“Ms. Wallace, an update on the Soto case?” Lex Davey owned the firm but was not an attorney. His wife started the company many years ago, and when she passed away, he took over. Now he sat three floors up in an office big enough to be a house, worrying about laws he knew nothing about, courting women, and entertaining politicians.
She sat up straight, opened her binder, and dragged her finger down the color-coded tabs until she reached a red one marked “Soto” and flipped to the section. She knew the case by heart, but for some reason, Lex Davey shook her to the core. Maybe it was the way he leered at her when they made eye contact or how he would make comments regarding her clothing. His words often bordered on harassment but were never enough to fully cross the line. Telling her she wore a nice skirt or saying she looked good in a particularly colored blouse was technically harmless. Words were words, but it was the looks he gave her when he said such things that made her feel uneasy. Thankfully, she only had to converse with him minimally and normally only during meetings. She cleared her throat and gave a recap of how the case had progressed.
“Any chance for a settlement?” Justin Baylor asked, another junior partner who was about five years younger than Renee but surprisingly made partner in his second year with the firm.
She tilted her head slightly, as if she would signal no, but stopped. “My client, as you can imagine, would like to protect her assets. She was the one who put in the work and doesn’t feel her ex is entitled to anything at all. We have offered him one percent; he has countered with fifty-one, which would give him full control over Mrs. Soto’s artistic work, and this is out of the question. The man has done nothing to improve or contribute to my client’s business, and—not that it matters—Mrs. Soto writes under a pen name and has very rarely spoken about her husband in any public manner. She is not damaging nor enhancing his reputation, and therefore he should not benefit from hers.”
“What about thanking him in acknowledgments?” one of the partners, Donna Pere, asked. She and Donna had a good bit of history. They met at Santa Clara Law when Renee was in law school and Donna was teaching a summer course on ethics. They stayed in touch, and when Renee needed an internship, Donna brought her on at the firm she worked for. Rhoads PC enticed Donna with a job in Seattle, which opened the door for Renee to return home. The interview had gone well, and Donna had raved about her ability, but the wait to hear whether the firm would hire her kept her on her toes. It took two months for the board to decide her fate.
“Only if he can make the claim that she included him in ‘Many thanks to my family.’ If the judge agrees, we’re going to see a lot of people coming out of the woodwork to sue for royalties.”
“Sounded like an open-and-shut case when you signed on,” Lex pointed out. Renee wanted to ask him what he knew about open-and-shut cases, but she held her tongue. Another time, another place for outbursts such as those. Instead, she smiled, nodded, and shut the binder, hoping to convey she was done talking.
Lex then asked, “Anyone have anything we should know about?” He made eye contact with each senior and junior partner sitting at the table. All were quiet until he came to Donna, who sat upright. She cleared her throat and looked down at her notes.
“A friend of a friend asked me to look into a civil case as a favor. There was a car accident over the summer in which the driver ended up paralyzed. The parents of the driver want to sue the bartender that served their daughter alcohol, saying they never checked her ID. They admit she was already drunk when she entered the establishment and contend the liquor served made her more impaired, and therefore she shouldn’t have been served nor allowed to leave without someone taking her keys or a car being called for her.”
“Was she with friends?” Renee asked.
“She was.”
“Are they being sued?” Renee shocked herself with her question. One reason she went into law was to fight for injustices. She thought she would practice criminal law and spend her life defending the innocent, but after one of her internships, family law had captured her attention.
“They aren’t,” Donna responded.
“If the young woman had friends with her, why didn’t one of them drive?” Lex asked. Renee wanted to know the same thing.
“A joyride gone bad?” The way Donna spoke made it sound like a question and like there was more to the story, and it seemed Lex felt the same way.
“Let it go; it sounds like a loss for us.” Lex stood and abruptly ended the conversation. “Happy Thanksgiving,” he said in a cheery voice. “By the way, Christmas bonuses will come earlier than normal this year.”
She gathered her things in her arm and held them precariously as she read the messages on her phone. Emails from clients complaining about missing child support payments or spousal support. There was a hint of desperation in each email, and her heart went out to her clients. The holidays were upon them, and people counted on those monthly payments. She also had a slew of text messages, mostly from Brooklyn, who was, per her typed words, OMG SO EXCITED TO SEE YOU! The message made Renee smile. Once she was in Cape Harbor, she could relax and let the stress of work drift out into the ocean. Four days of nothing but her friends, shopping, wedding talk, and Christmas decorating were exactly what she needed.
She stopped at her secretary’s desk. Ester Singer had been with Rennie since she started at Rhoads, and she insisted Ester come with her when she was promoted to junior partner. Ester looked up as Renee approached and, as coyly as possible, slid the ad she was perusing under her keyboard.
“Any good sales?” Renee asked. She never wanted to be that boss, the one who chided their employees for taking mental health breaks, and yes, she considered looking at Black Friday ads a mental health break.
“Anything in particular you’re looking for?”
“My niece is fourteen. What do teens like these days?”
Ester pulled the hidden advertisement out from under her keyboard and flipped rapidly until she came to the page she was looking for. She turned it toward her boss. “I get one for my daughter every year, and she loves it.” Ester pointed to a box of sample perfumes. “You get thirteen of the most sought-after fragrances, all designer, and the best part is they get a full-size bottle of their choice, all for sixty-five dollars.”
Renee took the paper out of Ester’s hands, almost as if she couldn’t believe what she’d been told. Sure enough, the fine print said the same thing. “Is it worth it?”
“So worth it.”
Renee made a mental note to get one for Ester. She knew she was a single parent, and Renee tried to do what she could to help. “What else?” she asked. Ester continued to flip and point out what the hot items of the season were.
“I’ll text you a list, Ms. Wallace.”
“Thank you, Ester.” Renee asked her to email the attorneys whose clients had missed their necessary payments for the month, and once she did, she could go for the day. “Have a happy Thanksgiving,” she said before disappearing into her office.
She sat at her desk and texted Brooklyn. Do I brave the traffic and leave now?
Brooklyn Hewett: Bowie says there’s an accident and to wait.
Of course, there is.
Renee pushed her phone aside and shook the mouse on her desk to wake up her computer. She had depositions to go over in a custody dispute, briefs to write for the tiny humans she was a guardian ad litem for, and she needed to read through a stepparent adoption case, but the only thing she wanted to focus on was her solitaire game. She clicked “New” and watched as the computer laid out the board for her, groaning when multiple red cards in a row flipped over. Renee preferred a mix; it was easier to build a sequence that way. As tempted as she was to click “New” and get another board, she accepted the challenge and started moving her mouse from one spot to another.