From our legal affairs desk comes some breaking news…from the 1700’s. (You’ll need some coffee for this one.)

In 1714, James Annesley was born as the heir of a hugely important English lord, the Earl of Anglesea. However, when he was 12, his father died, and James’ uncle Richard – eager to grab the earldom – had James kidnapped, declared dead, and secretly sent to America as an indentured servant. James endured 12 years as a slave, but then escaped and fled to Philadelphia, and then to Jamaica. There he enlisted in the Royal Navy, and was miraculously recognized by a fellow sailor who turned out to be one of his boyhood friends, who confirmed his identity as James Annesley, and helped him return to England in 1741. (And all THAT is just the unbelievable prologue.)

James went to Scotland, where he mistakenly killed a man in a hunting accident. Whereupon his uncle Richard, now the Earl of Anglesea – having learned of James’ return – had him tried for murder. Richard hired an attorney named Giffards and promised him 10,000 pounds if Giffards could succeed in getting James hanged. But James produced several eyewitnesses who corroborated the accidental shooting, and cleared his name. Whereupon Richard refused to pay Giffards. (And we’re still not to the main event.)

James then sued his uncle Richard for his birthright. In a nutshell, it was a case of who do you believe: Richard claimed James was nothing more than the illegitimate son of the family’s wet-nurse; James in turn had to substantiate his own identity and his tragic life story, and that his uncle – one of the most powerful men in England – was therefore a liar, a kidnapper, and all-around bad guy. (As well as a serial bigamist, just for good measure.)

The case is one of the most noteworthy in legal history. It concerned the ownership of an earldom, and was the single largest estate ever contested in a court of law. It was also the longest trial ever conducted in the British Isles. And it centered around James’ horrific downfall and miraculous return. As a result, it was widely reported and discussed, and ultimately inspired at least five novels. (Including Robert Louis Stevenson’s “Kidnapped.”)

But the most lasting aspect of the case came from a little twist: James’ lawyer had to convince the court that uncle Richard was a VERY bad man. And that in the preceding murder trial, Richard – knowing James’ hunting accident was just that, an accident – had instructed his lawyer Giffards to hire false witnesses to perjure themselves and condemn James as a murderer. And that by doing so, Richard’s promised payment of 10,000 pounds to Giffards to “do anything to get James hanged” was essentially equivalent to attempted murder. (Today we’d call it a hit job.)

Giffards was placed on the stand and questioned about his dealings with Richard. And the court ruled that, since they had been planning the commission of a crime, their communications were NOT covered by client-attorney privilege. And so Giffards was forced to reveal their plot. (And was probably happy to do so, having not received his 10,000 pounds.)

The court ultimately ruled in James’ favor. But before he received his title, he died in 1758, followed by his uncle Richard in 1759. Neither had any legitimate children. Finally, in the 1770’s, a last round of lawsuits revealed Richard’s “irregular and immoral way of life.” At which point, in the most anti-climactic turn imaginable, the House of Lords declared the earldom of Anglesea extinct. (All that for nuthin!)

All of which would have consigned the trial to weird history, except for that little conspiratorial twist. The ruling involving Giffards’ testimony set some important precedents on the limits of client-attorney privilege…which prevent lawyers from using that privilege to conspire criminally with their clients …which have stood the test of time in English common law…which have passed into the United States Code…which includes the Southern District of the State of New York… (which includes the residence and office of an attorney named Michael Cohen.)

All of which created one of the truly bizarre moments in recent history: on April 10^th, 2018, the legal-affairs section of the Twitterverse lit up with references to a precedent set way back in 1743. (It’s the case that shocked the world, inspired novels, initially came to nothing, but ultimately may imperil a sitting U.S. President.)

Lawyers refer to it dryly as Annesley v. Anglesea (1743). (Most everyone else is simply calling it Pretty Deep Sh*t (2018).)