Judgement Day

by Andrew Neiderman

  “Thank you,” Kevin said. “But it sounds like I have big shoes to fill,” he added.

  “You can do it. If Mr. Milton thinks you can, you can,” Paul said, nodding. Kevin almost laughed at the zealous expression of faith, but he could see Paul Scholefield was deadly serious.

  Scholefield opened the door, and Kevin entered his prospective new office.

  How many times during the past three years had he sat back in his closet of an office at Boyle, Carlton, and Sessler and dreamed of what it would be like to be a famous New York attorney with a plush office with a view.

  Now before him was an L-shaped desk with a soft leather desk chair, a soft leather settee, and another leather chair at the front of the desk. The carpet was just as plush as the lobby’s carpet, and the curtains were a bright beige. The walls were covered with light hickory paneling that gave the room a fresh, clean look.

  “Everything looks brand new.”

  “Mr. Milton had the office redone. Hope you like it.”

  “Like it? I love it,” Kevin said. Paul nodded. To Kevin the office was dazzling, from the sophisticated gold-plated phone system to the solid gold pen and pencil set. There were even silver picture frames waiting for his photos and frames on the walls awaiting Kevin’s degrees and awards, the same number of frames he had hanging in his office back at Blithedale. What a coincidence, he thought. Good omen.

  Kevin walked to the windows behind the desk. Just as Paul had said, there was the magnificent view of the city.

  “Well?” Paul asked.

  “Beautiful.” He crossed to the bathroom and looked in on the shiny new fixtures and tiled floor and walls. There was even a shower stall. “I could move right in.” Kevin inspected the books in the bookcase that took up most of the left wall. “I don’t have to bring in a thing.” Kevin laughed and looked around his office again. “This is . . . incredible.”

  “Mr. Milton will be glad to know you’re happy with what he’s done, Kevin.” Paul looked at his watch. “It’s time we met the man.”

  “Sure.” He stopped to look back as they started out and shook his head. “It’s exactly how I dreamed my office would be. It’s as if . . .” He turned to the smiling Paul Scholefield. “As if he had gotten into my dreams.”

  After knocking, Paul opened the door and stepped back for him to enter first. Kevin had to admit he was nervous. Paul had built up John Milton so much in his mind, he had no idea what to expect.

  The same carpet that covered the lobby area and flowed down the corridor spilled through the doorway of John Milton’s office and covered his floor. At the center rear of the room was a dark mahogany desk and high-backed dark brown leather chair. There were two chairs set in front of the desk. Behind the desk were three large windows, nearly the height and width of the wall, providing an open, wide vista of the city and sky, an almost Godlike view.

  At first Kevin was so taken with the radiance and brightness of the room that he did not see John Milton sitting in his chair. When Kevin stepped farther in and did see him, it was as if he had materialized out of the shadows.

  “Welcome to John Milton and Associates, Kevin,” he said. Kevin immediately heard a warmth in the man’s mellow voice; it reminded him of the same open, friendly, and soothing tone Reverend Pendleton of the Blithedale Episcopalian Church had, a tone that put you quickly at ease. Kevin often tried to imitate it in court, secretly calling it his “Sunday voice.”

  John Milton looked like he was in his early sixties, with a curious combination of youthful and elderly traits. He had a full head of thick hair neatly trimmed and brushed, hut it was all gray. As Paul closed the door behind them, Mr. Milton rose, his torso unfolding to a six-feet-two-inch frame and his smile bursting out of what at first looked to be a face locked in alabaster. He wore a dark gray silk suit with a ruby tie and ruby pocket handkerchief.

  Kevin noted how his shoulders rose when he offered him his hand. He was in wonderful physical shape, which added to the strange but interesting mixture of youth and age. Moving closer, Kevin could see the crimson blush in his cheeks. He seized Kevin’s hand firmly, as though he had waited ages to meet him.

  “Pleased to meet you, Mr. Milton.”

  John Milton’s eyes seemed to metamorphose while he and Kevin gazed at each other, changing from a dull, quiet brown to a shimmering rust. He had a straight, full nose with soft lines that at times made his face appear ageless. Even the lines around his eyes looked like someone had penciled them in only moments ago. His thin lips had an orange tone, and his jawbone was sharp, the skin tight, yet he had a fatherly look, a face full of wisdom.

  “Paul has shown you what would be your office, I hope.”

  “Oh yes. It’s fantastic. Love it.”

  “I’m glad, Kevin. Please, have a seat.” He gestured toward the high-backed tan leather chair with smooth, dark mahogany arms. Hand-carved in them were figures from Greek mythology: satyrs, minotaurs. “Thank you, Paul,” he added. Kevin looked back to see Paul Scholefield leaving.

  John Milton returned to his own chair. Kevin noticed he had a firmness about him, something regal in the way he held his head and shoulders. He sat down like a monarch assuming his throne.

  “As you know, we’ve been considering you for some time, Kevin. We would like you to start next week. Short notice, I know, but I already have a case earmarked for you,” he added, tapping a thick folder to his right on the desk.

  “Really?” He wanted to ask how he knew Kevin would accept a position here, but he thought that might seem impolite. “What’s it about?”

  “I’ll give it to you in due time,” John Milton said firmly. Kevin saw how easily Mr. Milton moved from warm and friendly tones to determined and resolute ones. “First, let me explain my philosophy when it comes to my associates, who, as you will learn, are more than mere associates. In most ways they are my partners, but even more than that, they are my family. We are a true team here, devoted to each other in many more ways than our mere professional relationships. We care for each other and each other’s family. No one works in a vacuum; home, life, all problems have an effect on your work. Understand?”

  “Yes, I do,” Kevin said and couldn’t help wondering about the man he was replacing. Was Mr. Milton leading up to that?

  “I thought you would,” John Milton said, sitting back until his face was covered by a shadow as a cloud slipped over the sun outside. “And for that reason, you wouldn’t think it odd that I make suggestions, even try to help you in ways that are not, it would seem, directly related to your work here.

  “For example,” he continued, “it would surely help if you lived in the city. Now it just so happens I own a rather luxurious apartment complex in an ideal part of Manhattan, and I have an apartment available in it, one I would like you to take rent-free.”

  “Rent-free?”

  “Exactly. That’s how committed I am to my associates and their families. I have a way of writing it all off, too,” he added. “Not that that’s important. The important thing is to be sure you and your wife have a comfortable, enjoyable life while you’re with us. I realize you and your wife have family ties to where you are presently located,” he continued quickly, “but you won’t be all that far away, and”—he leaned forward out of the shadow to smile—“you will have a new family here.”

  Kevin nodded. “It sounds . . . wonderful. Of course, I’ll have to discuss it with my wife,” he added quickly.

  “Of course. Now,” John Milton said, rising, “let’s just talk about the law for a moment and let me give you my philosophy.

  “Law should be strictly interpreted and strictly enforced. Justice is a resulting benefit, but it is not the reason for the legal system. The legal system is designed to maintain order, keep all men in check.” He turned at the corner of his desk to look down at Kevin and smile again. “All men, the so-called agents of good as well as the criminal element.

  “Compassion,” John Milton continued, like a lecturing college professor, �
�is admirable in its place but has no place in the system because it’s subjective and imperfect and subject to change, whereas law can be perfected and remain timeless and universal.”

  He paused and looked at Kevin, who nodded quickly.

  “I think you understand everything I am saying and agree with it.”

  “Yes,” Kevin said. “Maybe I haven’t put it exactly in those terms, but I do.”

  “We are advocates, first and foremost, and as long as we remember that, we will succeed,” John Milton said, his eyes blazing with determination. Kevin was mesmerized. When John Milton spoke, he spoke in undulating rhythms, so soft at times that he felt as if he was reading the man’s lips and repeating phrases in his own voice. And then, suddenly he would be dynamic, his voice forceful and vibrant.

  Kevin’s heartbeat quickly, a flush coming into his face. The last time he remembered feeling this excited was when he was on the high school basketball team and they were playing the game that would determine their league championship. Their coach, Marty McDermott, had made a locker-room speech that sent them sailing out on the court with enough fire in their hearts to burn away the whole league. He couldn’t wait to get his hands on the ball. Now, he couldn’t wait to get back into court.

  John Milton nodded slowly. “We understand each other more than you imagine, Kevin; and as soon as I realized that, I instructed Paul to make overtures.” He stared at Kevin for a moment and then smiled. It was almost an impish smile. “Take this last case you tried . . .” John Milton settled back in his seat, a more relaxed posture this time.

  “Lois Wilson, the schoolteacher accused of abusing children?”

  “Yes. Your defense was brilliant. You saw the weak spots in the prosecution’s case and you surged forward, concentrating on them.”

  “I knew the principal had it in for her and I knew the other little girls were lying . . .”

  “Yes,” John Milton said, leaning forward, his arms extended over the desk as if he wanted to embrace Kevin. “But you also knew Barbara Stanley was not lying and that Lois Wilson was guilty.”

  Kevin just stared.

  “Oh, you weren’t completely sure, but in your heart you thought she had abused Barbara Stanley and that Barbara Stanley, afraid to come forward by herself, worked her friends into a frenzy and got them to join her. That idiot principal was anxious to get the teacher . . .”

  “I don’t know all that for sure,” Kevin said slowly.

  “It’s all right,” John Milton said, smiling again. “You did what you had to do as her advocate.” John Milton stopped smiling. In fact, he looked angry. “The prosecution should have done the kind of homework you did. You were the only real attorney in that courtroom,” he added. “I admire you for it and want you here working with me. You’re the kind of attorney who belongs here, Kevin.”

  Kevin wondered how John Milton knew so much about the Lois Wilson case, but that curiosity didn’t linger. There were too many distractions, too many wonderful things to think about now. They went on to talk about salary, and he discovered Paul Scholefield had not exaggerated. It was twice what he was making at his present firm. Mr. Milton said he would make arrangements for Kevin and Miriam to move into their apartment immediately if Miriam approved. As soon as he finished, Mr. Milton buzzed his secretary and asked her to fetch Paul Scholefield. Paul arrived instantly, as if he were just standing outside the door, waiting.

  “He’s back in your hands, Paul. Kevin, welcome to our family,” John Milton said, extending his hand. Kevin took it and they shook firmly.

  “Thank you.”

  “And as I told you, all the arrangements for your moving into the apartment will be taken care of before the weekend. You can bring your wife in any time to look at it.”

  “Thanks again. I can’t wait.”

  John Milton nodded with understanding.

  “Quite a man, isn’t he?” Paul said softly as they left the office.

  “Extraordinary how he gets right to the heart of things. There’s a no-nonsense air about him, yet I didn’t feel he was all business. He was very warm, too.”

  “Oh yes. To be honest,” Paul said, pausing in the corridor, “all of us love the guy. He’s like . . . a father.”

  Kevin nodded. “Yes, that’s the way I felt.” He looked back. “As if I was sitting and talking with my father.”

  Paul laughed and put his arm around Kevin, and they continued down the corridor, stopping at Dave Kotein’s office. Dave was closer to Kevin’s age, being only thirty-one. He, too, was a graduate of NYU Law, and they immediately reminisced about the professors they had in common. Dave was a slim, five-feet-ten-inch-tall man with light brown hair cut short, almost as close as a military cut. Kevin thought Miriam would find him cute because he had baby blue eyes and a soft, pleasing smile and in some ways reminded him of her younger brother, Seth.

  Despite his slender frame, Dave had a deep, resonant voice, the kind of voice chorus directors sell their souls to get into their ensembles. Kevin imagined him in court, cross-examining a witness, his voice reverberating over the heads of an attentive audience. From their introduction, Kevin sensed that Dave Kotein was a sharp, highly intelligent man. Later Paul would tell him Dave Kotein had graduated in the top five of his class at NYU and could have worked at a number of prestigious New York or Washington firms.

  “Let me continue the tour,” Paul said. “You and Dave will have many opportunities to get to know each other, as will your wives.”

  “Great. Any children?” Kevin asked.

  “Not yet, but soon,” Dave replied. “Norma and I are at about the same point you and Miriam are,” he added. Kevin started to smile but then thought how odd it was they knew about his personal life, too.

  Paul anticipated the thought. “We make a complete study of a prospective associate,” he said, “so don’t be surprised at just how much we already know about you.”

  “Sure this isn’t a branch of the CIA?”

  Dave and Paul looked at each other and laughed.

  “I felt the same way when Paul and Mr. Milton were considering me.”

  “We’ll talk to you later,” Paul said, and he and Kevin left to go to the law library.

  The law library was twice the size of Boyle, Carlton, and Sessler’s and fully updated. There was a computer which Paul Scholefield explained was tied into police records, even federal records, as well as a mainframe that would feed them precedent cases and investigative information so they could understand and examine police reports and forensic evidence. One of the secretaries was at the keyboard entering in new information provided by one of their private investigators.

  “Wendy, this is Kevin Taylor, our new associate. Kevin, Wendy Allan.”

  The secretary turned around, and once again Kevin found himself taken aback by a beautiful face and figure. Wendy Allan looked to be twenty-two or twenty-three years old. She had peach-colored hair layered softly with sweeping bangs that were feathered over her forehead. Her chestnut brown eyes brightened as she smiled.

  “Hi.”

  “Hello.”

  “Wendy will double as your secretary and Dave’s until we hire a new one,” Scholefield explained. Kevin smiled to himself with the thought that soon he would have his own secretary.

  “Look forward to working with you, Mr. Taylor.”

  “Likewise.”

  “We’d better catch Ted,” Paul whispered. “I just remembered he’s got to take a deposition this afternoon.”

  “Oh, sure.”

  He followed Paul out, looking back once to ingest the smile Wendy Allan still offered.

  “How do you keep your mind on your work with such beautiful women around?” Kevin asked, half kidding. Paul stopped and turned to him.

  “Wendy and Diane are beautiful, and as you will see, so are Elaine and Carla, but each is a top-notch secretary, too.” Paul smiled and looked back at the library. “Mr. Milton says most men have a tendency to think beautiful women are not intelligent. He
once won a case because a prosecutor thought just that. Remind me to ask him to tell you about it one day. By the way,” he added, lowering his voice, “Mr. Milton hired all the secretaries personally.”

  Kevin nodded, and they continued on to Ted McCarthy’s office.

  In many ways McCarthy reminded Kevin of himself. He was two years older and about Kevin’s height and of similar build, only he had black hair, a much darker complexion, and dark brown eyes. But both had been born and bred on Long Island. McCarthy had lived in Northport and attended Syracuse University Law School.

  Like Miriam, Ted McCarthy’s wife had also been brought up on the Island. She had been a physician’s receptionist in Commack. They, too, had no children yet but were planning to have some soon.

  Kevin sensed that Ted McCarthy was a precise man. He sat behind a large black oak desk, his papers neatly organized beside a large silver-framed photograph of his wife and another silver-framed photograph of him and his wife on their wedding day. His office was rather spartan compared to Dave Kotein’s and Paul Scholefield’s, but there was more of a sense of order and tidiness.

  “Pleased to meet you, Kevin,” McCarthy said, rising from his seat when Paul introduced them. Just like Dave and Paul, Ted had an impressive speaking voice with sharp, clear diction. “From the way Mr. Milton and Paul described you, I knew you’d be with us soon.”

  “Seems everyone knew before I did,” Kevin quipped.

  “It was the same way for me,” Ted said. “I had been working in my father’s firm and had absolutely no intention of leaving, when Paul approached me. By the time I came up here to meet Mr. Milton, I was already working out how I would break the news to my father.”

  “Extraordinary.”

  “There’s hardly a day that passes without something exciting happening. And now with you joining us . . .”

  “I’m really looking forward to it,” Kevin said.

  “Good luck and welcome aboard,” Ted said. “I have to run off to take a deposition involving a client accused of raping his next-door neighbor’s teenage daughter.”