Lethal Lawyers

by Dale E. Manolakas

  Sophia left. She didn’t want to be around the stressed-out associate. She had seen this type of person when she was studying for the bar and all during law school. She avoided them because it was unnecessary and broke her own concentration. Besides, she was happy to have the break. She assured herself that she would handle the pressure better than James. After all, her law school record demonstrated that she was a proven commodity.

  * * *

  As Sophia made her way to the restroom she had seen near the elevators, she passed one small associate’s office after another, with most of the occupants hunched over legal files or banging away on their PC’s. Just a few were on their cells, most texting, some whispering and some talking—but none laughing.

  Each office was unique, like the partners’ offices, but miniaturized. Comparable to the partners, the decor ranged from chrome and black leather to warm wood and area rugs. At most law firms making partner meant not only a larger office but also a generous redecorating allowance. Associates universally usually scavenged for the hand-me-downs in storage.

  After freshening up, Sophia saw Sean Peters’ office nearby. She knocked and popped her head in. Sean’s blue eyes peered at her through his reading glasses and over a stack of files.

  “Hi, Sophia.” Sean removed his glasses. “What are you doing around here?”

  “Between interviews. What are you doing?”

  “Searching through the endless stuff the defendant dumped on us when we had him produce documents,” Sean chuckled good-naturedly. “Without electronic review, I’d be screwed.”

  “I know what you mean. I did some of that as a summer person.”

  “Where?”

  “Just a smaller firm.” Sophia wished she had kept her mouth shut because as she had learned the legal community in L.A. was smaller than she thought.

  “Want to park for a while?”

  “I’ve got a schedule, but thanks.” Sophia smiled, noting that Sean was busy but relaxed, unlike James.

  “Knock anytime.” Sean slipped his glasses on and went back to work.

  Sophia presumed his invitation to “knock anytime” meant he had given her a positive evaluation, even though she couldn’t participate in his football-speak at lunch. She was pleased.

  * * *

  The coordinator found Sophia wandering near the elevators and dropped her at Anne Whitfield’s Lilliputian office up the hall.

  “Hello, I’m Anne Whitfield. First year.”

  “Hi. Sophia Christopoulos.”

  They shook hands and Sophia sat on a somewhat scratched, but comfortable, chrome and black leather chair. Immediately, a loud knock at the door interrupted them.

  James Tang popped his head in. “You’re busy?”

  “No, come in. Have you met Sophia Christopoulos?”

  “Yes. Hello again. Look, when you’re done here can you come down? I need you to proof some last-minute filings. I was here all night and I’m wigged out.”

  “Sure, but can I bill for it?”

  “Yeah, but you have to limit it to one hour. Sorry. I know it will take longer.”

  “We’ll see. Let’s save time. Email them to me.”

  “Thanks, you’re a life saver.” James left.

  “Sorry for the interruption. Are you having a nice day here?” Anne asked as she scanned a document up on her computer screen.

  “Oh, yes. Great.” Sophia noted Anne’s classic beauty and creamy skin. Her cheeks were touched with powdered blush and her short light-brown hair skimmed softly over them.

  “Let’s see,” Anne thought out loud as she scrolled down the document. “I just have a few questions here and then you can ask me anything you want.”

  “Okay.” Sophia anticipated a well-drafted legally substantive question from this prepared young woman.

  “First, do you have any managerial background?”

  Sophia was stupefied by the left-field question but smiled because it was a no-brainer for her.

  “I was a teacher for two years and learned to manage juniors and seniors for five different periods of history every day.”

  Anne did not even look up. She input Sophia’s answer and read another question.

  “Do you feel you manage your time well?”

  Sophia realized Anne was a serious person and immediately mirrored her demeanor. “Yes, very well. I never miss a deadline. And as my law school achievements reflect, I had a rigorous time schedule that I adhered to.”

  Anne did her input and then proceeded. “Are you a self-starter?”

  “Oh yes.” Sophia played up her earnestness. “I like to be very busy both in my professional and my personal life. I started an after-school student mentoring program at my high school. It was and is very successful.”

  “That’s wonderful.” Anne glanced up and then at her list again.

  “I know about James’ filing deadline. I don’t mind if you need to help him right now.”

  “Oh?” Anne paused a moment. “But do you have any questions for me?”

  “Everyone has been so forthcoming and helpful. I think I’m fine.” She just wanted to escape from Anne’s sincere, but senseless and sophomoric questioning. “I can find the coordinator.”

  “All right then.” Anne stood and shook Sophia’s hand. “Very nice to meet you.”

  As Sophia left she heard Anne phone James. “I’ll start right now.”

  Sophia was impressed by the collegiality between them. However, she hadn’t missed the undercurrent of tension when Anne had asked about whether she could bill her time on James’ proofing. She thought Anne’s concern about billing would be better directed to Judith, who apparently was a managerial nightmare and foisted her disorganization onto associates like James.

  * * *

  Sophia’s next four interviews were with junior partners in larger offices, two floors up. She still had a substantial adrenaline high, but bolstered it with the Thorne & Chase octane, as needed.

  The junior partners were busy.

  The first, Darius Johnson, a very tall thin black man, was writing an opinion letter informing his own client it would be better to litigate rather than settle a business dispute. Surprise! As she waited while he finished up, Sophia saw pictures of him on the Ohio State varsity basketball team. When she asked him about those days, his eyes came to life and he grinned ear to ear as he recounted a few of his heroic end-game shots. He was friendly and warm as he relived his college heroics.

  The second young junior partner, Robert Guerrero, was drafting onerous interrogatories to propound to an unsuspecting plaintiff’s sole practitioner lawyer. He had a recent wedding picture on his credenza behind him. His wife was beautiful and looked happy. They both did.

  The last two junior partners were arguing on their respective phones when Sophia arrived for their interviews. Janek Zaluski was fighting with a lawyer for a second extension on his client’s document production. Josh Rosen was haranguing his son’s school for a pass on an infraction of the no-shaved-head policy.

  To a man, and all of them were indeed male, each of the junior partners shared what they were doing, asked Sophia nothing, and rushed her out of their offices shy of the full interview time.

  By five-thirty, Thorne & Chase lawyers at every level had gotten a piece of Sophia and she had gotten a piece of them. No one had asked her anything legally substantive. The associates were too busy. The partners loved the sound of their own voices and knew what her platinum resume meant. The junior partners were taking care of their own spheres.

  Sophia ended the day confident that she had given each person what he or she wanted, from the aggression with Frank to the “fooding” with Dante. She knew they weren’t interested in her personally, anyway. All they really wanted was to use her up before she got married or broke under the strain like James Tang was starting to do.

  Sophia strongly doubted that anyone here expected her to earn a top-floor corner office anytime soon or, indeed, at all. But she had very different expectations
—boundless expectations.

  ⌘

  Chapter 10

  Southern Discomfort

  With earned confidence, Sophia accompanied the coordinator past Frank’s top-floor office, down the elegant walnut-paneled halls, and toward her final interview with senior partner and Management Committee member Carlisle Sanderson.

  “Hello,” the coordinator greeted the middle-aged assistant sitting at her desk. “This is Sophia Christopoulos. Mr. Sanderson’s five thirty.”

  “Hello, welcome,” Violet purred in a slow southern drawl as a big smile popped onto her chubby face and a gentle handshake welcomed Sophia. “Mr. Sanderson is expecting you both. Go on in.”

  Sophia was now acclimated to the immensity of partner’s offices. As she walked in, she was not surprised at the striking décor: black marble floors, deep red area rugs, and heavy black leather furniture. But this time she was awed by the sweeping view of the Los Angeles skyline bejeweled in the early fall night. Sophia even saw the Hollywood sign nestled brightly in the Hollywood Hills.

  “Beautiful, isn’t it?” An older man with an obvious auburn toupee got up from behind his desk to greet Sophia.

  “Yes, it is breathtaking.”

  “Hello. I’m Carlisle Sanderson. Carlisle.” The toupeed man had both Southern charm and an accent to match. “Please sit down.”

  “Thank you.” Sophia was immediately taken with this man in his seventies.

  She sat in one of the paired massive chairs opposite Carlisle’s desk. It tried to swallow her in its relaxed softness, but Sophia sat up straight and resisted. Carlisle’s choice of guest chairs was as disarming as his demeanor. But Sophia would not be disarmed, not even a little. She had two more hurdles this day, this interview and the dinner. She knew Carlisle’s bio and clients as well as her dinner companions’. She was prepared.

  “I’ll see to it Sophia gets to her dinner. Thank you for all your help today,” Carlisle politely and pleasantly dismissed the coordinator.

  “Everyone is amazed at that view and, on occasion, I still am also.” Carlisle skillfully put Sophia at ease and sat behind his desk. “Have you had a nice day here?”

  “I have, thank you.”

  Carlisle waited for a more complete answer and Sophia quickly complied.

  “I’ve met some very interesting, impressive lawyers and I had a wonderful lunch with some hardworking, very bright associates. They were candid and forthcoming in answering all my questions. I appreciate all the time and effort everyone has put into making me feel comfortable.”

  “Now, my dear, that is very gracious of you, but I know the people you saw, and at least a few must have tried your patience. They try mine on a daily basis.”

  “You caught me, Mr. Sanderson.” Sophia chuckled at Carlisle’s twinkly-eyed candidness.

  “Call me Carlisle, please. I don’t want to feel older than I am.”

  “Carlisle. But seriously, I know this is a great fit for me.”

  “I’m glad you feel that way. Your stellar credentials are quite an accomplishment. But they are more academic than real world, you do understand that?”

  “Yes, sir. I do. I have a lot to learn.”

  “There is no resting on your laurels here. We have had many begin with your law school accomplishments. Some survive. Others don’t. It takes drive, that’s true, but many other things too that are less definable. Frank and Dante think you have the Thorne & Chase character. But do you? That’s my concern.”

  “Mr. Sanderson, I . . .”

  “Carlisle. Remember?”

  “Oh, of course . . . Carlisle. The short answer is ‘yes’.”

  Sophia assumed the Thorne & Chase character meant work-until-you-drop. She knew they had gotten down to the nitty-gritty hiring dance, and she wanted to do it—gingerly, assertively, but not necessarily honestly. She was going for the brass ring.

  “The longer answer is that I have planned and worked and indebted myself for this opportunity. I am not here because of luck or chance, nor am I naïve. I know what is expected of me, and I will do it. Threefold. Better than some I've observed today.”

  Sophia cringed and hoped she had not gone too far, but knew from her Frank Cummings interview that she needed to take a vigorous approach with the senior partners. After all, she was competing to be a litigator, not Miss Congeniality at the Miss America Pageant.

  “Ah! Confidence. I like it. That’s necessary, also. But . . . now tell me . . .”

  Carlisle was interrupted by a staccato knock as his door opened. The tall thin man from the stairwell charged in, red-faced. His black suit and white shirt were punctuated with a yellow tie.

  “Oh, she’s here?” The man’s raspy voice was much too old for his fortyish face.

  “That’s all right. But you’re early too, so come on in and meet our candidate. Sophia Christopoulos, this is Roger Morelock, a stellar junior partner and quite a litigator. He’s in your dinner party tonight.”

  “Hello, Sophia,” Roger shook her hand and flashed front teeth that not only matched his yellow tie, but were crooked.

  “Nice to meet you.”

  Roger dropped her hand and looked around nervously like a caged animal before stepping over to Carlisle’s desk.

  “Carlisle, I need to speak to you. Outside.” Roger insisted in an agitated, raspy whisper.

  Sophia couldn’t help but stare at Roger’s huge beak of a nose, made more prominent in profile by his receding chin.

  “If it is interesting, maybe we should include Sophia. No names, though.”

  “Fine.” Roger’s voice went up with his irritation level. “I have a new contingency case. It’s phenomenal with a huge upside. But Frank is blocking it just like he did my others. And I’m not taking it this time.”

  “You were right. Perhaps discussing this later would be more appropriate.”

  The floodgate had opened and Roger did not stop.

  “I’ll tell you what’s more appropriate. For Frank to back off. My first case that he blocked got Martin & Martin their fee on a 5.4-million-dollar settlement. My other got Kroeger on the Westside its fee on a 3-million-dollar one. These wins would have made me a full partner. I know it. And we are talking 5.8 million on this case, a sure winner.”

  “You may be right, but we’ll talk after dinner. I’ll be here, waiting for a call from Hong Kong. Come back.”

  “Fine. I’ll be back. But I am taking this case. You figure out how.”

  Roger marched unceremoniously out the door, slamming it behind him.

  “I’m sorry, Sophia, every family has its quarrels. And what about yours?”

  “My family or their quarrels?” she bantered.

  “Either.” Carlisle was pleased with her calm acceptance of what she had just witnessed.

  “My family is tight and strong. Their quarrels are short and loud.”

  “How interesting and how Mediterranean. This family, our Thorne & Chase family, is tight and strong, too. But our fights go both ways—short and loud—or quiet, long, and seething.”

  “Nothing wrong with either.” Sophia was disingenuous and remembered the parking garage shooting.

  Carlisle smiled. “I like short and loud for families—and firms as well.”

  Carlisle never went back to discussing the Thorne & Chase character. Sophia assumed her little speech had satisfied him. Instead, he used the time before Roger came back to impress Sophia with the firm’s prestigious client list and its commitment to giving associates as much responsibility as they could handle, including depositions and court appearances. Every firm dangled those carrots in front of unsuspecting associates who would, in reality, end up doing research, grunt work, numbing paper and electronic document reviews, or dealing with last-minute horrors like James Tang’s.

  But Sophia still liked the man and his transparently false lures. It meant the consensus of the day was that she was worth the “pitch.”

  ⌘

  Chapter 11

  No Red and White />
  Checked Tablecloths

  Roger returned to Carlisle’s office on time. He and Sophia left to meet the other partners at a nearby Italian restaurant.

  Roger was still agitated and walked the three blocks quickly and silently. Sophia kept pace. Roger’s cell phone rang in his suit coat pocket. He reached in and answered.

  “Later. I can't talk now.”

  She fell behind Roger’s long strides. Neither of them cared. Sophia thought about the people at the firm: the cannibals, the prey, the fools, and some potential friends as well. She was confident she could do the work, but wasn’t sure if she could do the politics at Thorne & Chase. But what she did know unquestionably was that she wanted the brass ring, the fat Thorne & Chase paycheck.

  Outside the restaurant, Roger waited. Sophia caught up and reached to open the polished oak door. Roger beat her to it.

  “Allow me.”

  Sophia did with a twinge of awkwardness. She wasn’t used to that. She also wasn’t used to the elegant Italian restaurant she entered. It was not a red-and-white-checked tablecloth pizza and spaghetti place. It was Thorne & Chase Italian.

  The long black granite bar was packed with business-suited men and women. The adjacent, similarly populated dining room had umber walls dotted with Italian countryside paintings. The white-linened tables popped from the dark surroundings and sparkled with white china and oversized stemware. A copper-tiled ceiling crowned the rustic but elegant room.

  Roger read the confusion on Sophia’s face.

  “It’s northern Italian. You can still get a pizza.”

  Roger was condescending, but had accurately assessed her thoughts.

  “Great.”

  Sophia was pleasant and not defensive. She did not explain, analyze, justify, or correct. All she wanted was the offer. That, and a face that was less transparent.

  Roger spoke to the maître d’, whose mustached mouth sported a thick Italian bastardized accent, revealing his American birth and phony atmospheric theatrics.