. It was a constant reminder of
how good life had been over the past fi fteen years of working for
the greatest pharmaceutical company in the world.
Glancing down at Ann’s note again, however, gave me pause.
Things were different now, and this note was just another proof
of that. Ann wasn’t a big note writer. In our seventeen years of
marriage, this was one of roughly a handful she had left for me. I
felt warmed by her intent, but at the same time I realized it meant
she was sensing the pressure I had been trying not to bring home
All the hours I had spent away from my family over the years to
—this car, vacations at fi ve-star resorts, bonuses—carried
a different weight with me now than they ever had before. Life
was different; I had a new perspective. I wasn’t sure if it was the
fi nalization of Aselya’s adoption that had caused this change, though
that had certainly been a big part of it. There were now six of us;
we were “complete.” With that, family was taking greater priority
in my life. It wasn’t that my drive to be a good “breadwinner” for
my family had changed, but life experience had taught me to put
the sales rankings in perspective. I was working my way towards a
healthier balance between Pfi zer and home. The future ahead was
At the same time, I didn’t really have time to think about all of
that at the moment. The next several weeks wouldn’t be about
balance, they would be about getting things back on track at work.
In fi nalizing the adoption, I’d been gone more than three of the
last fi ve weeks traveling twice to Russia and back. With Aselya
now home with us and the mountains of adoption paperwork and
bureaucracy fi nally behind us; I had ground to make up. Nothing I
couldn’t do, though, I knew. Nothing I hadn’t done before.
Still, I was stressed. Though I had been a top producer with
Pfi zer during the last fi fteen years, things where changing almost
too rapidly to keep up with at work, let alone with all the extra
Just six months ago, we’d moved back to North Carolina where
we wanted to raise our family. That put me under a new group
of managers who had not grown up in the same Pfi zer culture
as I did—they had come in as the result of corporate take-overs,
mergers, and reorganizational shifts. At the moment, things were
a bit tense with my supervisor Richard Hadley and his superior
Pat McDermott. Despite my best efforts, my absences and the
distractions of the adoption were clearly rubbing my management
Ann knew that Richard would be traveling with me today to a
new client meeting. It was a fi ve-hour round-trip to New Bern
for a thirty-minute call. And even though supervisors typically
spent a day every couple of months with account representatives,
the timing of this ride-along seemed out of place. It was only my
second week back after Aselya’s adoption, and I had lots going on.
I was to meet Richard at a Hardee’s restaurant on the east side of
Raleigh at 8:00 am. He arrived twenty minutes late, left his car in
the parking lot, and hopped into the Trailblazer. As we headed east,
I immediately started briefi ng him on my plans for our meeting.
I was also excited to outline the work I had been doing with a
colleague, Howard Swain, preparing for a high-profi le statewide
health fair for the State Employees Health Plan—Pfi zer’s top
North Carolina account. The State Highway Patrol and Governor
Michael Easley were also involved in what would be one of Pfi zer’s
largest events for our entire region that year. It was sure to generate
signifi cant media coverage. It was also a touchy subject. Just before
my last trip to Russia, the Highway Patrol account—one I had
developed from the ground up to one of our region’s largest—was
transferred from me to Howard to the surprise and confusion of
our entire local team. My involvement with it beyond this event
would be minimal. Yet I wanted to demonstrate to Richard that
I was a team player committed to the health fair’s success even
though it wouldn’t personally benefi t me.
As I spoke, Richard didn’t ask any questions. He just stared out
the window. I provided updates on assignments he and Pat had
given me between my two trips to Russia. He showed no interest.
Then, in the middle of one of my sentences, he said matter-of-
factly, “Oh, by the way, I have to be back in Raleigh at three
o’clock for a meeting. I can’t be late.”
I looked at my watch and quickly calculated driving and meeting
time. I would be rushed. It would be hard to have a thorough
meeting with my new client and be back by three o’clock. Once
again Richard and I were clashing on how things were done “the
Pfi zer way.” I had been trained to believe that customer focus was
a core value—a key to Pfi zer’s success as a Fortune 25 company.
I didn’t want to add to the tension between us, so I smiled and
casually shrugged. “That will make it awfully tight, but I’ll do my
Without responding, Richard looked back out the side window.
We drove the rest of the way in almost complete silence.
As I greeted the client in New Bern, I was back in my element.
The art of the sale and the challenges that go with it are what
always made my work exhilarating. This was a chance to show
Richard why I had done so well over the years.
I couldn’t have asked for things to go more smoothly, either. The
new client was defi nitely on board with the programs and plan I
was presenting. Time fl ew by. Before I knew it, we needed to leave
to make Richard’s three o’clock appointment, but we had just a
few more details to cover to ties things up. I was still under pressure
to perform. I knew headquarters would want me to take the few
extra minutes to make sure everything was in order before we left.
I could drive a little faster, or certainly Richard could justify being
a few minutes late. So I launched wholeheartedly into a discussion
of the critical next step as Richard looked nervously at his watch.
“I’m sorry,” Richard fi nally interrupted. “I have to be back in
Raleigh for a three o’clock meeting. When is the best time to call
I was fl oored, but Richard was the boss. It was very awkward. I
assured my client that I would be following up before the end of
I’d participated in hundreds of fi eld rides over the years and had
even trained managers on how to conduct effective ones. Each
customer was to feel they were the priority of the day. Richard’s
behavior was clearly outside Pfi zer’s traditional playbook.
The trip home was as awkwardly silent as the trip to New Bern
had been. Richard periodically asked if we’d be on time for his
meeting. Every attempt at small talk failed. He mumbled one-
word responses, if anything at all, and eventually I gave up. Richard
was more focused on counting mileage markers than discussing
Pfi zer business or even the modifi cations that had been requested
As we neared our exit, Richard asked, “Um, it’s going to be too
close for me to get my car and still be on time, could you just drive
I steeled myself against the audacity of the request. I was supposed
to sit and wait while he had his meeting and then chauffeur him
back to his car? I pushed back as respectfully as I could, “Richard,
it will take less than fi ve minutes to stop now versus over an hour
backtracking at the end of the day during rush hour. My family is
visiting from out of town to see our new baby and I don’t want to
Thankfully, he relented. “Oh, all right, but let’s make it quick.”
Then he looked at his watch again nervously.
As he got out of my car at the Hardee’s, Richard made another
strange request, “Could you lead me over to the hotel? I am not
sure of the quickest way there and I can’t be late.”
“Let’s roll,” I responded, trying to keep further irritation out of
my voice. I realized I had nothing to gain by resisting again. I grew
increasingly curious about the purpose of his meeting as we drove
We pulled into the parking lot of the Fairfi eld Inn at 2:59 pm.
I waited while Richard parked his car and then I rolled down my
window intending to thank him for the day and then make my
getaway. The brisk air on my face was invigorating after the long
drive. I realized I could now arrive home a bit earlier than I had
previously planned. It would be a nice surprise for my mother and
niece, Emily, who had driven two-hours to Raleigh to spend time
with my wife and children—especially Aselya. They’d only briefl y
Richard approached my car and interrupted my train of thought.
Nervously he said, “Actually, Jim, can you park your car? I need
you to join me for this meeting.” I hoped he didn’t notice my
wince. You’re the boss
, I thought. “Sure,” I tried to smile. “I’ll be
right in. Do I need to bring anything?”
We entered the hotel as the clock ticked to 3:02. Richard paused
briefl y just inside the lobby, looking around. He wouldn’t meet
my gaze and his shoulders drooped as he offered apologetically,
“Jim, I’m really sorry for what’s going to happen. I didn’t plan for
The feeling of trepidation that haunted me after reading Ann’s
warm note that morning returned. I suddenly realized this wasn’t
Richard’s meeting. This meeting was for me. My mind raced. Was
this about the reports that I submitted a few hours late after my
fi rst trip to Russia? Had something gone wrong with one of my
accounts? I was confused. Why all the cloak and dagger to get
me here? Richard had just spent fi ve hours in my car. Why had
he pretended the whole time that this was his meeting? I felt
my whole body tense. I obviously had more to fi x before things
We walked through the small lobby and I quickly noticed Anita
Holland, Pfi zer’s director of Human Resources for the Southeast
Region, and Pat McDermott, my regional manager and Richard’s
supervisor, sitting on couches. They stood as we approached and
my eyes immediately connected with Anita’s as I offered my hand,
“Anita, nice to see you. This is an unexpected surprise.” I tried
to keep my voice steady. Evidently they both had fl own up from
“Jim,” Anita said, taking my hand, but her eyes locked onto
something just over my shoulder. It was all I could do not to
turn to follow her gaze, but my training over the years had taught
me to maintain eye contact, no matter what. Pat’s odd smile sent
shivers down my spine. We exchanged awkward pleasantries. “We
have a conference room reserved in the back. Right this way,” he
motioned and headed down the hallway carrying his black brief
I could hear my heartbeat in my ears. I tried to ignore it.
“So, Anita,” I said, trying to regain some composure, “Looks like
the Tar Heels will be worth watching again this season.” She and I
were both big North Carolina basketball fans. Anita said nothing,
focused straight ahead, and picked up her pace.
Inside the conference room, three black executive chairs were
positioned at the table opposite just one on the other side. Anita
motioned for me to sit in the solitary one. The lump growing in
my throat suddenly felt like a bowling ball. I grew a little short of
What could this be about?
My business plan review meeting had
not gone so well the month before and then I had left almost
immediately to return to Russia for a few weeks to fi nalize
Aselya’s adoption. I knew that had put me further behind on some
things they wanted me to do, but given that they had approved
the vacation time and everything, I fi gured they would give me a
little slack to catch up, at least until the end of the month. I even
took Pfi zer work with me. I worked Saturday and Sunday when I
got back, though there were still changes I needed to make to my
business plan, but that wasn’t due yet either. What had happened
to justify all of this drama? What had I done?
I eased myself into the chair facing the three of them. I realized
my palms were damp as I gripped the faux leather armrests. My
eyes darted between the three. No one returned my gaze. Instead
they focused on extracting papers from their briefcases and
arranging them on the table before them.
I noticed Anita’s and Pat’s stacks appeared to be identical and
freshly organized. Anita looked up, but stared right through
me. Richard opened a black portfolio and began scribbling in
the margins. He clearly wasn’t here to participate. He fi dgeted
nervously as though he was being forced to witness a crime.
Anita nodded to Pat, who was seated in the middle. He situated
his reading glasses on the tip of his nose, picked up the top sheet
of paper, cleared his throat, and began reading as if issuing a press
Your employment with Pfi zer is being terminated immediately
based upon your violation of Pfi zer samples handling policies
and procedures in your action taking Zithromax samples to an
orphanage in Russia where you adopted a child. Your actions
give the appearance of quid pro quo
and put Pfi zer at risk as a
Or at least that is what the paper said when I looked back over
it a few days later. In that moment, I had heard nothing after the
Anatomy of plasmid vectors used in genetic immunizationBrazilian Journal of Medical and Biological Research (1999) 32: 147-153 Main features of DNA-based immunization vectors Departamentos de 1Biologia Geral, 2Microbiologia, and3Bioquímica e Imunologia, Instituto de Ciências Biológicas,Universidade Federal de Minas Gerais, Belo Horizonte, MG, Brasil4Instituto de Investigaciones en Ingenie
Clin Chem Lab Med 2006;44(7):883–887 ᮊ 2006 by Walter de Gruyter • Berlin • New York. DOI 10.1515/CCLM.2006.160 Establishment of detailed reference values for luteinizing hormone, follicle stimulating hormone, estradiol, and progesterone during different phases of the menstrual cycle on the Abbott ARCHITECT ᮋ analyzer Reto Stricker1,*, Raphael Eberhart1, Marie- Normal reproductive