Iglody Law · Prepared for Lee Iglody
You told me what you were looking for in one word, and this whole proposal is built around it. Everything below is priced in the currency you named on our call: hours.
Your first year solo, everybody thought it was just you. It was actually you directing a small army: contract attorneys on the side, Ivy League clerks doing third-year work as students. You handed a file over, said "we need a motion for summary judgment, focus on A, B, and C," and finished work came back for your red pen. You directed, they produced, and the income followed. Your words: those were the glory days. Unlimited people on tap.
Then the army went away, and every job it used to do landed back on one desk.
The reading. The laborious matching of law to facts. The 2 a.m. proofreading. The discovery drafted from scratch every case. The hearings prepped alone. You told me the word you're looking for from AI, and it's the right one: when you have a strength, you magnify it.
This proposal is short on purpose, because you also told me anyone can write 30 pages of slop. Here's the problem, the plan, and two ways to buy it.
Not a metaphor and not another subscription. A working set of AI associates, built one at a time, each trained on your actual practice: your briefs, your standing instructions, your judges, your forms. What you called it on the call is exactly what it is: a little robot employee, a little Elon. Several of them.
They work the way you taught yourself to work (Tap each to learn more).
Reads every production front to back without fatigue, maintains the master chronology and the who-said-what map, and hunts the thing you hunt: "testing the internal consistency of the relative narratives… the dog that didn't bark." Every finding cited to its exact page, so checking it is fast and trusting it is earned. It reads; you judge.
Takes "focus on A, B, and C" and returns a draft that respects your 10-page rule, in your voice because it's trained on your best briefs, with the law-to-facts matching shown so you can check its work. "It is exceedingly difficult and mentally taxing to write 10 pages of brilliant prose." That discipline gets encoded, along with your signature move: fact pattern in, claims plus draft jury instructions plus outline of proof out, so the end of the case is predetermined even when you're tired.
Built the way you described them: one per judge, your two Business Court judges and the district judge you keep drawing, fed their real rulings and your years of orders. "Which of these arguments flies with her" gets answered before you walk in. And the sparring partner rides along: something that knows the file, argues the other side, chases concessions, and attacks your weakest link. Even spin up real time mock arguments (with voice interaction). "all day and all night… I don't take it personally if it's Claude." Honest boundary: pattern-informed sparring from real rulings, a sharper way to prepare, not a crystal ball.
Keeps the database you spec'd yourself on the call: "standard interrogatory, standard request for production, standard request to admit… for breach of fiduciary duty, dissolution, merger, whatever the case may be." Your best sets and the ones worth harvesting, indexed by claim type, drafted in your exact format with your caption block and definitions. Nothing recreated from scratch, nothing lost with a chat session, and it compounds every time you close a case with a set worth banking.
For the ADA volume docket that turned out "effing large. I mean, like, holy moly." This seat gets designed with your daughter, because she knows that workflow and I don't yet: the docket watching, the service, the returns, the repeating paper. Every page still routes through your eyes, because that's the rule and it's also the design. She stops being the system ("she is basically my AI at the moment") and starts running one.
Two things make these better than the army you had. You told me you'd take reliable over brilliant, because brilliance that doesn't show up is worthless; these show up every day, around the clock, on holidays, from your phone. And unlike every clerk you ever trained, they get smarter every month, because the AI brains underneath keep improving and the training SOPs we give them compound, they also never walk out the door.
You gave me the other frame that matters: off the rack or bespoke. The platforms are off the rack, cut for the average firm; you sat through their pitches and passed, and the man at CodeX who could afford all of them told you why: he does it all with Claude. Your clerks are bespoke. When Claude told you "this doesn't sound like you," you saw the power in that. That's the thread the whole wardrobe gets cut from.
As important as what we will build, we'll be clear on what we definitely won't build: nothing that touches strategy, the malfeasance-versus-nonfeasance calls, talking to a jury, or your eyes on the page. "No Claude is going to substitute for me on that." Correct, and nothing here tries. I'm also not touching the case reading you love. The clerks take the burden; the judgment, the wins, and the reading you'd do for fun stay yours.
The AI Personal Trainer offer I mentioned that I run with Kyle:
Two 45-minute working sessions a month on your screen, messages anytime in between. We build the clerks together, and you learn the craft as we go: how to train them, direct them, check them, tighten them. You develop the skill yourself, which you told me is where you're headed ("once I ramp to a certain point, I'll be programming right alongside you").
This path takes you there. Honest trade: it moves at the speed of your calendar, and you're in court almost every day, so the clerks arrive over months, not weeks. Cheaper, slower, but the skill is permanently yours.
Cancel any month.
We build the job description together, then out comes a new clerk.
What you get:
You gave me the yardstick yourself: an employee getting paid $50 an hour should make you two to three hundred. So hold this to that standard. One junior associate runs $150,000 to $200,000 a year before recruiting, training, and the risk that the brilliant one flakes. Path two is $30,000 to $60,000 for a set of specialized clerks that don't sleep, don't quit, and improve monthly. And the return side: I'm guessing your time is worth $500 an hour (correct me if I'm off), if it works and we get rolling, I think a good target is to aim for ten hours a week back to you. Roughly $20,000 a month of time you can leverage higher.
I recommend either path starts as a two-month pilot so we can see the results. We count the hours in the monthly scorecard, and at the end of month two we look at it together and decide: continue, or stop. If it stops, you keep everything built to that point.
Path two. Not because it's the bigger number, but because of what you told me: you're slow to start and you're in court almost every day. Path one's only real discount is that you pay with calendar instead of cash, and every month of calendar costs you the ten hours a week you're not getting back yet. Path two has a clerk reading your record by week two. If what you want most is the skill in your own hands, path one is real, I run it happily with Kyle, and you can switch down to it once the bench exists. But you asked me to quote you leverage, and path two is the lever.
Two 45-minute sessions a month plus messages anytime. The clerks arrive over months; the skill stays with you. Cancel any month.
Clerks working in month one. One hour a week of your time. Claude plans, tools, and security included. Settles to $1,500/month hosting, maintenance, and support once the bench is built.
The next step is another quick call. Answer any questions and you pick which option is best for you.
You can book that call whenever is best for you here: https://calendly.com/james-bluebridgelogic/short-chat
You told me the CodeX story: the man who could afford every big platform tested them and decided he could do it all with Claude. I didn't take that on faith, and you shouldn't take my proposal on faith either. I checked roughly sixty tools against your specific week before writing a word of this. Here's the rack, so you can see the bespoke suit was cut with the alternatives on the table. A handful earn a place as equipment your clerks will use (marked hired); the rest, here's why they lost.
One warning about the cheap end of the rack before the list. A low price isn't a reason. Several of these cost less than a lunch and would still cost you, because they're general-purpose: they don't know your practice, and each one adds another app, another login, another place your text lives, and another thing asking for attention. Cheap noise is still noise. The bar isn't price; it's whether a tool removes work without adding management.
That's the rack. The pattern is the one you predicted at CodeX: the tools worth keeping are small, specific, and earn their keep as equipment; the platforms are cut for somebody else's practice; the cheap general-purpose ones mostly add noise. And the thing that actually rebuilds your glory days isn't on a shelf, because it's made of you.
James Hollister is a father of 4 girls that he is raising with his wife in the small town of Duvall WA, just east of Redmond in the hills of the scenic PNW landscape of the Snoqualmie River valley.
He grew up in Las Vegas and fell in love with building software when he was a freshman in high school. He has been trying to solve problems for people with technology for over 20 years. Most of his early career was working with small businesses as he learned his craft and worked his way through university at UNLV. More recently he joined big tech when he moved his family to the Seattle area.
His experience with machine learning and AI is diverse. His first encounter with Large Language Models was with OpenAI's GPT 2 while working at Microsoft in 2020 within their Teams chat bot division. He then got to apply ML to predicting trucking rates while working within Uber's Freight logistics organization. More recently he moved to Amazon to help build their satellite internet offering and used machine learning to understand how to build and operate a fleet of thousands of low earth orbit satellites. He now builds agentic AI systems to help operate Amazon.com's massive fulfillment network.
As the developments within AI continue to accelerate he saw the enormous opportunity to help the millions of small and medium sized businesses adopt and adapt to this new world. Big tech no longer feels like the right place for him to make an impact. So he's hanging up a shingle and is excited to talk to anyone that is feeling left behind when it comes to AI. He hopes to build a practice doing this, similar to Lee's, where reputation does the marketing and the people he's served keep sending him the next ones.
The company he's starting is called Blue Bridge Logic. A nod to the Novelty Hill bridge he crosses every day as he leaves to commute into the city and the one which welcomes him home to the small town community he loves. That's the kind of attention he intends to bring to your practice.