Big Law (11 page)

“I’m surprised there’s only one of you—there’s a lot of boxes here. I’m pretty sure I told the other girl that on the phone,” the assistant assigned to look after me fussed as he escorted me through the dungeon-like warehouse to the Falcon storage locker. “Sarah, I think
her name was? She said it wouldn’t be a problem, so I figured you guys were sending a whole team.”

I mentally rolled my eyes. Did she also request that I be locked inside the storage locker without food or water? I wouldn’t be surprised.

“Nope, just me.” I tried to muster as much friendliness as I could. Four years of college, three years of law school, and the hardest bar exam in the country and this is where I wound up: in a dreary storage locker somewhere close to the Arctic under the direct orders of a sadist. I tried to channel some positive thoughts, but the best I could come up with was
it can’t get any worse
.

The assistant pulled the sliding door, revealing the contents of the storage locker. Dozens of boxes were piled up high to the ceiling, each covered with sloppy, black marker notations—“November 2013” or “Contracts 2010.” They didn’t even appear to be in any particular order. “Ummm … these don’t all belong to Falcon, do they?”

He nodded. “Yuuuuuup, all Falcon. This just sort of became the repository for the ‘where the hell should we stick this box?’ boxes. I’m not even really sure what we have in here.” His eyes darted around the poorly ventilated locker. “Anyway, let me know if you need anything,” he said empathetically and walked away.

I scanned the multiple piles of disorganized banker’s boxes in disbelief, realizing I’d been wrong. In Biglaw, it can always get worse.

Five days later, boarding the Death Star elevator, two bulging bags in hand, I noticed the grey suit beside me peering at the large bag of M&Ms poking out from under the tissue paper I’d used to hide my wares. I couldn’t fault him for being nosey. He was used to seeing people carrying briefcases or having their arms full of files. He was not used to seeing someone carrying bags full of the contents of an entire hotel mini bar. My suite at the Fairmont Hotel in Edmonton had come complete with a ridiculously overpriced, fully stocked mini bar. While digging into a king sized Toblerone bar and a bag of gummy bears that substituted for dinner the first night, it occurred to me that it would be just one more charge that disappeared in the black hole of my mounting travel expenses. This gave me an idea. I did a quick
calculation of the total cost of the items in the mini bar—$290. A small price for a multibillion dollar client. So, every night when I returned to my room after twelve hours in the storage locker, I emptied everything out and dumped it all in my suitcase. Like magic, the mini bar was fully restocked every day. After ten days I’d built up a fairly substantial stash. And judging from the weight of my bags, a very heavy stash too.

Lucky for me the button for the twenty-seventh floor had been pressed, giving me a chance to readjust the tissue before any more curious eyes got a peek. I needn’t have worried, though. All eyes were already fixed on the flat screen monitor flashing the latest headlines. It had become our only source of news.

“Alec Baldwin to host season finale of Saturday Night Live.” Seconds later, “Earthquake in China kills 1689.” Whoever added those monitors to elevators is a genius. It removes the awkwardness of standing with someone else in silence and staring at the numbers above the doors as if they will do something more exciting than increase in order.

The elevator stopped on the twenty-third floor and three people filed on, balancing trays of food from the cafeteria. I nodded a groggy hello to Maria, Sarah’s secretary, but she avoided my eyes. I’d spoken with Maria many times and she was always friendly, despite the fact that her boss was a witch. Now she was suddenly aloof. Was that pity I detected in her expression? What misery did Sarah have waiting for me? Was she going to send me somewhere else—Siberia perhaps?
You’re being paranoid
, I told myself, but Maria managed to look everywhere except in my direction.

When I stepped off the elevator, I’d worked myself into such a flap that I didn’t notice Jason walking through the glass doors towards me. His eyes widened.

“Mac, you’re here early.” He pulled me in and gave me a kiss on the head. It was almost like he’d blanked on where we were—this was more affection than we usually showed at the office. As if realizing his mistake, he pulled away, overcompensating with distance.

“Early? What time is it?” My hands were too occupied to check, but judging from the crowd swelling off the elevator, it was the nine o’clock rush.

“I thought maybe you’d be in later today because of your trip.” Something in the way he said “trip” made me wonder if he understood that I hadn’t exactly been sipping fruity drinks by a pool.

“No rest for the weary, unfortunately,” I sighed. “What are you doing up here on twenty-seven?” It was a rare occurrence that Jason made the trip up to my floor. He always said the corporate partners gave him the heebie jeebies. I didn’t blame him. I’d avoid them too if I could.

“I was just going to surprise you with a note in your office. Something to welcome you back.” He flashed the adorable grin that could still make me weak in the knees.

A wide smile broke out across my face. When I hadn’t heard from Jason while I was in Edmonton, I’d assumed he was still angry. Seeing him now, all the resentment I’d felt before leaving for Edmonton instantly faded away.

“Jason, I’m really sorry about how scattered I’ve been lately.” I reached out to squeeze his hand. “You were right—it
isn’t
fair that we’re always working around my schedule and —”

The elevator pinged and Maxwell and Russ stepped off, looking harried. Jason and I immediately stood straighter, exuding our best “we’re having a professional, work-related conversation” posture as they walked past. When I was sure they were out of ear shot I said, “And I promise I’ll take you into consideration from now on. Can I make it up to you? Lunch today—my treat?”

“Can’t today.” He jammed his hands in his pockets, rocking back on his heels. “Busy day for me unfortunately.”

“Maybe tomorrow then?”

“Sure.” He nodded. “Tomorrow works.” His tone matched his still rigid posture, making me wonder if there was a partner nearby that I hadn’t noticed.

“Okay, let’s touch base later then.” I matched his tone and gave a brisk nod goodbye, unsure if we were now playing off a script for any prying ears. It wasn’t until I was halfway down the corridor that it occurred to me that Jason had come from the opposite direction of my office.

“W
HATCHA GAWT THERE
?” R
ITA
raised an overly plucked eyebrow curiously as I approached her cubicle.

“Just a little gift for you from Project Montauk,” I said, plunking the two bags beside her chair. I flashed a wicked grin before heading into my office.

She opened the bag and let out a whoop. “You’re like freakin’ Santa Claus!”

Beaming, I felt thankful that I could do something nice for Rita. Lately she’d been the sanest person I came in contact with most days.

“What was that all about?” Sadir grumbled, peering out the door, clearly unfamiliar with joyful sounds in the office.

I shrugged innocently, clicking open my Outlook.

Sleep. Just seeing the word made me want to drift off into a blissful slumber for the next twelve hours, but I shook that fantasy from my mind. There was no way I could miss Uncle Nigel’s retirement party. After thirty-five years at his law firm, it would be emotional for him to finally hang it up. I silently promised I would not let work interfere with this and went straight to work planning my escape.

Nine hours later I was in the back seat of a chauffeured Town Car on my way out to Darien, Connecticut. I’d emailed Ben and Sarah on my way out, explaining that I had a family emergency and would be out of reach for a short time this evening. Technically it was a lie—a party probably doesn’t qualify as an emergency—but if I missed the party because of work my actions may
result
in a medical emergency. So it was for the best.

Settling in for the forty-five minute ride, the tension in my stomach uncoiled as I let my mind drift to April, when Jason and I would finally move in together. The timing would work out perfectly. A few months after the move in, assuming nothing disastrous happened, I would start the StarCorp secondment, meaning I would have weekends off to enjoy my new set-up. I closed my eyes, feeling drowsy from the soothing bumps in the road and fantasizing about easy Sunday mornings spent in bed, exchanging sections of the paper and munching on heavenly breakfast pastries.

My cell phone blared, forcing me back to the present, and without looking at the caller ID, I knew it would be Mom wanting to confirm that, yes, I was on my way to Uncle Nigel’s party and, no, I didn’t need Dad to look up directions online for me. It was Mom’s belief that anytime I crossed state lines, or left my apartment for that matter, I was going to get lost.

“Are you sure the driver knows where he’s going?” Mom fussed.

“Yes, Mom,” I replied impatiently. “He has GPS.”

“That’s not always accurate, you know. Routes change and if he hasn’t kept his GPS up to date you could—”

“Mom.” I cut off what I knew was the beginning of a horror story about someone who used a GPS that had not been kept up to date. “I won’t get lost. If I do I’ll call Uncle Nigel,” I reassured her in the calmest tone I could manage.

“All right. Well, give him a big hug for me,” she said wistfully. “And tell him we’ll miss him at Christmas.” Aunt Ellen’s retirement present to Uncle Nigel was a month long cruise on a tall ship which departed December 20, so Mom wouldn’t have her big brother home for the holidays, much to her disappointment.

“I will.”

“Thanks for taking the time to do this, Mac. I know you being there will mean a lot to him.”

“No problem, Mom,” I said softly, wishing it hadn’t been so long since I’d visited him. I should have at least called him on September 11, knowing how tough the memories of that terrible day he lost so many co-workers and friends must be every year.

There must have been over a hundred people in Uncle Nigel’s house, enjoying the catered affair Aunt Ellen had lovingly planned for him. Friends, work colleagues, and family were there to celebrate his career and wish him the best in his retirement. Somehow I imagined Saul’s retirement party a little differently. More like hundreds of lawyers joining hands and singing joyfully, “Ding Dong the Witch Is Dead!” At Uncle Nigel’s party, there was love and respect for a man so well liked that the toasts continued for close to an hour.

I didn’t dare pull out my BlackBerry during the toasts. It went unchecked for over an hour—a new record. Surreptitiously, I ducked into the study. No new emails—bliss! I lingered for a few minutes in my favorite room in their house. A comfy couch and loveseat surrounded by built-in book shelves gave it the feel of a simpler time when people still read books rather than e-readers. Running my fingers across the gold spines of the legal journals that lined the brimming shelves, I mar
veled at the methods people used to utilize for legal research. I picked one out and began flipping through it, enchanted with the history. My mind drifted to the Latin phrase etched atop the main entrance of Georgetown Law School.
FIAT JUSTITIA, RUAT COELUM:
“Let justice be done though the heavens fall.” It had all sounded so noble. When did it turn into “just get the fucking deal done”?

Two large file boxes, presumably containing the contents of Uncle Nigel’s office, sat on a leather-topped writing desk in the corner of the room. A framed photo perched on top caught my eye. Mom, Dad, Uncle Nigel, Margaret, and me—dressed in winter coats, cheeks rosy from the cold, with our arms around each other posing in front of the Twin Towers. A lump swelled in my throat when I picked up the frame and ran my finger across the glass. Even though the picture was taken eighteen years ago, when I closed my eyes I could still feel the anticipation in my stomach when we boarded the high speed elevator that would whisk us to the top of the World Trade Center, so high my ears would pop.

What will everything look like from the 103
^rd
floor?
I’d wondered excitedly. But it wasn’t the view that had captivated me when I walked into Uncle Nigel’s huge corner office. It was the awe-inspiring feeling that I’d been transported into the future. A sleek, wraparound desk sat in the far corner of the room, topped with a laptop computer and a gold-plated kinetic sculpture. To the left sat a plush, black leather couch and a coffee table with a base that doubled as a fish tank, the multicolored fish providing a sharp contrast to the monochromatic color scheme. It was unlike anything my ten-year old self had ever seen.

The way the labyrinthine hallways buzzed with activity and the sharply dressed lawyers walked with purpose made it all seem so important. And when I sat in the high-backed leather chair stationed behind Uncle Nigel’s massive desk, I felt … triumphant. It was then that I knew what I wanted to be.

“Hey, I thought I’d find you in here,” a voice boomed, interrupting my thoughts.

“Oh, hey, Uncle Nigel. Sorry, I just ducked in here to check the old ball and chain.” I lifted my BlackBerry in explanation, before changing the subject. “Great party! Aunt Ellen really outdid herself.”

“She sure did. Whatcha got there?”

“Oh …” I turned the photo around. I felt a slight twinge of awkwardness, wondering if it looked like I’d been snooping.

“That’s a great shot, isn’t it?” Uncle Nigel plopped down on the couch and let out the satisfied sigh of someone who’d been on his feet for hours. “It’s hard to believe that I won’t have an office to display it in anymore.”

I took a seat next to him, grateful for the moment to talk for a bit, knowing I’d be heading back to the office soon. My foot was fidgeting with nervous energy and my mind was running through my mental to-do list. It was impossible for me to sit still anymore with the constant caffeine rush pulsing through my body.

“It
is
hard to believe,” I replied. “Do you think you’ll miss it?”

He thought for a moment. “There’s a lot of parts I’ll miss. But I’m ready.”

“Well, I know Aunt Ellen is thrilled.”

“She’s been waiting for this for
years
.” He chuckled. “After 9/11 she used to say, ‘if running out of a burning building won’t get you to retire, I don’t know what will.’”

“I think I’ve heard that a time or two from her.” I smiled. “Why
didn’t
you retire back then?” Uncle Nigel had never volunteered much information about that day. I knew he was on the 103
^rd
floor and I knew that he got out, but that was really the extent of it. I’d never worked up the courage to ask him any more than that and he never seemed to want to talk about it. But today felt different. Maybe it was the fact that it was the end of an era for him or that I was a lawyer now too, making us peers rather than mentor and student. Whatever it was, the conversation suddenly felt necessary.

His warm brown eyes reminded me of my mother’s. “The truth is, I loved my job. I didn’t want to curl up in a ball and live in fear. I wanted to keep doing what I loved.”

I felt a pang of longing, wishing I had the same fondness for my job.
It’ll get better when I land the StarCorp secondment
, I resolutely told myself.

“But it was hard. Things really changed after that. For everyone.”

I nodded. “What was it like that day?” I inquired gently.

His expression looked like he was considering how much to reveal. “Well,” he started. “I was in a conference room with ten other attorneys when the first plane hit just before 9
A.M
.”

My leg stopped fidgeting and my mind stopped racing. It was as if my body’s desire to constantly keep moving, to keep myself awake, focused, and ready for the next task, finally subsided. The only thing my body willed me to do was listen.

“I was supposed to be talking to the group about a deposition we were conducting in a week. I stood up to speak and saw this plane coming right towards us. The room was wall to wall windows and it was such a sunny, clear morning you couldn’t miss it. In a split second, it hit the other building and a huge fireball came out the other side. I’d never seen anything so massive. It was probably eight stories high and looked like it would envelop our building too. Everything just sort of stopped. A few people ran to the windows to get a closer look before someone yelled ‘let’s get outta here!’ That shook us back to reality and everyone started to move towards the stairways and elevators. They were making announcements over the intercom telling us that our building was safe, to go back to our offices.” He shook his head in anger. “A lot of people did, but you know me. I’ve always had a problem with someone else telling me what I should and shouldn’t do. ‘A problem with authority’ one of my high school teachers called it.” He gave a half smile, before a wave of somberness came over his face. “The other partner in my meeting listened to the announcement and went back to his office. We told him to come with us, but he thought we were ridiculous to leave when our building was safe. He said he was too busy to go all the way down, only to be told to come back ten minutes later. He never made it out.” Uncle Nigel gazed down at the floor and for a moment I thought he wouldn’t be able to continue.

“Some of my colleagues headed to the elevators, but I hated the elevators in that building. They were always having problems so I decided to take the stairs. It was one hundred and three floors, and with my blood pressure I knew it wasn’t going to be easy, but I felt I could handle it if I paced myself. I made it down to the fortieth floor before the second plane hit our building. It felt just like an
earthquake. The whole building shook and some people screamed. Smoke started filling the stairways at this point and the walls started to crack. It was steaming hot, and people were shoulder to shoulder. Everyone was surprisingly calm, though. No one pushed. Some people were crying and whispering prayers. I’ll always remember the piles of shoes we had to step over. People were taking them off and tossing them in the corners. I was just trying to focus on the stairs, but I slipped on a puddle of coffee and fell. A fireman, passing me on his way up the stairs, reached down and pulled me up. ‘Be careful, sir,’ he said. ‘Everyone will make it out.’ He was so young.” Uncle Nigel’s eyes flooded with tears, which he resolutely wiped away.

“I haven’t talked about this in a while.” He chuckled nervously. “I usually try not to think about it, actually. But it’s been on my mind a lot today and I’m thankful you brought it up.” He let out a long, weary breath. “I think I really needed to talk about it today. Three people from my morning meeting didn’t make it out, you know? And I think about them all the time. And two people from the meeting are here at the party tonight. It was just all so random. It didn’t matter if you were young and healthy. Whether you were one of the lucky ones came down to the seemingly meaningless decisions people made.”

“I’m thankful you were one of the lucky ones.” My eyes prickled with tears.

He squeezed my hand before standing abruptly. He walked over to the desk and began rooting through the box. “Here,” he said gently, pulling out a small plastic card and handing it to me. “I used to keep this in my office, but seeing as you are the one with the office now, I think you should have it.”