“Of course, what is it?”
“Apparently Michael Stone and Krystle Cann from HR have drawn up a list of staff to be made redundant. And Mike is on it.”
“What, but he is fairly busy and he’s only on a junior lawyer’s salary! His girlfriend is pregnant - he just told me yesterday.”
“I know! Maybe they will change their minds. I heard that the list is to be finalised by this afternoon.”
After we had hung up I pressed the short dial for Mike. I felt somehow responsible for him as I had taken part in persuading him to work in our team and, apart from being a fine person, he had been an invaluable help on my aircraft transactions.
“Hey, Chloé! What can I do for you?” He was as obliging as ever.
“Just quickly - have you told Tracey yet that Natasha is pregnant?”
“No, not yet - I mean why should I, it doesn’t affect my work.”
“You should tell her ASAP. Don’t ask why. Just do it. Please. Now.”
“Uhm. OK, sure.”
Good, maybe it would get him off that list. The whole thing was absurd. Even following the stock market crash, in October, we had been busy with restructuring various deals we had completed in the last two or three years. There wasn’t a great outlook for new transactions in the near future but as soon as the banks would be back in business, so would we. No firm would take such a short-term view.
I was wrong.
“So, Chloé. I trust you have read the CEO’s email this morning. As it said, every office and department is affected, also this one. A list has been drawn up of members of staff who are affected by the restructuring. Actually, Mike’s name was on the list but I took him off it as he will have to provide for his girlfriend and a baby. I had to give another name instead. So, now your name is on it.”
I was standing in front of Tracey’s desk. She had called me and asked me to come and see her. I only managed to stare at her incredulously.
“You will be offered the same as everyone else. The firm will pay you three months’ salary in return for signing a termination agreement and you can leave now.” She spoke in a business-like manner, as if she was talking about a new transaction.
“And what if I don’t accept?”
“Then we will lawfully terminate your employment contract by giving you the required notice period.”
“I will have to take legal advice.”
“Of course.” She smiled sweetly. I left her office without a further word and without closing the door.
“I don’t believe this! They are firing my wife? What assholes!” Jacob freaked out when I told him, having straightaway walked to his office. “You must contact an employment specialist! Here, wait - there was an article I saw a while ago about this lawyer who successfully represented some high-profile CEO.” He rummaged through a pile of business magazines on his shelf. “There it is. Ah, page 23 - there - his name is Peter Weaver. Just Google him, and call straightaway. Three months’ salary as a severance payment is ridiculous. You should get one to two years’ worth.”
“But I don’t want to have to leave! I want - I need - this job!”
“You’ll get another one and until then we have a shit load of cash.” He grinned with glee.
I couldn’t feel any glee at all. Peter Weaver did confirm Jacob’s view about what was an adequate severance package in my case and responded to management, accordingly, on my behalf. P&W, however, didn’t move at all on their offer ‘accept three monthly wages severance or get fired’.
Thus, after several weeks of being isolated and ignored in the office, whilst keeping strict working hours at the advice of my lawyer, I received Tracey’s version of Lady Macbeth’s letter. I now found myself - a hard-working, highly experienced, former equity partner, Oxford-educated barrister and solicitor and mother of two - out of work.
* * *
“I doubt that they will let this go to trial. I expect them to make a decent offer now.”
I found myself in court with Peter Weaver, waiting for the lawyer representing P&W and the judge to arrive. Immediately after having received my termination notice and being escorted out of the building within an hour thereof, I had called Peter Weaver who lodged our case one day later. It took another month for the judge to summon the parties to court for a negotiation meeting.
“Well, I need it. I am struggling financially, to be honest. I get less than ten per cent. of my monthly net salary as unemployment benefit. This just about covers my daughters’ school fees. My husband is lending me money to cover my part of the mortgage payments and all other costs.”
“He is lending you money? Doesn’t he earn about the same as you did?”
“Yes.” I looked at the ground. That had been another unpleasant conversation with Jacob. I couldn’t blame him. Yes, if I had spent less money on clothes, shoes, handbags and holidays, I would have more reserves. But did I ever - ever-contemplate being without income? No. Maybe that was naïve. I regarded it as an inherent lack of existential fear. Deep down I felt I would always be alright. Yes, if necessary, I would do any work to support us. It would just not be logistically possible to change my lifestyle completely from one day to the next. If they were to make me a decent offer now, I would accept it and discuss with Jacob how to downsize our life. We could sell the house, sell the car, rent a small apartment. Whatever happened, never, ever, did I want to have to work within this type of culture or for those people again.
We were interrupted by the arrival of Krystle Cann, P&W’s HR manager, and Angela Lang, employment law partner at P&W. So the management had chosen to be represented by one of their partners, who thus would have a vested interest in this case. The door behind the bench opened and a young-looking woman with an Ellen de Generes-style blonde pixie haircut and blue-rimmed glasses, wearing a judge’s gown, entered the court, causing all to rise.
“Good morning,” she began. “In the matter of Chloé Krakowski versus Pratt & Wonkey LLP. - are all parties and their legal counsel present? Ah, good. I would like the parties to consider negotiating a settlement.”
“My client is not interested to settle, Your Honour. We consider this dismissal as having been made on lawful grounds,” Angela Lang replied.
“I see. Are you absolutely certain? Very well, then I will order pleadings be exchanged as follows,” the judge ruled. Checking through her calendar, she set the dates for four sets of pleadings. “That will take us to a trial date in September,” she concluded.
So now we were in full legal action mode and it was going to take months. The nightmare was not yet over.
* * *
Somehow the time went by more quickly than expected. The summer came and went while I played the good housewife and mother (who was amassing debt, with her husband, in order to be able to pay her half share of the outgoings) and tried to deal with the mounting tension in our relationship - with little success.
“So the trial is on Monday?” Jacob had come into our dressing room while I was switching handbags.
“Yes. Weaver said since we have exchanged pleadings twice and submitted all evidence in writing we might even get a judgment on Monday.”
“I doubt P&W will let it get to that. They will make you an offer and then you should take it whatever it is. I mean - you are suing my employer! How do you think that affects my position? If this gets any worse, I can forget my career!”
“Jacob. They haven’t made any offer at all. I had no choice but to sue. Anyway, I’m going into town now with the girls.” This discussion was pointless, especially when he was getting angry.
“What? You’re unemployed and are going shopping to spend our money?”
“Jacob, I did not say I was going shopping and I still have some of my own money.”
“It’s not your money, it’s our money! What is this - a new handbag? Don’t
you have enough of those stupid fucking handbags? My mother has only ever had one handbag and it certainly did not cost more than a hundred Euros! This really makes me sick!” He kicked the Prada bag I had emptied. I picked it up carefully and moved away from him towards the corner opposite the door where he was standing.
“Please don’t do this. I understand you’re upset, Jacob, but it is me who is being kicked and treated like shit by your employer. I don’t ever want to work in that kind of place ever again!”
“How dare you talk like that! Sometimes I think they were right to fire you! You are brainsick! You better get a fucking job when this is over and if you have to work as a fucking waitress I don’t fucking care! I can’t believe I had the fucking idea to have this fucking wedding and move into the house of princesses! It’s all your fucking fault!” He banged his fist against the cupboard door, threw me a hateful look and left the room. Several moments later I heard the front door bang shut.
After I had dried my tears, and poured myself a glass of wine, I went to see the girls downstairs. They were playing with our cat Peppermint, laughing as it tried to catch the red light being projected by the little torch Marie was holding in her hand.
“Mummy, can we go to the sushi place where the plates go around on a belt?” Noëlle asked.
“Sure, sweetie. Then we’ll go to the Japanese supermarket and buy some mochi as well.”
“OK! Will they make me fat?”
“Of course not! What on earth makes you say that?”
“That’s what Jacob said to me. He said I was getting fat because I was eating toast with Nutella.”
I quickly went to hug her. “No, no! Not at all! I’m sure he didn’t say that!”
“He did, then Marie said Noëlle is not fat! And then he said to Marie, you don’t understand anything you’re a dumb-ass.”
What?! I pulled Marie into my arms as well. “Come here, darling. I’m sure that was a joke, you know like you say silly-billy.”
“OK.” Marie did not seem upset. Good. I was livid though. It was one thing to scream at me, quite another to abuse my sweet little girls verbally.
In my arms, Noëlle seemed to feel protected enough to speak further. “But Antonio said nasty words to us the other day and told us he will beat us up if we tell you.”
“What? Why? What did he say?”
“I can’t tell you, Mummy. It was horrible.”
I pressed them both at me. “I’m so sorry, my loves. Boys can be quite mean sometimes. I’m sure he didn’t realise what he said. Please tell me, immediately, next time this happens. I’ll speak to Jacob about it anyway.”
“I don’t like Antonio anymore,” Noëlle said.
“I don’t like Jacob anymore,” Marie added. “They are both mean.”
I just hugged them tighter. I didn’t know what to say.
* * *
The evening before the trial, I sat down to write a letter to Jacob. When I had called Alexia to ask her for advice and tell her of my fight with Jacob she had recommended I should do just that.
“Write a letter - do what it takes. I’m sorry, Chloé, but you got married. For the second time! You’ve got to pull yourself together and make this marriage work at all cost,” Alexia had said.
“But the girls are unhappy, too.”
“Not if you make things work. It’s up to you, Chloé.”
“Maybe, but there is something I haven’t told you. Jacob takes anti-depressants.”
“Oh! Do you know which ones?”
“Imipramine. I have Googled it. It would explain his low sex-drive and his mood swings.”
“Have you talked to him about it?”
“Not really. One time I asked him what that was, when he had popped a tablet, and he says it’s to help him be less nervous when he has a presentation.”
“Well, I mean the current situation can’t be that easy for him either. I guess in his mind he married you with your job - it was like the basis of your relationship contract. Now the essential terms of that contract are being changed, which he doesn’t understand, doesn’t support and doesn’t want to live with.”
“Maybe you’re right. The last months have been hard on both of us.”
With that conversation in mind, I started to write the letter to Jacob. I was not sure I could reverse anything that had happened but I was going to try to rescue what was left.
Dear Jacob,
I need to tell you how I feel before things get out of control. Please take this seriously.
I don’t want to be patronised.
I don’t want to be shouted at.
I do not want to be cursed at. That is verbal violence. It hurts deep inside, destroys my feelings and scares me.
I should be allowed to be angry, especially when it is justified.
I want rules of manners to be accepted and supported.
I want appreciation for my thoughtfulness, not criticism or indifference or derisive lack of respect.
I want my needs to be taken seriously.
I want my husband to understand me and to love me and my children, and not for us to be subjected to your authority and constant criticism.
I never wanted the man whom I love and married to expect me to change and to adapt to his image of a wife.
I want a man who, in the case of existential or money issues, does not look for fault in me. I may be neurotic and sometimes superficial but that cannot be the justification for any disdainful behaviour towards me.
I want a man who does not leave me in times of trouble and who is also interested in my feelings.
I want my man to be happy for me if I spend my time doing something that makes me happy and fulfils me. I would like him to encourage me and support me in doing so.
I don’t want to be despised and criticised when I ‘m tidy and look after our home and our things (like fluffing up sofa cushions and using coasters).
I want my man to love and admire me for grooming and looking after myself.
I want a man who loves looking after, and looking out, for me.
I don’t want to be despised for spending my money. It ignores who I am and what I have achieved in my life and what I achieve now.
I don’t want to be punished with disdain and withdrawal of affection if my man does not like the way I am or behave.
I want to be spoiled once in a while by my man. I work hard and I deserve it.
It’s not all my fault and I don’t want to hear that anymore.
I also want to be treated with respect and tenderness physically. Crudely grabbing my breasts and other body parts particularly in inappropriate circumstances repels me.
I want my man to trust my decisions and to take them seriously.
I want to exercise my personal rights freely.
I want my children and their education to be respected.
I want criticism to be given kindly and constructively and not to be seen as an opportunity to impose an opinion on me or to give me a telling off.
I want to be loved and understood just the way I am.
I want our marriage to work and I want to be happy. Is that too much to ask?
I love you
Chloé
* * *
The next day I was waiting outside the courtroom, waiting for Peter Weaver. My stomach was in knots. I hoped that nobody I knew would see me. As if I had just wished for the opposite, I spotted a partner from Solomons in his robe walking up the corridor towards where I was sitting. He was engaged in conversation with what I assumed to be a client. When he looked up and saw me he appeared surprised.
“Oh, hello Chloé!” He hesitated as if to say something else and, when I only nodded at him, turned back to his client and walked on, not without glancing at the board next to the do
or to the courtroom which showed that my case was up next - Chloé Krakowski v. Pratt & Wonkey LLP. Oh shit. Lawyers cannot resist such sensational gossip. By tomorrow everybody in the legal community would know that I dared to take the big almighty firm to court.
Several minutes later, Peter Weaver arrived as well as Krystle Cann and Angela Lang. I wondered briefly whether the rumours Jacob had told me were true - namely that Angela was also a victim of the cleansing programme at P&W and was to be demoted to non-equity partner.
We all rose when the judge came in, this time with two lay judges. She still had this cute hair cut but this time was wearing red-rimmed glasses.
“Good morning.” She sat down and ruffled through her papers.
“Right. I have received and read all pleadings and have come to a conclusion. Before I pronounce my decision, however, I would like to ask the parties whether there have been any further negotiations for an out of court settlement.”
I turned to Peter Weaver in surprise. He replied immediately. “Your Honour, we have never received an offer after the initial one several months ago before my client was dismissed.”
“I am astonished to hear that. I must say, I am indeed astonished, that Pratt & Wonkey have let this case go to trial at all.”
“We have offered an amount equal to one year’s salary,” Angela Lang quickly declared as if that was no news.
“This is the first time we’ve heard about that,” Peter replied.
“Well, that is a good start,” the judge commented, “but in the circumstances, and looking at similar cases, I was thinking more of eighteen months. I expect Mrs. Krakowski will have considerable difficulties to find a new job any earlier than that. She is a very senior lawyer in a highly specialised area of the law, over forty years old and a mother of two young children.” The judge looked expectantly at our counterparties. Krystle Cann whispered something in Angela Lang’s ear.
“I have no authority to offer one cent more than that,” Angela replied stiffly, “and in my opinion, that offer is absolutely adequate.”
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