“He’s about to.”
“He hasn’t signed the papers.”
“I know. Change of plans. He snuck out an hour ago and I just found him. They’re cleared for departure at 11:55. I need the papers now. Are they ready?”
“I—” I abandon Arthur and hurry down the hall to my office to pull up the documents on my computer. “Very nearly. I can email them to you, but you’ll need him to sign a hard copy. Do you have access to a printer?”
“I’ll find one.”
“How’s his mental state?”
“You mean, is he crazy? No worse than usual. But he read that it was important to visit the Brazilian shaman on a full moon, so he has to leave now to get there in time for the next one. He also shaved his head and both his legs.”
“Are you going with him?”
“I offered. He says he has to go alone.” William sounds a tiny bit relieved by this fact, and I don’t blame him. When he first told me of his father’s plans, I pictured future hikers finding Julian’s remains wrapped up in vines, just his teeth and a couple of ribs left behind to identify him.
“Okay, William. I’ll prepare the POA and email it to you in half an hour. It needs notarization and the signature of at least one witness.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means I’m also going to send you a notary public. Don’t sign anything until she gets there. And ask the pilot or a member of the flight staff to sign, too, as your witness.”
“Okay. Okay. Thanks, Caitlin.”
I hang up and curse Julian and his idiocy, then sort through the company contact list until I find the home phone numbers of our three notary publics. The first one doesn’t answer, the second has a sick child and the third, Nancy Patel, extracts a promise for an appointment with my hairdresser, Marcel, the most exclusive stylist in the city, in exchange for racing out to the airport at this hour.
I fire off a text to Marcel before tossing down the phone and finalizing the details for the power of attorney. I type with one hand and reach for the energy drink with the other, finding the can mysteriously empty. I hesitate, but a series of yawns convinces me to down a second one. Despite its promises—or perhaps I’m just becoming immune to the stuff—I don’t feel any more awake, and my hands are twitchy. It takes four tries to type in William’s email address, and the words on the screen are starting to blur. I blame it on skipping dinner again. I’d been in court all day, returned to the office in time for a staff meeting, then snagged Arthur to discuss the Teller case for a few hours. I remind myself a missed meal never hurt anybody, but my rumbling stomach disagrees.
“Um, Caitlin?”
I glance up to find Arthur in the doorway, briefcase in hand. “What is it?”
“It’s 11:35. I’m going to head home. Unless you need something...?” The question trails off, as reluctant to be asked as its asker is to be asking.
“No, Arthur. I’ve got it.”
“Are you sure? I’ve done a lot of power of attorneys. I could—”
“I’m sure.”
He hesitates, then nods once before turning to go. “Good night.”
By the time I hit Send on the email my head is pounding, the words are swimming and I can barely keep my eyes open. It’s 11:51. Nancy will be there by now, William will make sure his father signs and everything is taken care of.
This is what I live for, I think, covering my mouth as another yawn hits. I love being the first one in and the last one to leave. The quiet office feels like it’s all mine, and I spin in my seat to look out at the dark city, the moon reflecting off a window across the street as though it had been hung there just for me.
Chapter Two
I wake up when a laser beam slashes through my brain. At least, that’s what it feels like. I curse and cover my face as consciousness seeps in. I don’t need to open my eyes to know where I am. The familiar feel of my desk beneath my cheek, papers stuck to my jaw, back aching from having slept hunched over... I fell asleep at work. Again.
I fumble for my phone to check the time, but it’s not in its usual place. No matter. By now I know that the sun rises at quarter past five, and the laser that woke me was its reflection off the building across the street, slanting its orangey light right across my desk.
I straighten and smooth my hair, wipe telltale signs of sleep from my face, then fish my personal first aid kit from the bottom drawer of my desk. Six weeks ago I’d settled a massive class action suit I’d been working on for the better part of a year. As the case dragged on I’d spent increasing amounts of time at the office, falling asleep at my desk more often than not. So often, in fact, that I now keep a spare set of toiletries in my drawer and get my dry cleaning delivered here so I have a change of clothes.
I hurry through the still-quiet hallways to the bathroom, strip down to my camisole, and wash my face and brush my teeth. I reapply makeup, twist my hair into a topknot and swap yesterday’s wrinkled suit for a sleek, fitted dress and a new pair of heels. Perfect.
I exit the bathroom in time to see one of the fourth-year associates hustling in, and make a point to look at my watch as though to say, You’re just getting here now? He looks away, chagrined, and I return to my desk, jolting when my recycling bin vibrates. I dig through the pile of empty energy drink cans and fish out my phone—one mystery solved—then frown when I see that I have thirty-two missed calls and twenty-one text messages. I play back the first of thirteen voice mails as I scroll through the texts, most of which are from William Eldard.
“Caitlin,” begins the first message. “Am I missing something? Where’s the power of attorney? Are you sending it in a separate email?”
Next message.
“Caitlin—where are you? Answer your phone. Where’s the POA? I don’t see any attachments.”
Next message, from Nancy Patel. “I’m at the airport with William and his father, but there’s no POA for me to notarize. Hear that? That’s the plane starting up. It leaves in three minutes. Send that form. And answer your phone, for Christ’s sake.”
Next message. William again. “What the fuck, Caitlin? He’s getting on the plane! We have two minutes until takeoff! Is this some sort of joke? Pick up!”
My heart’s pounding so fast I feel dizzy. The text messages follow the same line of questioning, each more alarming than the next.
One minute, Caitlin! What the hell are you doing?
They’re pulling up the stairs. Oh my God. I can’t believe you did this.
They’re gone. They’re gone. And so are you, apparently. What the fuck just happened? Where are you?
Several more voice messages, nearly identical. The last one’s from Nancy Patel. “You really screwed this one up, Dufresne.” Pause. “I still want my haircut.”
No.
No, no, no, no.
I drop the phone and start my computer, fiddling frantically with the mouse as I wait for my emails to load. I click on the Sent folder and find the message to William Eldard, sent last night with nine minutes to spare. My instructions on how to complete the POA, the reminder to wait for Nancy before signing...then nothing. No attachment.
I forgot to include the fucking POA.
My phone spent the night vibrating in the recycling bin while I was passed out at my desk and Julian Eldard took off to parts unknown. Eldard Construction brings the firm six million dollars a year—with Julian in the rain forest, William’s hands are tied. How the hell did I let this happen?
I turn automatically to the bar fridge in the corner of my office, reaching for an energy drink, then freeze. Probably not a good idea, given the cans overflowing my recycling bin. The cans that did nothing to keep me awake long enough to avoid this disaster. My gurgling stomach prompts me to dig through my desk drawers in search of something to eat, but all I find is a pack of gum. It’ll
have to do until I sort out this mess, until I—
“Caitlin. Good morning.”
I freeze midchew and look up to find the three partners looming in the doorway. Don Sterling, Joseph Morgan and Lee Haines are never in before seven. They’re certainly not wearing their finest suits and sternest expressions, and those cold stares are rarely directed at me. There’s only one reason for it, and I’m not stupid enough to play dumb.
They know.
* * *
“I can explain,” I begin, when we’re stationed in Sterling’s spacious corner office. It’s 6:01 a.m. and the morning sun pours in through two walls of windows like a spotlight, somehow managing to focus all its judgmental heat on me. Sterling sits behind his massive desk, Morgan has propped himself up against one corner and Haines takes the seat next to me. Despite our recently ended affair, not for one second do I think Haines’s positioning means we’re on the same side. I fucked up and this can’t be good.
“We already know,” Sterling interrupts. “We’ve spoken to William Eldard.”
I suck in a deep breath and my stomach growls. “I forgot to attach the power of attorney,” I say in a rush. “It was ready to go, on time, but I guess I was distracted. Julian was willing to sign, so this is fixable. I’ll be on the first flight to Brazil—at my own expense—and I will ride pack mules or zip lines or whatever it takes to find—”
“Caitlin,” Haines says, placing a hand on my armrest, gazing at me with sympathy. This is a new look. He’s an imposing figure, with broad shoulders, flawless dark skin and just a few flecks of gray in his short hair to remind us he’s in his fifties. The look he’s directing at me now makes my spine straighten with unease. Even when we dated he didn’t look at me with this much...concern. “You’re not going to Brazil.”
“It’s no trouble, I can—”
“We’ve already sent Louis Wexler.”
“I—Louis Wexler? He’s the worst!”
“He’s hardly the worst.”
“He’ll be eaten alive. Quite literally eaten alive. By snakes, or crocodiles or...panthers.” Which wouldn’t really be a loss, since Louis is the human equivalent of pond scum.
“Louis will be fine, though your concern is touching.”
I clamp my mouth shut and pull in a deep breath. Perhaps I should be concerned about Louis, but what I’m really worried about is my job. As soon as I’d had an inkling the partners were considering a new location in LA, I’d filed my application to take the California bar exam, studied my ass off and passed with flying colors. “What about LA?”
The three men exchange looks. Haines rolls his lips, reluctant to reply, killing me a little more with each second. “Heading up a new office is a big responsibility,” he says, eventually meeting my eye. “It’s about more than being good.”
I bristle a little. I’m better than good. I’m the best. It’s why they hired me.
“It’s about more than being the best,” he adds. “It’s about being a leader.”
“I know that.” For three years running I’ve led the firm in billable hours and cases won. I’m an exceptional leader.
Morgan steps in. “It’s about being part of a team.”
“I’ve been part of this team for five years.” It takes all my energy not to roll my eyes. The elite law firm of Sterling, Morgan & Haines hardly epitomizes teamwork: with the exception of Arthur, every person in this firm is cutthroat and selfish, the very qualities it takes to succeed in this business. Oh, sure, there are lawyers out there who are kind and generous, but they’re making forty grand a year working out of their dining room in some backwoods town.
“And you’ve been a valuable asset,” Morgan replies patiently. “You’ve also been working very hard.”
“Too hard,” Sterling injects.
I spare him a glance. “What does that mean?”
“It means we’ve reassigned your cases. Louis Wexler was going to inherit Eldard when you left for LA. This trip merely offers him an early way in.”
“We weren’t supposed to start reassigning clients for another month,” I protest. And I’d heard rumors Wexler would take over for Eldard, but I’d planned to find a way around that.
Morgan waves a hand dismissively. “You need a holiday, Caitlin. You’ll spend the next two weeks bringing the new lawyers up to speed on any open cases, and the rest of the summer at home.”
My jaw drops. “At home? Doing what?” My mind is racing. I can’t fathom spending six weeks at home. I’m not moving until the end of August. I have literally nothing to do if I’m not working.
“Resting,” Sterling says, shrugging like he couldn’t care less if I sleep in or skydive. “Read a book. Watch TV. Go to the beach. Whatever you want. You’ll be representing the firm in LA, and we want the very best. You need to be at the top of your game, and, at the moment, you’re not.”
I stop breathing. It feels like he’s taken a blowtorch to my chest, carving out a perfect circle to reach in and snatch out my heart. I look between the three men frantically, but they’re impassive and pious. What will people think if I take a sudden leave of absence? A six-week leave of absence? They’ll say I’ve gone crazy. I couldn’t hack it. One mistake and I can’t hack it? I grip the seat hard enough my knuckles turn white and say the first thing that comes to mind. “Absolutely not.”
Sterling steeples his fingers beneath his chin. “I beg your pardon?”
“I can’t take a six-week holiday. I’ll just...” Then it hits me. “I’ll go to California early to help prepare the new office. The timing is perfect.”
“That’s completely unnecessary,” Morgan replies calmly. “As you know, we’ve hired Cole Godley as your second-in-command. He has everything under control. There’s nothing for you to do there yet. The offices are still being renovated.”
Cole Godley. What a name. I’ve never met the guy, but there’s no way he’s not a pompous asshole. But that’s beside the point, and I can’t afford to lose sight of the point right now. “I appreciate your concern,” I say politely, “but I don’t want a holiday. I don’t need a holiday.”
“We disagree.” This is Haines. He holds up a hand to stave off my next argument. “We understand your position. We’ve all been there. That’s why we know the signs. You’ve been working too hard, and it’s affecting the quality of your work.”
I can’t stop the hand that goes to the gaping hole in my chest. “My work has not been suffering.”
Another meaningful look passes between the three. I hate them. Especially Morgan, who I’ve always hated, but who, right now, looks like a rumpled Einstein with his oversize brown suit and I’ve-just-been-electrocuted hair. I hate him even more when he points out the time I was late filing an appeal, the occasion I got the date wrong for a deposition and missed the whole thing, and the ten minutes I fell asleep during Wednesday’s staff meeting.
“Three things?” I scoff, with more bravado than I feel. My stomach is eating itself, I’m sure of it. Maybe if I swallow my gum it’ll give it something to do. “Three minor mistakes in five years is no reason—”
“Three minor mistakes,” Sterling interjects, “that foreshadowed one major mistake.”
“I offered—”
He ignores me. “You have a bright future, Caitlin. And we’d like it to continue with the firm. But you can’t keep going the way you have been. You need a break, and we’re giving you one. If we can’t trust you to do your job here, how can we trust you in LA?”
“My cases—”
“Will be taken care of. You knew this was going to happen, it’s just happening a little sooner than expected.”
“Which brings us to our next point,” Morgan says, making me sit up in alarm. A second point? There’s no earthly way I’ve done two things wrong. “Teamwork.”
Ugh. “Teamwork?” I echo po
litely.
“If you’re going to head up the LA office, you’ll need to learn how to work as part of a team.”
“I—”
“Part of the team,” Sterling interrupts, holding up a copy of Chicago’s Finest, my glossy face beaming at us from the cover. “Not just the star.”
“I can’t help it if I’m...memorable.”
The men clear their throats and look away, and I reluctantly concede that memorable may not be the word most used to describe me. You have to make your opportunities in this world, and I’m more than willing to make mine, no matter what it takes. It’s not my fault if people hold grudges.
“We’ll be paying close attention to your behavior in the coming weeks,” Morgan warns. “While there’s no doubt you have the intelligence and work ethic to make the LA office a success, we want to see you making an effort to work well with others. It’s one thing to be...self-focused on your way up, but once you’re at the top, your perspective has to change. Leadership is about seeing the firm succeed, which means helping the people within it reach their maximum potential. It’s no longer an individual game.”
My smile feels brittle. “Of course. But I don’t see how a forced holiday fits into this plan.”
Morgan fiddles with his earlobe. “I checked your files, Caitlin. In four years and two months with the firm, you’ve taken three vacation days.”
“See? I do know how to take a break.”
“You had an appendectomy.”
Oh. Right.
“And just recently, Varner in accounting brought something interesting to my attention. Do you know what it was?”
I resist the urge to fold my arms and pout. I don’t even know who Varner in accounting is. “No.”
“It was a report of your billables for the past year. Do you know what you bill on average?”
I’m seething and don’t reply, so Morgan answers himself, rattling off some rather impressive figures. He finishes with, “That works out to you working at least twenty-three hours a day.”
In Her Defense Page 2