(Q).
Yes I had. In a domestic violence case (in which I was the accused, but by God I was innocent) with my ex girlfriend, the lawyer whom I hired and paid his dues, openly played a wheeling and dealing game for two and a half years with the prosecutor and had mercilessly thrown me in front of the prosecutor. My ex girlfriend was sexually abused by her own uncles at the age of 5 to 9, had a lot of illusions and psychological problems, along with Bi-Polar Disorder, however, dispite my requests, she never had ever visited a psychologist or psychiatrist in her then 24 years of lifetime, fearing she would be forced to unveil the uncles’ child sexual abuse act and this would cause her dismissal from her immediate family. Although I mentioned this to my “so called” lawyer, he refused to mention her unstable psychological condition in the court. I believe by doing so, he also committed a crime by preventing a child sexual abuse case go unveiled. After all these and after having me pushed into loosing my otherwise strong case, I was sentenced with restriction order to my own home, loosing all I had paid for it, loosing my stuff inside home, aforced probation and a forced domestic violence course for no good reason, my so called bloody lawyer also sent to the court a paper indicating that I owed to him and never had paid his dues. Disgusting wheeling and dealing quite often happen between such disgusting lawyers and greedy, heartless prosecutors; unfortunately! My psychologist friend at the time said, “If you are in Illinois, in Champaign County and you have a penis, you are already accepted as guilty by birth to start with dude”. They say “Sharks wouldn't attack and eat Lawyers after a ship sunk”. Why? It's professional courtesy! How long was his girlfriend abused  A. 7 years  B. 4 years  C. 10years  D. not enough information
(A).
B


(Q).
Jenny and I were twins, and we were always close growing up despite our very different personalities. Besides a birthday and a couple dead parents, there wasn't much else we shared in common. She was an over-achiever and a bit of a kiss-ass, always trying to make mom and dad proud, which she seemed to pull off with ease. She was the girl in high school who played every sport, joined every club, ran the student council, and somehow still managed to pull A's without breaking a sweat. Intense doesn't even begin to describe her. I could never compete with that, so instead I decided to build an identity for myself as the rebel. Unfortunately, I somehow equated rebelling with turning into a giant asshole. We grew up in a middle-class suburban family. Our father was a teacher and our mother an architect. They were the kind of couple that kept a date night to go dancing every Friday for the 31 years they were married. They died when Jenny and I were twenty-two. We sold the house where we grew up and split the cash; neither of us wanted to set foot in it again. Jenny used the money to pay for her Master's. After school she went to work for James McPherson, one of the most powerful and richest men in the city. Aside from owning the St. Augustine, McPherson had interests in real estate, land development, venture capital, and other things I really should've known more about. The McPherson family was old money here going back to when this valley was nothing but orchards. If I said that at one time or another the McPherson family had owned every single square foot of land in our city, I'd probably be exaggerating - but not much. Jenny ran the McPhersons' charitable foundation, which basically meant that not only did they have so much money that they had to start giving it away, but they even had to hire someone else just to get rid of it for them. What did Jenny do while working for James McPherson  A. Ran the family's charitable foundation.  B. Invested heavily in real estate  C. not enough information  D. Created venture capital opportunities.
(A).
A


(Q).
The parking lot for the Center for Addictions Treatment was in the back of the building, as was the front door. The entrance opened on the only addition to the original farmhouse, a smallish room where the receptionist sat at one of two desks. The area was called the secretarial pod. The entrance to Ray's office, both medication and technician area, was right behind the secretary's desk. To the left was another door, kept closed, which led down the hallway to the client sleeping rooms, the dining room and the kitchen. There was a phone right inside the front door (or the back door, depending upon who you asked). When Ray wanted to smoke, he would lean out the front door, propping it open with his back in such a way that he could see down the hallway if he propped that door open as well and answer the phone should it ring. Smoking was prohibited inside the building, a policy which grew increasingly unpopular with both the staff and the clients as the course of the year wore on. By December, Ray would have to do weekly fire drills around three a.m. as a way of politely reminding his anti-social and policy impaired population that any building more than a century old was actually little more than well formed kindling. After enough of those, any problem he had been having with people smoking in the building usually went away. Given the right incentives, even this population could be relatively self-regulating. The telephone rang before Ray was even half-finished with his cigarette. "Admit it now, Ray." She sounded petulant. "Fine, I admit it. Do I get the booby prize?" "That depends on whether you intended a double entendre or not." "Of course I did." "Then you lose. Get your mind out of the gutter." He took a drag on his cigarette, then made himself sound insulted. "I'm not the one sitting around naked and calling strange men in the middle of the night." Whose office was right behind the secretary's desk?  A. not enough information  B. Ray's  C. the secretary's  D. the receptionist's
(A).

B