sales operated in competitive markets. The local Bell monopolies would continue to provide a dial tone, serving all long- distance carriers equally; consumers and businesses could buy equip- ment from anybody they chose and plug it into the telephone network, just as they could plug a lamp into the electrical grid; and AT&T, MCI, Sprint, and a host of smaller players would knock themselves out com- peting for people's long-distance business.5 Of course, the idea that these so-called monopoly and competitive market segments would remain forever separate was seriously flawed, as was AT&T's belief that, having shed two-thirds of its assets, 70 percent of its employees, and more than half its revenue, regulators would leave it alone to compete on an equal footing. Both federal and state regulators, who had not been party to the settlement, continued to overestimate AT&T's capacity to absorb pain, subjecting it to unique filing requirements and subsidizing its competitors in the name of protecting "infant industries." The judge supervising the breakup, Harold Greene, had no sooner gaveled the case to a close than the Bell monopolies petitioned to enter the long-distance business. When Greene proved less than enthusiastic about letting monopo- lists into a business that already counted more than 500 competitors, the Bell companies went over his head and took their case to Capitol Hill. Because the breakup had been wildly unpopular with the pub- lic-which, though it liked the lower prices and innovation that the breakup spurred, hated the confusion of dealing with multiple compa- nies and the irritation of telemarketing calls during dinner-the Bell companies found sympathetic ears inside the Beltway. Besides, the only thing Congress loves more than a complicated issue with rich proponents on both sides is stringing such an issue out over several legislative sessions and, especially, elections. By 1994, AT&T's general counsel, John Zeglis, decided that the Bells were gaining the upper hand. Zeglis, a magna cum laude grad