When it was ended, she was tired. Way too tired for a twenty-eight-year-old who considered herself the picture of health. She jogged, ate right, didn’t smoke, light drinks—maybe a couple of beers on Saturday while she washed the old Volvo, maybe an occasional wine with one of Caroline’s fish dinners where her partner insisted a white was mandatory.
It had her perplexed, but not worried, the persistent voice telling her to lie down and nap. So she left for home after the trial, foregoing the office fly-by where you stick your head in, the partners shake your hand and fawn over your twenty-ninth defense verdict, and the senior partner offers you a scotch and a one-on-one inside his office, door closed, reminding you how important you are to Jones Marentz, the medical malpractice firm known and feared throughout Chicago. She passed on all that.
It was a dull, overcast day, windy enough to blow you off the curb, with a blizzard-like snowstorm mixed with sleet mixed with ice. The kind of day that made you want to be inside with your family, shades drawn, coffee brewing, good book waiting.
She dropped off second-chair Manny Rodriguez on LaSalle and bolted north on US 41.
No sooner had she merged into the fast lane than her cell chimed. Dr. Romulus’ office. Right off she knew it was ominous, because the nurse said, “Please hold for Doctor Romulus.”
“It’s never good when your doctor calls you personally,” she said to no one.
Turned out he was calling with the hospital workup. The information was conveyed in four short sentences. The jury was back and it was unanimous. It was leukemia and Morgana had six, maybe eight months. Unless chemo worked; which it did—sometimes. And didn’t—sometimes. Come in Monday.
In shock, Morgana thanked him for the call, promised she would come in Monday, and ended the call. She balled her fist and slammed it into the dash. “Damn!” she cried. She fought back tears for several miles, trying to remain calm, avoiding the shakes by focusing on the road.
Finally she let a thought break through.
It was okay, in an odd way. It didn’t exactly shock her. She had been raised Methodist and had some distant notion about a score on her life being kept somewhere. She was only just now beginning to question where that kind of thinking came from and whether it was valid for her anymore. She was maybe a late bloomer about such things. But she gave herself a little breathing room in that category. She had been very preoccupied with other things than spiritual questions these past five years. Things like staying alive. Things like her relationship with Caroline. Sure, she had sent desperate people home without a dime, but that’s what lawsuits were for. Winners and losers. Law school hadn’t taught her to seek justice. Law school taught her to win.
She shivered though the seven-year-old Volvo was warm. The March roads were slick and getting worse by the minute, visibility down to maybe a half-mile. By 3:45 roadside lights were appearing in restaurants and farmhouses even as she drove further north toward Evanston.
Suddenly all she could think about was Caroline. They were coming up on their Paper (five years), and they were still going strong. She loved Caroline, who loved Morgana. She could still chase her around the bedroom, Caroline could make her warm on her coldest day, what wasn’t to like? Morgana dreaded breaking it to her.
Absolutely dreaded it.
She took Ridge into Evanston.
Morgana didn’t tell Caroline at all that night. She figured Sunday night she would ask Caroline to accompany her to see Dr. Romulus. She would tell her only that it “sounded serious.”
No sense scaring her to death until they knew more.
11
After Morgana’s collapsed nose trial, the courtroom had emptied, but two players remained behind. They talked in low tones. They were A.W. Marentz—senior partner at Jones Marentz, who was also Morgana’s boss—and Sandy Green. They had commandeered counsel table.
Sandy cast a quick look around the dark room and said, “Morgana really buried the girl with the broken nose.”
“That girl’s a thoroughbred,” said A.W.
“You’ve done our bidding forty years, A.W. Is Morgana ready for the load?”
A.W. leaned back and removed his glasses. He rubbed the bridge of his nose. “She is. She’ll do a super job. I want out of the rat race. I’m getting too old for this B.S., even second-chair is tough when you have to urinate every hour.”
Sandy leaned close and almost whispered, “Does she know how we work yet?”
A.W. leaned forward. “She does not.”
“Does she suspect?”
“She does not. She’s no dummy. But does she know we’re doctoring hospital records? I think not. She would have raised hell with me otherwise—she’s anything but shy.”
“She’s doing such a bang-up job we want her to take over from you. Do you think there’s going to be a problem when she finds out about the records we’ve been feeding her all along?”
A.W. shrugged. “We’ll find that out one week from tonight. She’s been voted a partnership in the firm as of ten this morning. There’s a party and announcement planned for one week from now. Before she gets in too deep I want to break the news to her. Carson’s in agreement.”
“Will you tell her how we do things?”
“All of it. Carson’s been after me six months to break it to her. He wants to know if Morgana’s going to bolt or stay around.”
“Carson still managing partner?”
“Yep—he’s Managing, I’m Senior. It’s all good, as they say. We’re both ready for Morgana to make our med mal defense practice her own domain.”
“Well, Hudd Family Healthcare is behind that one hundred percent.”
“But only if she performs. All we can do now is tell her and see how she responds. She can still walk on us, and just might.”
Sandy nodded. “We can only hope. And pray.”
“I better hop to it.” A.W. lurched to his feet. He was old and obviously worn down, ready for a rest, though that wouldn’t come for another week yet. “First things first. A grand announcement in one week, after she says yes and arrangements get made.”
“Excellent. I saw Peter out front with your car when I hit the restroom.”
“Being senior partner has its perks.”
Sandy stood and stretched. “Well, Morgana is hungry enough to stick around. She devoured these witnesses today and looked like a Baptist preacher, kind and caring.”
“Keep in mind, she owes Georgetown Law over three hundred grand in student loans. And I’ve just made sure her payments triple.”
Sandy whistled. “Triple. How did you pull that off?”
A.W. only winked. “I’m a big contributor to whichever party’s in power. You never know when you’ll have to call a favor.”
Another trial, another victory. Morgana Bridgman was now 30-0.
She smiled as she raced Manny back to Jones Marentz on LaSalle Street.
In the parking garage of the American United Tower, one parking space was marked Morgana Bridgman. Waiting patiently at the headstone was Carson Black, handsomely dressed in a three-piece Armani and Italian tasseled loafers. He smiled when he saw a red Porsche slowly nose in and park in Morgana’s spot. The car was a brand new Turbo Cabriolet, a 500-horsepower monster with a top speed of 194 MPH. A young associate climbed out. The young lawyer lovingly looked over the car he had just gotten to drive from the dealership.
Carson clasped the young attorney’s shoulder as he received the keys. “You won’t soon forget that ride, Eddie Zarnoff.”
“Maybe there’s one waiting for me in a couple of years. You’re the managing partner, what do you think?” This was said half-seriously but the young attorney paused in case there was an answer.
“It’s taken Morgana five years to get hers. Plus she had a year clerking at the Court of Appeals. Give yourself time.”
The associate nodded. The flashy Porsche key fob glinted in the fluorescent light.
* * *
Morgana pulled in two beats later. She stopped with
the nose of her Volvo perpendicular to her parking space. Some idiot had left his show-off red Porsche in Morgana’s spot. She imagined Carson was there to have it towed. She had to admit, her boxy Volvo looked dull next to the Porsche. She leaned over and rolled down the window.
“What gives? Who’s in my space?”
Carson smiled. “You are.”
“Come again?”
“Turn it off and come here.”
Something was definitely up. She obeyed the managing partner and exited the Volvo. She leaned and inspected the Porsche’s interior—who could resist? “Great car. Have I been replaced by someone driving a turbo Porsche?”
“Nope. Guess again.”
“I give—”
“It’s yours, Morgana. A gift from your partners.”
“My partners? Say that again?”
“Here.” Carson tossed the keys, which Morgana snagged with one hand. Couldn’t let those touch the ground. She stared at Carson like Curious George.
“This better be real ’cause you guys ain’t never getting this car returned.”
“Come on inside. Some people want to talk to you.”
“No way, I want a test drive. Can I drive it first?”
“Come inside first. After that, you can drive it all you want. It’s yours.”
“Yes, sir.”
Only too happy to oblige, Morgana followed the managing partner upstairs to the office. She clutched the keys tightly in her right hand. Caroline was going to faint over this. The woman loved Porsche anythings.
12
On the twelfth floor of the American United Tower the partners of Jones Marentz had begun celebrating in the large banquet room. The partners’ room was centered by a mahogany table shimmering under stained antique Venetian Lanterns. The room reeked of rare and pricey.
When Morgana entered the room, a group of twenty-two partners, standing in rows at either side of the table, began soft applause that swelled in volume. Needless to say, she blushed head-to-toe.
“What gives?” Morgana said in her most apprehensive voice. “My going-away party? You’re letting me go?”
A.W. seized her hand and led her forward. His courtroom voice commanded everyone’s attention. “Welcome home, Morgana. Here she is, gentlemen! Back from the field, the deer slung across her shoulders. The hunter returns!”
She pulled up short. “Screw me. This is nothing but embarrassing.”
A.W. Marentz swept her into the group of clapping, backslapping partners. “Get in here, genius.”
Managing partner Carson Palmer followed close behind her. He encircled an arm around Morgana’s back. Everyone was just a little tipsy, Morgana was realizing, and they couldn’t have been friendlier or happier for her. Someone thrust a Coors into her hand. Carson raised his hands for silence. The cheering and clapping faded away.
Carson, officiating now, began, “Morgana, meet your partners. These gentlemen and ladies and I are so impressed with your work that we have voted you a full partnership today. What do you have to say?”
All eyes were on Morgana as she instinctively made her way to the head of the table, where she raised her beer in a toast. “Gentlemen, to you and to Jones Marentz. May we all grow wealthy together!”
A partner at the far end of the table shouted, “We’re already wealthy, kid. Try again.”
Laughter erupted.
Morgana tried again. “Well then, may I grow wealthy too.”
“Hear, hear,” roared the bullish A.W. “Carson, would you tell the contestant what she’s won?”
Extracting a sealed envelope from his inside jacket pocket, Carson carefully and with a flourish placed the envelope in Morgana’s hand. This was the best part, the money part. The room was very quiet. “For openers, your base salary is two hundred fifty thousand per year. Plus bonus against billings.”
Morgana smiled and wisecracked, “My Realtor’s going to love hearing this.”
Scattered laughter.
“Moving along. The Porsche is not a lease. It has been purchased and titled in the firm’s name. Jones Marentz pays the insurance which, at your age, is unaffordable by mere mortals.”
“Don’t make her feel bad,” someone offered.
“Full medical coverage, retirement fully funded after ten years, country club membership, health club membership, platinum American Express, and funding for two associates to do your bidding. “
She knew she looked confused. “Two associates? How the hell am I supposed to keep two associates busy?”
A.W. said, “Here’s the best part. I just finished up with Sandy over at Hudd Family Healthcare. They want you to take over all their work, Chicago and downstate. You’ll definitely need the two associates.”
She stopped and turned. Morgana’s heart flipped. This was what she had been working toward all these years. “You must be kidding. That’s awesome.”
Carson shook his head. “After your string of wins? They’d be fools not to grab your star and hang on.”
Morgana’s face reddened almost to purple with embarrassment. These went way over the edge; it was too good.
“Not kidding,” A.W. said. “We spoke a week ago. Would I mind if they switched the account from me to you? Of course I don’t mind. I’m almost seventy years old. I have nine grandkids I want to get to know. I’m richer than Lebron James. You’re my heir-apparent—I’ve been grooming you for this. I told Hudd Family I approve a hundred percent.”
“Here’s one more thing,” Carson said slyly. He handed Morgana a platinum VISA credit card. “This is a prepaid Visa card worth fifteen grand. Take this home to Caroline and tell her to go shopping.”
“She accepts,” Morgana said through a huge grin. Caroline needed something wonderful like that. Her happiness soared away to the sky. The timing was perfect; something for Caroline.
Plus she was pleased how the firm had accepted the fact of her and Caroline. There had never been even one raised eyebrow. She felt a special glow for these people.
“We want her to look like a charm on your arm.”
“She tells me she does already.”
“Then there’s nothing like spoiling her just a little to keep the home life happy.”
“She’ll flip. Gentlemen, this may sound funny, but I’ve dreamed of this moment when I would win my spurs. And I’m flattered and shocked at your unbelievable gifts and the opportunity that’s been laid before me. But more than any of these ‘things,’ I want you to know that I treasure your trust. I can promise you I won’t let you down.”
A glance passed between A.W. and Carson. A.W. leaned and whispered to Carson and Morgana. “Say, can we have a word in my office? I just need five minutes of your time then I have to run.”
“Be right there. Just let me go pee first,” Morgana said and she left the room, but not before yelping to the gathering, “Thanks again!”
Minutes later the three of them were assembled in A.W.’s office.
It was a huge corner office. In one corner stood a human skeleton supported by a steel rod, and in another corner was a treadmill. Morgana thought the space between the two—death and life—capable of a certain irony, but her mind passed the moment by. It was too engaged with just taking in these great moments. The other two corners were separated by huge panes of glass overlooking the court buildings and city hall and lesser government buildings and landmarks. Plants sprawled everywhere, carefully cultivated and kept by A.W. himself, who still grew vegetables in the backyard of his home on LaRouge Street. The walls were lined with bookcases, packed with the usual trial lawyer tomes, including Proof of Facts, American Jurisprudence, and Federal Reporters from the Seventh Circuit as well as a good dozen or more volumes on insurance litigation, medicine and law, and trial reporters from across the country. The books were mainly to impress the visitors from the insurance industry who paid the firm’s bills. All research anymore was computer-driven, and Jones Marentz had accounts with both Westlaw and Lexis-Nexis, your choice. The office had a good war
m feel despite the leather upholstery slathered around, thanks in part to the priceless art that adorned all but the Ego Wall, art hand-selected by A.W.’s better-half (his words), who carefully chose expensive New York and Paris artwork in oranges and yellows for emotional warmth and appeal. He wanted his wife and his visitors to feel the office was actually an extension of his living room where his own graciousness was always just a simple request away. Morgana would have killed for such an office.
They settled into comfortable client chairs arranged around A.W.’s desk. The room was very familiar and very comfortable to the young lawyer. She had spent hundreds of hours in there with A.W., who was really a mentor. They had plotted probably all of Morgana’s trials around that desk, maybe not so much the last ten or so, but definitely at first.
A.W. started it off. “Everyone comfortable? Morgana, did you get a refill? Carse?”
Morgana held up her beer and shook her head. “I’m good. So what’s up?”
A.W. nodded. “Well, we’ve had our fun, now we need to be serious for a few minutes.”
What was this about? Morgana wondered. Probably more information about job duties. Fair enough, more money meant more hours to bill. She crossed her legs and pulled herself fully upright in the chair. Now she was all business. “Serious, like what about?”
Carson said, “Like what it really means to run with the wolves. You’re about to find out what it really takes to be a partner at Jones Marentz. This is some truth telling time for with you.”
The young lawyer didn’t respond. She had zero idea where they were going with this. But she expected they wanted to see increased billables. Which she was willing to give, especially in light of the new partnership she’d been voted.
Chase, the Bad Baby: A Legal and Medical Thriller (Thaddeus Murfee Legal Thriller Series Book 4) Page 4