“Much looking forward to sending letters to these f—ers,” he wrote in an email earlier this year.
The law firm he ended up with was ACS Law, run by middle-aged lawyer Andrew Crossley. ACS Law had, after a process of attrition, become one of the only UK firms to engage in such work. Unfortunately for Crossley, mainstream film studios had decided that suing file-sharers brought little apart from negative publicity, and so Crossley was left defending a heap of pornography, some video games, and a few musical tracks.
Crossley parleyed the porn into national celebrity—or perhaps “infamy” would be a better word. Earlier this year, Crossley was excoriated in the House of Lords by Lord Lucas of Crudwell and Dingwall—yes, I know—for what “amounts to blackmail… The cost of defending one of these things is reckoned to be £10,000. You can get away with asking for £500 or £1,000 and be paid on most occasions without any effort having to be made to really establish guilt. It is straightforward legal blackmail.”
Lord Lucas went on to offer an amendment to the (now-passed) Digital Economy Bill, titled “Remedy for groundless threats of copyright infringement proceedings.”
But the Lords were just getting started. Lord Young of Norwood Green likened firms such as ACS Law to “rogue wheel-clampers, if I can use that analogy,” while the Earl of Erroll railed against the way that “ACS Law and others threaten people with huge costs in court unless they roll over and give lots of money up front, so that people end up settling out of court. The problem is the cost of justice, which is a huge block. We have to remember that.”
Lord Clement-Jones also called out Crossley’s work. “Like many noble Lords, I have had an enormous postbag about the activities of this law firm. It is easy to say ‘of certain law firms,’ but this is the only one that I have been written to about… ACS seems to specialize in picking up bogus copyright claims and then harassing innocent householders and demanding £500, £650, or whatever—a round sum, in any event—in order to settle.”
May go for a Lambo or Ferrari. I am so predictable!
That was only the start of Crossley’s problems. In the last 12 months, Crossley has been targeted by the Blackpool municipal government, dogged by journalists, hounded by a major consumer group, and hauled up before the Solicitors Regulation Authority for disciplinary proceedings. Baffled, angry people write his office daily, denying any knowledge of his charges. He has blacklisted his own ex-wife in his e-mail client, demanding that she cut off all contact with him forever. Clients press him to pay up. His own data suppliers are, he fears, out to screw him, and Crossley harbors the suspicion that he could make far more money in America, where fat statutory damage awards mean he could demand even more cash from his targets.
And, just to put a ridiculous cherry atop his plate of problems, the streets department in Westminster, London—where Crossley keeps his office—went after ACS Law because some of their office waste mysteriously “ended up in the public highway.”
“We are a tightly resourced small firm,” Crossley complained as he wheedled the fine in half.
But not that tightly resourced. Crossley bragged over e-mail earlier this year that he “spent much of the weekend looking for a new car. Finances are much better so can put £20-30k down. May go for a Lambo or Ferrari. I am so predictable!” He began looking at new homes, including a gated property with “five double bedrooms, three bathrooms, modern kitchen and four reception rooms.”
Keeping track of all the details might not be Crossley’s strong suit. As he wrote (one assumes in jest) when a dispute about financial issues came up, “I am not an accountant, true. But I am a genius and everything I do is brilliant. You must understand that!”
Read more @ Wired
