by Amy Gutman
as a charming relic of its patrician past, had begun to interfere with 8
business. And Samson was, first and foremost, a business. Bowing 9
to the inevitable, the firm edged its way into cyberspace, a territory 10
as alien to its rulers as the planet Mars. E-mail. The Internet. Stan-11
dard issue for more than a decade in the modern business world but 12
still suspect intruders at Samson.
13
And so he found himself in the happy position of breaking and 14
entering an unlocked house. The attorneys’ “secret” passwords 15
gave the illusion of privacy but none of its substance. Remarkable, 16
really, the faith placed by these brilliant men and women in a tech-17
nology they didn’t understand. Hubris. The fatal flaw.
18
He typed in her user ID, mwaters. Then came the password 19
prompt. He grinned as he typed in the response: password. That 20
was it. The same word for everyone. Something easy to remember.
21
She could have changed the defaults, of course. It would have 22
taken only a minute. But she hadn’t taken the time. Like the oth-23
ers, she couldn’t be bothered.
24
A few more clicks, and he was scrolling through a list of her files.
25
Luckily for him, she was one of the new breed, treating her hard 26
drive like a filing cabinet. He’d dipped into these files in the past, 27
not out of any real interest, but for the thrill he took in the fact 28
that he could. Confidential memos outlining trial strategies for 29
lawsuits worth tens of millions of dollars. Clinical dissections of 30
the odds of success. Privileged information that, if leaked, would 31
mean the loss of fortune and career. If blackmail were the goal, 32
he’d have had it made.
33
But he had other things on his mind.
34 sh
Exiting WordPerfect, he clicked on the Calendar icon. In an in-35 re
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A M Y G U T M A N
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stant, it appeared before him, everything crystal clear. The perfect 2
map. Madeleine Waters’s anticipated movements for the next 3
twelve months. He felt an adrenaline surge, stiff heat in his shoul-4
ders and neck. The room was growing colder as the night chill 5
deepened, but he barely noticed. He had work to do, decisions to 6
make.
7
He reviewed the recent additions. December 23. With Christ-8
mas approaching, the week had been slow: the usual assortment of 9
professional engagements, lunches, meetings, the occasional bene-10
fit or awards banquet in support of a worthy cause.
11
And then a single entry struck his eye.
12
Dinner with Chuck Thorpe. At Ormond. January 5. He knew 13
the restaurant. Had in fact eaten there when it opened last year, 14
unable to absent himself discreetly from the Civil Rights Forum’s 15
annual dinner. Such occasions always left him aching with hatred 16
for the world he’d been forced to inhabit. The smug corporate 17
sponsors. The self-satisfied attorneys who came to be feted, confi-18
dent that their brief forays into pro bono work conferred a sort of 19
secular sainthood.
20
But this miserable dinner had finally proved a gift in disguise.
21
He remembered the restaurant clearly, the low lights, the widely 22
spaced tables. Yes, it was almost ideal, better than he could have 23
hoped. A sense of euphoria swept through him.
24
Then, without warning, it was gone, and he was spinning, spin-25
ning down a cold black chute.
26
No. Make it stop.
27
He pressed his teeth together, already knowing what would 28
come. Dizzy, he grasped the table’s edge. A sour sweat leaked 29
through his pores. The smell of fear. The smell of death.
30
I’m moving as fast as I can.
31
He tried to fight back, to win a reprieve. But it was no use. He 32
was already tumbling back. Back to where it all began.
33
A dark room. And everywhere the scent of fear.
ort 34
She’s sprawled across the floor. He looks down at her from above. It reg 35
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E Q U I V O C A L D E A T H
7
feels strange to look down. He’s always looked up at her face, her beau-1
tiful, smiling face.
2
It’s so dark. For a long time, now. Why is she lying so still?
3
He sleeps.
4
And then it’s light. She’s still there, sprawled and broken in ways that 5
he can’t comprehend. She’s floating in a sea of red.
6
He wants to get up, to go to her. But he can’t stand up, can’t seem to 7
move at all.
8
He cries out, but there’s something in his mouth.
9
At first, he thinks she’s asleep. But not really. Really, he knows that 10
she’s dead.
11
He’s hungry. He’s thirsty.
12
And, even then, he knows that she’s dead.
13
She’s dead, and it’s all his fault.
14
And then it was over. Slowly, the vision faded. Still trembling, 15
he stared at the wall. He felt weak, depleted, as if he could sleep for 16
days. But he couldn’t give in to these feelings. Not with success so 17
close. He had to think of the plan. He had to think of the plan. Soon, 18
it would all be over.
19
And he was finally ready to begin.
20
21
22
23
24
25
26
27
28
29
30
31
32
33
34 sh
35 re
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1
Monday, January 4
2
3
Monday morning. 7:05 a.m. A gray fog hung over the ice-glazed 4
spires of Manhattan. Pulling her red cashmere cape tight against 5
the winter air, twenty-six-year-old Kate Paine walked purposefully 6
across Fifth Avenue. The snow-dusted sidewalks were still sparsely 7
populated. A good two hours remained until the explosion of rush 8
hour, with its shrieking horns and screeching tires. In the relative 9
quiet of the morning, lulled by the city’s dull roar, Kate clutched 10
her cape close and smiled.
11
The holidays were behind her. She was home.
12
Approaching the plate-glass doors of Samson & Mills, Kate felt 13
a swell of excitement. After more than a year at Samson, she still 14
could hardly believe that she’d been hired as an attorney at this 15
legendary firm. That of all the thousands of law school graduates 16
who poured into the workforce each year, she’d been one of the ort 17
chosen few. Ju
st out of Harvard Law, and she’d already worked on reg 18
cases that most lawyers only dreamed about, cases that routinely 9858_01_003-152_r5hb.qxd 9/28/00 3:57 PM Page 9
E Q U I V O C A L D E A T H
9
figured on the front pages of the Wall Street Journal and the New 1
York Times. Fascinating cases of first impression that stretched the 2
limits of the law. And even more important, she had the chance to 3
hone her skills with the nation’s most formidable attorneys.
4
Kate passed through the revolving doors and into an enormous 5
lobby. Tossing off greetings to the security guards, she slipped her 6
card key through an electronic scanner. Then she moved toward 7
the elevator, high heels clicking on the marble floor.
8
Four days into the new year, the lobby was already stripped of 9
holiday decoration. The scarlet poinsettias, with their incongruous 10
shock of color, had been whisked away. As had the majestic 11
Douglas fir and the electric menorah. Once again, the stately entry 12
stood sober and unadorned. Kate relaxed into the familiar space, 13
felt its timeless weight enfold her.
14
Thank God, the holidays were over.
15
The elevator was already waiting. Kate stepped on, and the 16
doors slid shut. Twenty. Thirty. The floors flashed by. As she’d 17
hoped, Kate was the first person to arrive on fifty-one. Making her 18
way down the deeply carpeted hall, past a row of identical doors, 19
she flipped on lights as she passed. Her own closed door was the 20
next to last. As she rummaged in her purse for the key, she studied 21
a small brass plate. Katharine T. Paine. The T stood for Trace, her 22
mother’s maiden name. On impulse, she ran a finger across the en-23
graving, the metal cold to her touch. Then she turned the key and 24
pushed open the door.
25
Stepping into the office, Kate inhaled its familiar smells, furni-26
ture wax mingled with Chanel No. 19, a fragrance she sometimes 27
wore. She cast an approving eye around her ordered domain, with 28
its panoramic views of the Hudson River and beyond. Even in the 29
morning haze, she could make out the Statue of Liberty in the dis-30
tance, a tiny, brave figure engulfed in mist. The room was just as 31
she’d left it. Neat stacks of paper lined her desk. Cartons of docu-32
ments were stacked against the wall. The preholiday cleanup.
33
She’d try to enjoy it while it lasted.
34 sh
Kate pulled off her cape and hung it in her office closet. Before 35 re
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closing the door, she paused to take stock in a mirror affixed to its 2
back. She looked healthy and rested, her skin lightly browned from 3
a week of sun. She quickly ran a comb through her dark brown 4
hair, cut in the jaw-length bob favored by Samson’s female lawyers, 5
then straightened her horn-rimmed glasses. The glasses were a re-6
cent addition, acquired when she started work. Studying her face 7
in the mirror, Kate decided that she liked the effect. Professional.
8
In control. A woman to be reckoned with.
9
How different she looked now from two years ago, when she’d 10
roamed the Harvard campus in ratty jeans and a backpack. Yet one 11
thing remained the same. Her reflected image inspired the same 12
sense of dislocation that it had since she was a child. Who is that 13
woman? Me but not me. She didn’t dislike what she saw. To the 14
contrary, she knew she was pretty. Clear skin, high cheekbones, a 15
fine straight nose. Her eyes were a deep shade of blue. “Stormy,”
16
her mother used to call them. A full-length mirror would have 17
gone on to show the strong but delicate form: shoulders broad 18
enough that she always cut the pads out of her suit jackets, a sweep 19
of breast not entirely concealed by her black-and-gray Tahari suit, 20
narrow hips tapering to long, slim legs.
21
So why couldn’t she see this person as herself ?
22
It was an old question, one that she’d long tired of considering.
23
She shut the closet door and turned toward her desk.
24
I’m proud of myself, Kate thought, surveying the well-appointed 25
office. I did this all on my own. I could have fallen apart. But I didn’t.
26
In the end, Michael did me a favor. . . .
27
But Michael belonged to the past; he had nothing to do with 28
her new life. Pushing the memories aside, Kate sat down and 29
turned on her computer. The screen flashed on. Responding to 30
computer prompts, Kate quickly typed in her user ID followed by 31
the word password. Then it was on to e-mail. Among the usual 32
clutter of junk e-mails — a paralegal looking for a downtown sub-33
let, a secretary with free kittens, an associate seeking a financial ort 34
planner — she culled the few messages that demanded immediate reg 35
attention. From Justin Daniels, her old friend and Harvard class-9858_01_003-152_r5hb.qxd 9/28/00 3:57 PM Page 11
E Q U I V O C A L D E A T H
1 1
mate: “Welcome back! We missed you and we know you missed us.
1
Let’s shoot for drinks later this week. Cheers. J. D.” From Andrea 2
Lee, her friend and comrade on countless late nights: “Can’t wait 3
to catch up. Call me ASAP.” There was also a plaintive note from 4
Jonathan Kurtz, a Harvard classmate who’d occupied the office two 5
doors down until a few months back, when he’d been shipped off 6
to Kansas for a trial. “I fully believe that I will be here in Wichita 7
from now until the end of time. I will never perform any task other 8
than the preparation of cross-examination books that will never be 9
used at trial or anywhere else. I will never see any of my friends or 10
family again. On the upside, I will never have to pay for another 11
meal as long as I live.”
12
Kate laughed. Again, she felt a glow of pleasure, happy to be 13
precisely where she was. But the sense of satisfaction was short-14
lived. Soon, she sat staring at an e-mail from Peyton Winslow, a 15
senior associate at the firm. “Greetings. I hope that you enjoyed 16
your vacation. Please prepare for a meeting this morning at 10 a.m.
17
with Carter Mills regarding a new matter. The Complaint (which 18
we believe will be served on January 13) and related papers are in 19
distribution. Please review and be ready to discuss.”
20
Kate glanced at her watch. Already after eight. Quickly, she 21
thumbed through the mountain of mail that had piled up during 22
her vacation. “Will someone just shoot me?” she muttered. Still, 23
beneath the anxiety, she felt a burgeoning excitement. A new case.
24
And a matter significant enough to involve the illustrious Carter 25
Mills. To get in o
n a case like this at the very start — what a coup!
26
So many of Samson’s massive cases had been gathering dust for 27
decades. There would be nothing for years and then a brief flurry of 28
activity when the current crop of Samson underlings would try to 29
make sense of what their predecessors had done. The work often 30
seemed more archaeological than legal. Now she’d be in on things 31
from the start, positioned to watch the strategies unfold.
32
The phone rang, but Kate let voice mail pick up as she contin-33
ued to search through the mail. She finally found what she was 34 sh
looking for. The complaint, stamped “Draft” across every page, was 35 re
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A M Y G U T M A N
1
captioned for the Southern District of New York, the federal trial 2
court of Manhattan. The plaintiff’s attorneys must have sent over 3
a draft in hopes of an early settlement. It was often done, the draft 4
complaint serving as leverage, proof of the seriousness of plaintiffs’
5
intent and the prima facie strength of their case.
6
The draft complaint was twenty-three pages. Kate quickly 7
skimmed its contents, trying to get the gist of the claims.
8
And then paused to let it all sink in.
9
This was, in no uncertain terms, a sexual harassment suit charg-10
ing Chuck Thorpe and WideWorld Media with violations of both 11
state and federal law.
12
Chuck Thorpe.
13
WideWorld Media.
14
Kate grappled with the implications.
15
WideWorld was one of Samson’s largest clients, a sprawling 16
communications behemoth with a seemingly insatiable appetite 17
for new acquisitions. Its recent purchase of Catch — a “relentlessly 18
provocative” men’s magazine edited by Thorpe — had sparked a 19
firestorm of protest among stockholders. If they had been upset be-20
fore, this would send them over the edge. While the controversy 21
might be good for circulation — further enhancing Thorpe’s status 22
as publishing’s reigning enfant terrible — it would not play well 23
with the board of directors.
24
A tentative knock on the door broke into her thoughts.
25
“Come in!”
26
“Hi, Kate. Welcome back!” In the doorway stood Jennifer Torri-27
celli, her unflappable nineteen-year-old secretary. Jennifer’s dark 28