For as long as I can remember, lawyers have thrived on mystery. The thick files, the late-night drafting, the endless conferences—it was all part of the performance. Clients never really knew what was happening behind those chambers. They were expected to trust, and to pay.
That theatre is cracking. Today’s client is not impressed by the slow rustle of papers. They want a clean bundle, a subscription, a dashboard that shows whether their matter is moving or stuck. Legal work is no longer about the grand performance; it is about the assembly line. What can be repeated must be repeated, and what can be tracked must be tracked.
This is not the death of law; it is its survival. If the lawyer insists on playing the old magician, he will soon find himself without an audience. The firms that thrive will be the ones that strip away the pretense and say. Here is the service, here is the price, here is the timeline. Nothing more, nothing less.
The irony is delicious. By becoming more mechanical, more like a factory, law might finally become more humane. Clients will no longer live in fear of the unknown bill or the vague assurance. They will see, in plain sight, the progress of their case. Perhaps trust is born not out of grand speeches but out of simple, predictable routines.