This Bad Boss Dared Jurors to Award Millions to an Employee He’d Demoted and Fired. They Did.
At trial, Henry Reaves said he’d be “the dumbest lawyer in America” to retaliate against a legally savvy employee in the way he was accused of doing.
The jury’s verdict? Yup, Reaves did it.
Reaves had hired Andrea Jaye Mosby — an employment lawyer with decades of experience — to be the “Chief People Officer” at his law firm in Memphis, Tenn. Soon after her arrival, Mosby approached him about possible violations of workplace laws. Instead of engaging, however, Reaves got angry and accused her of being disloyal and a “manipulator,” according to testimony.
Jurors heard that Reaves then stripped Mosby of her title and duties, told her to fire her own mom, and ordered her to work as an intake person to learn how his law firm worked. This “immersion training” lasted just three days before Mosby herself was fired — purportedly for missing a deadline that was set in an email on which it turned out she wasn’t even copied, according to testimony. In total she had worked at Reaves Law Firm for less than a month.
Henry Reaves is our Bad Boss of the Month.
Mosby sued Reaves Law Firm, alleging that her firing was illegal retaliation under multiple laws. In May 2025 a federal jury agreed and awarded her almost $3.3 million, including $2.5 million in punitive damages; the judge later ordered Reaves Law Firm to pay Mosby’s legal fees and costs, too. The case is currently under appeal.
Mosby’s short tenure at Reaves Law Firm was a stark contrast to her previous job, a distinguished 18-year stint at Memphis Light, Gas and Water, first as in-house counsel and then as a human resources leader. Mosby was well-compensated at MLGW, she testified, and she could have retired in a few years. But she itched for a new challenge, and a colleague connected her with Reaves, a local personal injury lawyer who needed help managing HR at his fast-growing practice.
After a couple of talks with Reaves, Mosby was won over. “I believed the story that he told me,” she said at trial. “I believed him when he said he was, you know, a … champion for the downtrodden. … I wanted to work somewhere where I could make a difference. It was time.”
Mosby joined the firm in May 2022, and Reaves had been effusive in his praise of her at an introductory staff meeting.
“I had to get my team also to believe in her,” he told jurors, “and I wanted them to also be comfortable to come to her if they had any type of problems.”
It worked: People started coming to Mosby with problems. And it didn’t go well.
The first issue arose during the interview process for a new attorney. Mosby had asked the male candidate for his salary expectations, according to testimony, but Reaves butted in: “Let’s just cut to the chase. I want you and we are willing to bring you in at $85,000.”
One of the other interviewers took Mosby aside, Mosby testified, and told her that a comparable female attorney at the firm earned far less — a possible discrimination issue. When Mosby informed Reaves, she testified, he said he didn’t care.
“Who have you been talking to?” she told jurors that he asked angrily. “Why are you always telling me what I can’t do?”
Then Mosby raised another issue: She’d been approached by Reaves’ new executive assistant, who believed she was being asked to do inappropriate tasks outside work hours — including work related to a movie Reaves had financed and family tasks assigned to her by Reaves’ wife Neva, who was the firm’s “Chief Experience Officer.”
Mosby’s main concern, she testified: Whether the assistant was legally entitled to overtime for any after-hours work. Again, the discussion didn’t go well.
“It got heated,” Mosby told the court. “He started screaming at me. … I did not feel comfortable.”
Reaves could have responded differently to Mosby’s concerns, jurors heard: As it turned out, some of the information that she’d heard — such as the female attorney’s salary — was wrong. Instead, as he admitted in testimony, Reaves questioned her loyalty.
“I’m not perfect,” Mosby told jurors. “I based my information on what was told to me. … If I’m wrong, then okay, but don’t tell me I’m disloyal because I am advocating” for employees.
At the time, Mosby was struggling in her personal life. She was battling her ex-husband in a “never-ending custody case” and her grandmother — whom Mosby had taken in and cared for — died shortly after she started work at Reaves Law Firm. Mosby grieved at her new job but took time off only to attend the funeral, she testified.
The day after the ceremony, a Saturday, she received an email from Reaves, jurors heard:
“Over the last few weeks it has been glaringly obvious that you will be unable to fulfill the requirements of your position without making a serious investment and learning exactly what we do, how we do it, and why we do it.”
Effective immediately, Reaves said in the email, he would assume Mosby’s HR duties on an interim basis. Meanwhile, Mosby would spend seven months in “immersion training” to learn the ropes at the law firm, an assignment that Reaves had never required another executive to do, Mosby testified.
Her first task: Report to work on the intake team.
Reaves also told Mosby to fire her 70-something mother, whom she had just hired as a part-time recruiter — with the law firm’s full knowledge and permission, Mosby testified.
Plus Mosby was supposed to prepare a transition document. Reaves told other executives that the document would be delivered on Thursday — just three working days later, as Monday was a holiday — but he never informed Mosby of any deadline, she testified.
Mosby didn’t want to be out of a job, she testified, so she showed up for intake work and started knocking off the other items. Nonetheless, on Thursday evening, Mosby received a termination email from Reaves’ wife Neva. Mosby’s failure to deliver the document that day was an “act of insubordination,” the email claimed.
At trial, Reaves testified that Mosby’s firing was his decision. In testimony, both Reaves and his wife listed other reasons why Mosby should have been terminated, including a claim that she had skipped out on intake training — which Mosby strongly denied.
Reaves insisted that none of his actions were retaliatory said that, even in retrospect, he’d fire Mosby again, “One hundred percent, definitely.” The termination was legal, he told jurors.
“An attorney who would illegally fire a labor law employment attorney who has 25 years of litigating for an illegal reason, I think that would be the dumbest lawyer in America,” he told jurors. “I think that would be the dumbest lawyer in America. … Hey, hey, say it. I’m dumb, ain’t I?”
Reaves ended his testimony at trial with a bold invitation to the jury: “It is illegal to retaliate,” he said. “And if the jury feels that I retaliated, I want them to give every single dime that you [Mosby’s attorney] ask them to give.”
In his closing statement, Mosby’s attorney asked the jury to award Mosby three separate amounts that added to $3,274,807.81.
The jury gave her that amount — not just to the dime, but to the penny.
» Read Mosby’s amended complaint
The Employment Law Group® law firm was not involved in Mosby v. Reaves Law Firm PLLC. We select “Bad Boss” cases to illustrate the continuing relevance of employee protection laws for our newsletter’s audience, which includes attorneys and former TELG clients.
Mosby was represented by Donati Law, PLLC in Memphis.
These Bad Bosses Handed Over an Employee’s Job to the Very Person She Complained Was Undermining Her
In 2005, Lauren Pinter-Brown became the first female director of the lymphoma program at the University of California, Los Angeles.
The well-respected scientist’s task was daunting: To revive a faltering program while also teaching at UCLA, seeing patients, and conducting clinical trials. Meanwhile, one of her male colleagues began undermining her and even physically intimidating her while he campaigned for her job, according to court testimony.
When she complained to her supervisors, Dennis Slamon and John Glaspy, they told her that the other doctor’s bad behavior was a symptom of her poor leadership — and then they, too, began to treat her with less respect, she testified.
At one point, Glaspy connected Pinter-Brown with a UCLA doctor who was supposedly designated to field sex-discrimination complaints, but who told her that she had a reputation as “an angry woman” and advised her simply to avoid the problematic colleague, according to testimony.
Slamon and Glaspy also put Pinter-Brown’s academic work under a microscope, she testified, culminating in a year-long suspension for supposed research failings and her removal as program director.
“We don’t want somebody like you to be the face of the UCLA lymphoma program,” Slamon told her, she said in court.
Her replacement? The undermining male doctor.
Pinter-Brown suffered in her reduced role, she testified, feeling depressed and ignored by her bosses. She finally felt compelled to leave UCLA in 2015.
Dennis Slamon and John Glaspy are our Bad Bosses of the Month.
Pinter-Brown filed a complaint against UCLA in California state court, claiming gender-based discrimination and other wrongs. In 2018, a jury awarded her more than $13 million in damages — only for an appeals court to overturn the verdict, saying that the trial judge had shown bias toward Pinter-Brown.
A do-over trial took place in 2024, and this time Pinter-Brown won even more: $14 million. UCLA has said it will appeal.
Until her tainted departure, UCLA had been a force for good in Pinter-Brown’s life. As a kid in junior high and high school in Los Angeles, she hung out on the university’s campus “every weekend,” she testified. She worked as a candy striper at the medical center, helped with lab-rat experiments during college summers, and later went to medical school at UCLA.
Her interest in lymphoma, too, was long-standing. In junior high, she got to know a classmate whose hair was falling out from treatment for a form of the cancer; they stayed friends until he died in his forties.
“I really was puzzled and intrigued … by how that can happen to a kid, and what it was all about,” she told jurors. “It … started my interest in lymphomas and I was only 13.”
By 2005, Pinter-Brown had become an expert in T-cell lymphoma — an aggressive form of the disease — and worked at a medical center affiliated with UCLA, conducting clinical trials and sometimes teaching students at her alma mater. She was an early adviser to several lymphoma foundations, she testified, and was on good terms with the UCLA program’s original director.
The program was a part of UCLA’s hematology-oncology division, overseen by division chief Slamon and assistant chief Glaspy, both cancer doctors. After a period during which the original director moved overseas and the program stagnated, Slamon hired Pinter-Brown to take over.
Pinter-Brown inherited a “ghost town,” she told jurors, and at first, Slamon and Glaspy were impressed by her performance. In court, they described her as professional, diligent, and patient-focused. After long days in the clinic, she’d spend nights evangelizing UCLA’s cancer services to local physicians and sorting through old trials that hadn’t officially been closed, she testified.
But a male colleague in the program, Sven De Vos, soon became a hindrance, initiating long chats with Pinter-Brown during work hours, talking “about nothing” as he “sprawled out” in a chair while her patients waited, she told jurors. When she finally asked him to stop socializing because she didn’t have time, his attitude changed.
“He became very oppositional every time we met as a group,” she testified. “If I had said it was day, he would [say] it was night. He talked over me. He didn’t look at me. … He would get angry and walk around the room. … One time he turned his chair around with his back to me for [a whole] meeting.”
De Vos also failed to follow group decisions, Pinter-Brown testified, and he often committed program resources to new clinical trials without consulting her. After about 18 months on the job, during which she received stellar reviews from her colleagues, Pinter-Brown finally complained to Slamon and Glaspy — saying that she believed De Vos was disrespecting her authority because of her sex, according to testimony.
A UCLA administrative employee who attended many meetings with Slamon and Glaspy agreed with Pinter-Brown. She told jurors that De Vos had openly said he’d never answer to Pinter-Brown; that he was lobbying for Pinter-Brown’s job; and that he seemed both dismissive and angry toward women.
Slamon and Glaspy’s main response, according to testimony: To advise both Pinter-Brown and De Vos to steer clear of each other.
Raising the matter seemed to damage Pinter-Brown’s stature with her bosses. On one occasion, according to court documents, Slamon told her that mutual dislikes are normal and “you just have to suck it up.” During a meeting, according to testimony, Glaspy mouthed to Pinter-Brown, “Everybody hates you.”
Some of Pinter-Brown’s successes went uncelebrated. When a drug that she had championed in trials won approval for use against peripheral T-cell lymphoma, she was “so excited,” she told jurors — yet Slamon didn’t respond to the news at all, while Glaspy curtly replied via email, “Should we care?”
(In court, Glaspy said he didn’t remember the exchange but “it may have been a bad joke.”)
The relationship deteriorated further in 2010, Pinter-Brown testified, when she complained that she was being paid substantially less than her male peers. Slamon and Glaspy said her salary was lower to compensate for an extra nurse practitioner who was needed to handle her heavy patient load, she told jurors — except that, before he hired Pinter-Brown, Slamon had told her that UCLA would cover the cost, she testified.
The following year, Glaspy told De Vos that Pinter-Brown had been complaining about him, according to court documents, and things got even worse.
De Vos chaired a UCLA internal audit committee that began raising concerns about some of Pinter-Brown’s research — which previously had few problems. Although De Vos testified that he believed he “would have” recused himself from any consideration of Pinter-Brown’s work, a witness said he was present for the entire discussion.
The matter escalated to a second UCLA audit committee in which Glaspy played a significant role, according to documents. Meanwhile Pinter-Brown began to feel physically intimidated by De Vos, including an incident during which he yelled and clenched his fists in a “menacing position,” she testified.
“I thought he was going to kill me,” Pinter-Brown told the jury. She ran into an empty room, locked the door, and shoved a chair under the doorknob before starting to sob and shake.
From inside the room, she made several calls before reaching Glaspy, who suggested that she could resign as director and work instead as an individual contributor, she testified — an effective demotion that she rejected. She wanted to lodge a Title IX complaint, she insisted.
Glaspy grudgingly agreed to connect her with the proper person, she testified, and she spoke via phone with an older male cardiologist who mainly told her to go home early. She spent a day writing out a long statement for this cardiologist, who scheduled a longer session to discuss her situation.
This first meeting started confrontationally, she told jurors. The cardiologist opened by saying she had a “rep” at UCLA as an angry woman, she testified, but then he softened and said he’d talk with Slamon and Glaspy and schedule a second session.
The second session started even worse, she testified. “You may be a diva, but you can’t act like that,” the cardiologist said, according to Pinter-Brown. At a later point, the cardiologist held up her statement between two fingers, dropped it into a drawer, and said, “No one needs to know about this,” she testified.
According to testimony, the cardiologist wasn’t a designated Title IX officer for UCLA.
In July 2012, the second auditing committee reached its conclusion: Due to supposed faults in her work, Pinter-Brown’s research privileges were suspended for a year, and she was assigned a mentor — whose conclusion the following year was that Pinter-Brown was “an excellent lymphoma doctor” who was qualified to conduct clinical trials.
Meanwhile, Slamon removed Pinter-Brown as head of the lymphoma program — making his comment about not wanting “somebody like you to be [the program’s] face” — and elevated De Vos, her underminer, in her place, according to testimony.
Dispirited, Pinter-Brown stopped fighting back. On her desk, she told jurors, she kept a framed illustration of how to survive a brown bear attack. It was a reminder, she said, that she needed to “play dead” at work.
“I felt like I was in a hangman’s noose,” she testified. “The more that you struggle, the tighter the noose gets.”
The failed audit and demotion were stains on her record, she told the jury — even though they resulted from an internal UCLA process, not a more-serious FDA audit. It became harder to do research, she said, and she was no longer asked to give lectures.
Ironically, according to testimony, Slamon had himself failed an FDA audit but wasn’t demoted and “never suffered adverse consequences,” in the words of a judge’s opinion.
Pinter-Brown’s thoughts edged toward suicide, she said. After almost 30 years under care for a genetic heart condition, she stopped taking her medication.
“I wanted to die,” she told the jury. “I just wanted to disappear.”
Months at a time passed without her speaking to Slamon — but one day, she testified, she found herself in an elevator with him. She tried to make small talk, she said, but he ignored her except to say, as he exited, “You’re still here?”
Feeling like she had no other option, Pinter-Brown finally resigned. Soon afterward she started a new position at UC Irvine, albeit at a lower salary. She was so damaged by her time at UCLA, her husband testified, that she began to avoid the UCLA campus she had loved all her life — declining even to attend arts events there.
“That was her home,” he told jurors. But “since she left UCLA, she doesn’t want to have anything to do with the place.”
Driving home from UC Irvine one night, Pinter-Brown began sobbing and felt an urge to veer into the median to kill herself, she told the court. She sought psychiatric help, and ultimately was diagnosed with post-traumatic stress disorder, depression, and anxiety — non-economic harms that accounted for a majority of the damages awarded by the 2024 jury, which found that her gender was a “substantial motivating factor” for being illegally pushed out of her UCLA job.
Pinter-Brown’s jury award is being appealed (again) by UCLA, which according to its Web site continues to employ Slamon and Glaspy.
De Vos remains the director of its lymphoma program.
» Read Pinter-Brown’s complaint
» See the bear-safety illustration that Pinter-Brown kept on her desk
The Employment Law Group® law firm was not involved in Pinter-Brown v. Regents of the University of California. We select “Bad Boss” cases to illustrate the continuing relevance of employee protection laws for our newsletter’s audience, which includes attorneys and former TELG clients.
Pinter-Brown was represented by Shegerian & Associates.
This Bad Boss Portrayed Workplace Use of the N-Word as a Big Misunderstanding
[NOTE: This article includes offensive racial terms.]
In 2019, Patricia Holmes was hired as the only Black employee at her office in State College, Pa. Her race quickly became a go-to topic for her white boss, Timothy McCoy — including as an unwelcome punchline, according to court testimony.
When Holmes and her coworkers were testing some N-95 face masks, for example, McCoy laughed out loud at the “ironic” sight of a Black woman donning the white hood that was required for the test. Holmes was appalled that anyone would joke about the Ku Klux Klan, she testified.
McCoy also gossiped with Holmes about his “dark complected” uncle, whom he dubbed “Coonie,” and he tolerated a white co-worker’s vocal complaints that her daughter was expecting an “Oreo baby” by a “deadbeat” Black man, according to testimony.
After being reprimanded for using the N-word in a discussion that was started by McCoy — who said it was all a mixup — the same co-worker taped her own mouth shut in ostentatious protest. When Holmes balked at sitting beside the tape-mouthed co-worker, McCoy accused Holmes of “trying to start trouble,” jurors heard.
A few months later, as Holmes pushed back and McCoy grew increasingly hostile, according to testimony, Holmes resigned.
“I was sick of being treated like that,” she told jurors. “I was sick of being talked to like that. I was done.”
Timothy McCoy is our latest Bad Boss of the Month.
Holmes filed a complaint against her former employer, American HomePatient (AHOM), a provider of home medical equipment, claiming discrimination on the basis of race. A federal jury found for Holmes in April 2024, awarding her $500,000 in compensation and a further $20 million as punishment for AHOM’s failure to prevent or stop the harassment she faced.
In September, a judge reduced those punitive damages to $1 million, citing constitutional limits. Both sides have appealed the outcome.
Holmes began working for AHOM in October 2019. She was 54 years old and a recent Pennsylvania transplant from neighboring New Jersey, where she had worked in customer service jobs since high school — everything from Mary Kay Cosmetics to a Rutgers University lab.
AHOM focused on respiratory home care, providing customers with gear such as CPAP machines, nebulizers, and oxygen tanks. Holmes answered phones at the State College office, handling customer questions, sorting out problems, and helping with orders.
McCoy was Holmes’ boss, the AHOM manager for State College and another office. On just her second day, Holmes witnessed the racially charged tone of his domain — as epitomized by co-worker Beverly Hibbert, whose “Oreo baby” comment came during an official get-to-know-you session.
McCoy’s underwhelming response, Holmes told jurors: “Jeez, Bev.”
Although McCoy claimed at trial that he’d also had an undocumented “verbal consultation” with Hibbert about the slur — and that he heard it from her only once — another co-worker testified that Hibbert talked in racial terms about her grandchild “all the time.”
Meanwhile, McCoy made plenty of his own inappropriate comments at work. When asked about them, one AHOM employee said she scarcely knew “where to even start.”
The KKK allusion came within a month of Holmes’ arrival, according to testimony. Even before the COVID-19 pandemic, AHOM employees were required to wear airtight N-95 masks to protect vulnerable visitors. To check the masks’ fit, a respiratory therapist placed a hood over each employee’s head and sprayed in a scented aerosol.
When it was Holmes’ turn, according to her complaint, McCoy said a co-worker should take a picture. Then, as Holmes returned some paperwork to the tester, she told jurors, she heard her boss laughing aloud.
“It’s ironic to see a white woman putting a … white hood on a Black woman’s head,” she testified that he said. McCoy’s casual invocation of the KKK made her “sick to [her] stomach,” she told jurors, and it still makes her cry when she thinks about it.
A month later came McCoy’s unwelcome ramblings to Holmes about his dark-skinned uncle, according to testimony — and then, the following March, an explosive conversation linked to Donald Trump, who was then running for reelection as president.
After McCoy identified himself as a Trump supporter, Holmes testified, he somehow segued into asking her whether the N-word was truly offensive or maybe just a descriptive term for Black people.
Holmes testified that McCoy whipped out his phone to make his point, typing N-I-G-E-R into Google — at which point Hibbert, who also had spoken in support of Trump (and who had lamented her grandchild’s race), jumped in to say that McCoy had spelled the word wrong.
“[Hibbert] said, ‘It’s spelled with two Gs,'” Holmes told jurors. “And then she decided to pronounce it to him as if he was a fourth grade student … And she said, ‘It’s nig-gerrr.'”
“That gerrr still rings in my ears to this day,” Holmes testified, shaking as she recalled it. But “Tim bust out laughing, and so did Beverly.”
In court, McCoy said that he remembers things differently. He was actually Googling a mountain in western Pennsylvania that he thought was called Mt. Niger, he claimed — though he agreed that no mountain is so named, and he couldn’t explain how the subject arose.
On the stand, Holmes called McCoy’s account “a blatant lie.” A co-worker agreed at trial that the exchange was all about politics and the N-word.
That day, Holmes told jurors, was “one of the most humiliating days of my life,” and it forever changed how she interacted with white people, including the man she lived with. A co-worker took her outside to calm down after the incident, but when she returned to the office, she testified, Hibbert got back in her face.
McCoy made a wan effort to break things up, Holmes testified, telling both women to “knock it off,” but Holmes decided to go home instead. On her way out, she cursed at Hibbert and called her a racist — an accusation for which McCoy said Holmes should have apologized.
“After somebody just used the [N-word] in front of a Black person, you’re saying that calling them a racist deserves an apology?” Holmes’ lawyer asked McCoy at trial, with a note of incredulity.
The racial slur wasn’t directed at Holmes, McCoy explained, saying that he believed Hibbert “was trying to clarify something.”
Instead of apologizing, Holmes complained. She reported the incident to an AHOM area manager, who issued a written warning to Hibbert — but not yet to McCoy. Shortly afterward, at work, Hibbert made a show of placing neon green tape over her mouth to avoid saying “the wrong thing,” according to testimony.
At a morning “huddle” meeting, McCoy never mentioned the tape on Hibbert’s mouth. Holmes pointedly sat apart from Hibbert, causing McCoy to ask for a word with the Black woman afterward.
“You’re trying to start trouble in here,” he said, Holmes testified.
Holmes came home that day in despair, she told jurors: She cried, threw up twice, and decided to make a fuller complaint to AHOM’s HR department.
After an investigation, Hibbert was fired, while McCoy got a vaguely worded written warning. The racial comments stopped — but McCoy began retaliating against Holmes, she testified.
McCoy didn’t allow her to participate fully in training sessions, she told the court, or to work overtime. His hostility also became physical, she testified; he snatched papers directly out of her hands, making her scared to be alone with him.
“He was obviously blaming me for everything,” Holmes told jurors. She decided to resign.
After leaving AHOM, Holmes also left the state of Pennsylvania; her relationship with the white man had fallen apart. By the time of the trial, she was working for a smoothie company in New York.
Although the jury found McCoy’s behavior to be unlawful — and said that AHOM had been, at a minimum, recklessly indifferent to Holmes’ rights — Judge Matthew Brann chopped the damages award by $19 million on constitutional grounds. Still, he did so grudgingly and called the trial’s outcome “a banquet of consequences” for AHOM.
Holmes is disputing the judge’s huge reduction of her award, but she already has avoided her worst nightmare.
At trial, she testified that she’d had a troubled dream that the jury would “make me go back to work for American HomePatient” — a company that, as she took the stand, still employed Tim McCoy.
» Read Holmes’ complaint
» Read Holmes’ account of the N-word discussion
» Read McCoy’s assertion that the N-word discussion was actually about a Pennsylvania mountain
The Employment Law Group® law firm was not involved in Holmes v. American HomePatient. We select “Bad Boss” cases to illustrate the continuing relevance of employee protection laws for our newsletter’s audience, which includes attorneys and former TELG clients.
Holmes was represented by Bordas and Bordas Attorneys, PLLC.
For This Bad Boss, an Employee’s Accent Spoke Louder Than Her Actions
Luciana Ienciu’s employer told her that she was fired for improper use of sticky notes.
But members of a New Jersey jury saw it differently: It was about Ienciu’s national origin, they concluded, after hearing how her Romanian-inflected speech and writing had irked her boss.
Ienciu worked as a compliance expert for LTS Lohmann Therapy Systems in West Caldwell, N.J., a maker of medical patches and other drug-delivery technologies; her job was to ensure that LTS met standards set by the U.S. Drug Enforcement Agency and other bodies.
Ienciu had spoken English since childhood. After arriving in the U.S. as an adult, she had thrived for years at major drug companies. Still, soon after Sepandad Naraghi became her manager at LTS in late 2015 — just after Ienciu had earned a stellar performance rating and been recommended for promotion — he began mocking her communication skills, according to testimony.
Over the following 18 months, Ienciu said in court filings, Naraghi demeaned her in front of colleagues, sometimes making her cry. He monitored and critiqued the language she used on phone calls and in emails, and he demoted her from a management role she was filling on an interim basis, citing in part her vocabulary.
Finally, after Ienciu used sticky notes to jot down the movement of some drugs because she couldn’t find the proper log sheets — a temporary measure similar to dozens that had happened at LTS without penalty, according to court filings — Naraghi fired the Romanian American for violating company policy.
Sepandad Naraghi is our Bad Boss of the Month.
Ienciu filed a complaint against LTS under New Jersey’s anti-discrimination law, and her case finally reached a month-long trial this year. In early March, a seven-person jury found that Ienciu was wrongfully fired — and that Naraghi had created a hostile work environment based on her Romanian background. Members unanimously awarded Ienciu $1 million in damages.
LTS is contesting the verdict; the judge will hear arguments this month.
Born and raised in Romania, Ienciu began speaking English as a second grader. The language became essential to her progress, helping her to teach international students at a Romanian university where she was a graduate student in chemical engineering. She published her thesis and other academic articles in English.
In 2000, Ienciu and her husband immigrated to the United States, where she completed certificate programs at the prestigious Stevens Institute of Technology. Though she had an accent, Ienciu was fluent. She tutored U.S. graduate students through English, and she built her career at medical companies including Purdue Pharma and GE Healthcare without drawing any criticism for her language skills, according to court documents.
At first there was no problem at LTS either. The company hired Ienciu in 2012 as a supervisor in the department that handled DEA compliance, where she quickly exceeded expectations. In 2013, she earned an “outstanding” rating for her communication skills, according to court documents.
The following year a supervisor called Ienciu a “tremendous asset,” and in early 2015 she was named as the department’s acting associate director, earning her a pay bump and an office. She soon led a successful reorganization, according to her vice-president at the time, who gave Ienciu his highest performance rating and recommended her for a permanent promotion, according to documents.
Then, at the end of 2015, Naraghi took over as her boss. He had no direct experience with DEA compliance, according to his own testimony.
Ienciu and Naraghi had been colleagues at a previous company, but their history didn’t help. Almost immediately, Ienciu told the court, Naraghi began to criticize her accent and vocabulary.
“Since the day he started, he made me feel very uncomfortable,” she said in a deposition. “He was making fun of my language [and] questioning my ability to communicate in English.”
In court documents, Ienciu said that Naraghi played confused when she spoke, and often asked her to repeat sentences. He insisted on joining phone calls with the DEA — to “evaluate” her communication, she said, although he claimed otherwise at trial — and hovered over her as she composed emails, despite having gotten no complaints about her language. To the court, Naraghi admitted critiquing Ienciu’s “phrasing” and “clarity,” but denied it was about her origin or her accent.
Early in 2016, Naraghi told Ienciu that he planned to remove her as the acting associate director and to hire someone else into the slot permanently. According to Ienciu, who was bitterly disappointed, her boss explained that he needed to find someone with better “regulatory language.”
In the end, however, Naraghi promoted an LTS employee with little direct experience in the primary regulatory work of his department, according to his own testimony.
Ienciu’s demotion was a career blow: Once it took effect, she returned to her former title of supervisor, her salary was reduced, and she lost her office, according to court documents. Yet she kept most of her responsibilities, she testified, and even picked up a new one — working on LTS drug labeling.
Before her replacement took charge, Ienciu had helped to prepare her department for a DEA audit. According to an email sent by Naraghi, the government’s lead auditor singled out the soon-to-be-sidelined Ienciu for praise, saying that “of all the pharmaceutical and chemical companies he has audited, the LTS systems are the best he has seen.”
Yet Ienciu’s 2016 performance review rated her as only a “2,” two levels below the highest rating. Although the review was prepared by Ienciu’s successor, Naraghi had supplied much of the wording via a lengthy email that appeared in court documents — and that claimed, among other things, that Ienciu’s flawed communication style “has resulted in [her] losing trust with those she is communicating with.”
Ienciu’s new supervisor copied the rebuke into her review, word for word, despite testifying that she personally had no problem with Ienciu’s communication. At a deposition, Naraghi testified that he had no examples to back up his reproach: It was more of a “feeling,” he said. Asked directly whether he had heard any complaints about Ienciu’s communication skills, he said “No.”
Ienciu flagged the Naraghi-written remarks as unfair, but she also asked for follow-up meetings to track her proficiency, which she said she could “raise to the next level,” according to court documents. No such meetings happened.
And not long afterward came the sticky-note incident.
It happened on a morning when Ienciu was scheduled to attend a training session on the new drug-labeling responsibilities she had assumed. She received an internal request for some fentanyl samples and, despite her impending obligation, Naraghi unexpectedly insisted that she handle the transfer personally, according to documents.
Ienciu complied but found that several of the relevant “chain of custody” forms — a legal requirement when handling controlled substances — were missing. Pressed for time, she jotted data onto sticky notes for later entry in the proper forms. Late entry of drug transfers wasn’t uncommon at LTS, according to court documents, but the use of loose paper such as sticky notes was against internal policy.
After Ienciu’s scheduled training, she was summoned into Naraghi’s office, questioned about the sticky notes, and suspended without pay. She was fired two days later on Naraghi’s authority, despite an intervening email from a DEA official who said that Ienciu’s sticky-note incident was “fine” with the DEA as long she recorded it properly, according to documents.
A subsequent LTS investigation revealed dozens of analogous late entries, most of which had been handled by an Ienciu colleague who wasn’t disciplined, let alone fired, the court heard. That person took over Ienciu’s duties.
Meanwhile, Naraghi testified that he had approved an undocumented drug transfer himself. According to another employee, Naraghi agreed to let an LTS executive “take fentanyl in a suitcase to the airport” without paperwork. Ienciu was the person who identified and halted the error, Naraghi acknowledged; without her intervention he would have exposed LTS to “significant risk,” he said.
The difference between the two incidents, Naraghi testified, was that his own poor judgment was due to a “one-off weird request from my boss.”
“Sometimes people do just make mistakes,” he said — about himself.
» Read Ienciu’s amended complaint
The Employment Law Group® law firm was not involved in Ienciu v. LTS Lohmann Therapy Systems Corp. We select “Bad Boss” cases to illustrate the continuing relevance of employee protection laws for our newsletter’s audience, which includes attorneys and former TELG clients.
Ienciu was represented by Barber Law in Morristown, N.J.
This Bad Boss Bonded with a Sales Star Over Mani-Pedis — But Was It All a Veneer?
At first, Jennifer Harris’ boss at FedEx Corporate Services seemed an ally: The two women swapped tales of their families, hung out at team dinners, and even hit the salon together for manicures and pedicures.
But then Michelle Lamb, the new director of FedEx’s “Longhorn” region in southern Texas, suggested that Ms. Harris — a driven sales manager who had broken college records as a relay sprinter — should consider taking a voluntary demotion because she wasn’t an adequate leader, according to a lawsuit.
As a top performer who had recently helped her boss to win a sales award, Ms. Harris felt “blindsided” by Ms. Lamb, she testified at trial. The only notable difference between her and her peers, as far as she could see, was her skin color: She was the only Black sales manager on the team. Ms. Lamb is white.
Ms. Harris declined to step down and instead asked FedEx to investigate possible bias. Not long after, she started getting discipline from Ms. Lamb — the first-ever demerits of her career, according to testimony.
After raising more concerns, this time about possible retaliation, Ms. Harris was put on a performance improvement plan (PIP) that required her to outperform some white peers who weren’t on PIPs themselves.
Finally, a month after Ms. Harris filed a third internal complaint, her former manicure buddy fired her.
Michelle Lamb is our latest Bad Boss of the Month.
Ms. Harris filed suit against FedEx in federal court, claiming race discrimination and retaliation. In October 2022, after a week-long trial, a jury in Houston found FedEx liable for retaliation and awarded her a whopping $366 million — an amount that may have been the largest-ever such award. FedEx appealed the outcome in February 2023.
By the time Ms. Harris was fired, she had been working for FedEx’s corporate sales organization for more than 12 years. According to testimony at trial, her early days at the company in Irving, Tex., in her second real job out of college, were life-changing.
Both of her parents were educators, Ms. Harris said, so she didn’t have much experience in the corporate world. Two mentors at FedEx took her in hand, teaching her how to remake her image so that she could advance more easily — dressing more sedately, toning down her “rather loud” persona.
“These two ladies saw potential in me, and had the courage to pull me to the side,” she told jurors. “They helped me identify that if I wanted to be able to grow with the company, I have to actually present myself as such — even the simplest things, [like] getting a watch, pearls … Just kind of restructuring.”
Before long Ms. Harris was thriving. At trial, a former co-worker called her “an immensely hard worker” who was so dedicated to FedEx — and even to its favored causes, such as Habitat for Humanity — that she “bled purple,” the shipping giant’s signature color.
Over her tenure, according to testimony, Ms. Harris was promoted six times and was named twice to the President’s Club, an honor reserved for stellar performers who then get to mingle with top execs on a luxury trip. Many FedEx salespeople go their entire careers without even one such award, jurors heard.
Along the way, Ms. Harris was selected for a FedEx leadership program and became a manager. In mid-2017, she was chosen to lead a $60 million district based in Houston, just as Ms. Lamb was tapped to head the parent region. Both women worked in the same building, on the same floor — and Ms. Harris believed she found had a new mentor and role model.
“I was excited to [be] able to learn from someone who was recently promoted into the director role, which I aspired to be,” she told jurors.
The early days were good; this was when they went for manicures together. Ms. Harris’ team initially exceeded their goals, along with several other teams, and helped Ms. Lamb to earn a coveted President’s Club honor.
In fiscal 2019, however, performance was rough across the entire company. Under pressure, the women’s relationship started to fray. Ms. Harris asked for weekly coaching meetings, hoping to tap into her boss’s experience, but was frustrated by a lack of concrete advice, she testified.
Then, in March 2019, came Ms. Lamb’s unexpected suggestion that Ms. Harris should think about dropping her management role, purportedly because of failings as a team coach — and also because her “passion for engaging with customers” might make her happier in a low-ranking role. All of a sudden, Ms. Harris testified, she reevaluated their past interactions and saw patterns she didn’t like, especially in comparison to Ms. Lamb’s treatment of white managers.
Ms. Harris testified, for instance, that Ms. Lamb had previously accused her of not participating in company incentive programs as other managers did — but cited data from before Ms. Harris was even in her position. Ms. Lamb also set unfair hurdles for Ms. Harris’ group by removing a big customer from the district without adjusting sales goals, she said.
Besides, Ms. Harris told jurors, her subordinates gave her high scores as a manager and coach in FedEx’s official surveys. “Statistics demonstrated that I was good at that job,” she testified.
“You’re supposed to be developed by your leader,” Ms. Harris said in court. “That was my goal [in] asking for additional one-on-ones. What I didn’t want is to be harassed in those meetings … There was never any leadership on Michelle Lamb’s part. It was always a beat-down. … All of those things where it’s clear that data demonstrates I am not the lowest, but … she’s belittling me, comparing me to my white peers.”
At trial, Ms. Lamb denied that she had ever treated Ms. Harris differently based on her race.
“It’s disgusting to be referred to as a racist,” she told jurors. “I am not a racist, nor do I associate with people who are.”
FedEx investigated Ms. Harris’ claims of discrimination and didn’t take any action against Ms. Lamb. Likewise at trial, the jury didn’t find enough evidence to prove discrimination.
What happened next, however, would ultimately lead to the nine-figure verdict.
Shortly after the discrimination investigation closed, and barely a year after Ms. Harris’ second President’s Award, Ms. Lamb hit her with a letter of counseling for “unacceptable performance” and a PIP, according to testimony.
Ms. Harris and her team weren’t meeting some goals, according to documents shown in court, but they also were performing better than some other teams under Ms. Lamb — and anyhow, high performers often lagged after an exceptional year, jurors heard.
Asked to explain at trial why Ms. Harris was singled out when several white peers had similar or worse team records, Ms. Lamb cited “leadership deficiencies.” Among the examples she discussed: When excluded by Ms. Lamb from a FedEx training program to “cut costs,” Ms. Harris had paid her own way to attend the session on a vacation day.
“Why aren’t you praising her for that?” asked Ms. Harris’ attorney. Ms. Lamb replied that she was “disappointed that [Ms. Harris] didn’t follow instructions.”
“You have to be capable of leading a team,” she testified, “and you have to be capable of being led. … Jennifer just lacked that ability.”
There were other disputes: Whether Ms. Lamb had reduced the revenue available to Ms. Harris by removing a member from her team; whether Ms. Lamb had shunted a big potential customer away from Ms. Harris. Amid this discord, the former sales star filed another internal complaint, alleging that Ms. Lamb was punishing her for the original discrimination claim.
Just days after the second FedEx probe ended — again to no effect — Ms. Lamb issued a letter of warning to Ms. Harris and put her on another PIP, according to testimony. The new plan required Ms. Harris to deliver a performance equal to the average of her peers, which meant outperforming some district managers who weren’t on PIPs themselves.
The conflict took a toll on Ms. Harris. According to testimony, the former athlete gained weight, developed anxiety, and had trouble sleeping due to “continuous dry heaving” that required medication and a procedure to address a developing hernia.
She filed a final internal complaint in December 2019 and was fired by Ms. Lamb the following month, ending an almost-13-year career at FedEx. Based on documents shown in court, her performance had exceeded several of her peers through much of the contested period.
“I never thought I would ever not work for FedEx,” Ms. Harris told the jury, describing her trauma upon leaving. Even today, she testified, she needs to look away whenever she sees a FedEx truck.
At trial, Ms. Harris’ pastor described her as “emotionally destroyed” by the firing. He saw her break down in tears several times, he said, and described holding her as she sobbed publicly at a birthday celebration in a restaurant.
“I am still worried about her mental state,” he testified.
A unanimous jury found that FedEx retaliated against Ms. Harris because of her claims of discrimination, and that the company didn’t treat her internal complaints in good faith. They awarded her more than $1 million for past and future emotional damage — and because they found FedEx’s behavior in the case to be “reprehensible,” they added a huge $365 million in punitive damages.
The number may have been inspired by Ms. Harris’ attorney, who suggested during his closing argument that punitive damages should send a message based on the overall value of FedEx Corporate Services: The jury awarded Ms. Harris about half the worth of the FedEx unit.
Ms. Lamb still works for FedEx, meanwhile, having been moved into a new position with “a larger [revenue] responsibility” than when she managed Ms. Harris, she testified.
» Read Ms. Harris’ second amended complaint
» Watch a news segment of Ms. Harris speaking with WFAA-TV
The Employment Law Group® law firm was not involved in Harris v. FedEx Corporate Services, Inc. We select “Bad Boss” cases to illustrate the continuing relevance of employee protection laws for our newsletter’s audience, which includes attorneys and former TELG clients.
Ms. Harris was represented by The Sanford Firm in Dallas.
