by Cat Adams
Then it was back down to Alan’s office to start on the brief edits. Normally, she’d just make them and be done, but they were extensive enough that she was worried. Some of the passages the associate removed changed the whole context of the argument for the new trial. If it’s signed and sent in like this, it’ll be denied. She just knew it, and Rick would be furious. They might even lose the client. She sat there, fingers tapping lightly on the keys, trying to decide what to do.
“There’s only one choice,” she said to the empty room. While she hated going over the associate’s head, she didn’t really work for him. Picking up the phone, she dialed a number she knew by heart.
“Hello?” She immediately recognized the six-year-old girl’s voice and as always, it was happy, full of recent laughter.
“Hi, Meagan. This is Mila. Could I talk to your dad?”
She had to pull the phone away from her ear as the receiver was dropped on the table with a clatter and Meagan yelled into the distance. “Daddy! Telephone!” Then the girl picked the receiver back up and started talking in a flurry of words. “He’s upstairs but I think he heard me. Did you have a good Christmas, Mila? I did. Got a new dolly, and a pretty new dress—red velvet with lots of lace.” Mila opened her mouth to reply, but there was no stopping the girl. “And I got a game, too! Have you ever played Trouble, Mila? I like the popper thing. Mommy won the first game but I won the second one!”
“That’s great, Meagan, but—”
She heard a click and then her boss’s voice broke in. “I’ve got it, Meg. You can hang up now.”
“’Kay, Daddy. Bye, Mila.” She put the phone down, but it must have been a portable unit, and she forgot to switch it off from the background noise of multiple children yelling and laughing that continued.
Rick sighed. “I’m going to have to train that girl better. What’s up, Mila? I’ve got a houseful, so keep it short.”
Mila nodded. “Just one quick question. I’m working on the edits that Robin made to the Johnson brief. I normally don’t question stuff like this, but he pulled out paragraph six … the whole thing, about the judge’s conflict of interest. Is that okay?”
Rick let out a swear that was loud enough for someone downstairs to notice the phone was on. There was a click and then the only voice was the one that was continuing to spout obscenities. “No. That’s not okay. Are you done with the edits? Read me what changes he made.”
She did, and could almost see his reaction in her mind. “What in the hell was he thinking? Damn it. I’m really glad you caught that. Someone else might have let this go in and we’d be screwed. Okay, let me find a quiet place somewhere and I’ll dictate some changes.”
She heard muffled scratching and a door opening as she turned on the speaker so she didn’t have to bend her neck into an odd position to be able to type.
She nearly laughed when she heard a door shut and an odd echo come over the line. The only place that happened was in the bathroom. But she thought it better not to comment. The conversation was reduced to snippets: “Weren’t, not wasn’t,” “Wouldn’t you rather say we believe that he had, rather than he had?” and “Put six back in, renumber, then read it again.” It wasn’t the first time she’d written entire papers this way, and it worked because both minds were working in unison. Ultimately, the changes Rick made put the motion back to nearly the same wording as it started.
But typing the defendant’s name over and over reminded her that Rick hadn’t been in for a few days. “Did you see that bit in the paper about Johnson?” She tried to keep the worried tone from her voice.
She could almost see Rick nodding in her head. “Yes, but a grand jury indictment for embezzlement has nothing to do with this suit. Remember that he’s our client. We have to stick to just the elements of this file. He’s done nothing illegal in the case at hand.”
Mila didn’t like it, but it was the truth. “It doesn’t do his image any good, though.”
“Well, let’s just say I’m glad the trial is over. We didn’t have that jury sequestered to keep them from seeing it. Anyway, let’s hear it one more time.”
After she’d read it back to him and made a few tweaks, he was satisfied. “Okay, take that up to one of the partners for signature and get it sent in. Don’t even run it past Robin. I’ll talk with him when I get back.”
“Mike’s in until noon. Or should I track down someone else?”
“No, Mike’ll be fine.” He let out a frustrated but satisfied sigh. “I can’t tell you how much I appreciate you calling about this. If there aren’t any crises and the party’s on track, why don’t you take off?”
She breathed a sigh of relief. While she was willing to use her sick time, she’d much rather have the time off be of the approved variety. “That would be great, if you don’t mind. I just talked to Jean-Paul about the party, and it seems that everything is on track. There was a little confusion when he first called, because it sounded to Rachel like something was wrong with the reservation, but we worked it out.”
Rick let out a little growl. “Send him a confirming e-mail just to be safe. It wouldn’t be the first time they tried to get squirrely on us. Copy me and Dave Pierce, just to get the point across to him that he does not want to piss us off.”
It was a bold move that she never would have considered. “Has Dave confirmed attending? I haven’t heard from him.”
“Doesn’t matter,” Rick said with a dark laugh. “Dave pushed Tom really hard to get the hotel added to the short list of locations. Even if he doesn’t make it, it’s a big deal to him. Make it upbeat but firm. You know the drill.”
So, the wording was going to have to be careful—not accusatory, not overt, conversational but with a veiled threat. “Yeah, I can do that. Want to see it first?”
“Nah. You’re better at that stuff than I am anyway. I’m sure it’ll be fine. Call me back if there are any problems with the brief though. I hate that we’re this close to deadline as it is. But I’ve got to get back to my guests, so I’ll let you get to it. Thanks again.”
“No problem. I’ll take care of it.” As soon as she clicked off the speaker, she started pulling together the exhibits to be attached to the brief. Mike was picky, like Rick, and would want to see the entire package before he would sign it. Just to be safe, she buzzed him to make sure he’d be available to sign it, and let him know that Rick had approved the wording by phone. That would keep his own red pencil at bay. After she returned to Alan’s office from delivering the documents, she composed the e-mail to Jean-Paul. Rather than just focus on this particular call … and, since it was going to also go to David Pierce, she decided to take the time to confirm all the details and add in reminders of when third parties would be making deliveries, like the clock movers.
She was just re-reading it for the fourth time when a double chirp made her jump. “Mila? You up there? It’s Eunice. Rachel said you were looking for me.”
Crap! The file! She looked at her watch to discover that two hours had come and gone. Between the party and the brief, it was after ten already. “Oh, hey, Eunice. Yeah. I really need to talk to you. You gonna be in the rest of the day?”
“Well, at least until noon. I’m trying to sneak out of here to spend some time with my granddaughter. She’s in from Montana and I haven’t seen her since she had the baby last year. What’cha need? Maybe I can answer it over the phone.”
“I doubt it, but hey, it’s worth a try.” She tried to figure out where to start. “You’ve been here forever, haven’t you?”
There was a small chortle. “Let’s just say longer than you’ve been alive. Why? Is this on an old file?”
“Back when Mr. Sanders was alive.” Like most older law firms in town, the firm name had been retained even though only one of the founders was still alive. Myron Sanders and Clarence Hoote had been dead for more than two decades, so if Baba had put something in Mr. Sanders’s vault, it was old. “Apparently, my grandmother, Nadia Penkin, retained him at some po
int in the past and stored something in the vault. She left me a message, asking me to get it for her because she’s out of town, if that’s possible. But I don’t know when or what—other than it’s a document of some sort, and now I can’t reach her on the phone.”
There was a long pause where all she could hear was breathing and the clicking of keys. “Hmm … must have been pre-computer. I do vaguely remember the surname, because I remember wondering when you started here if you were a relation to an old client. Penkin’s not a real common name.”
“So you think there might be something? How would we find it if it was pre-computer?” She started to scan through her list of e-mail addresses to find David Pierce’s to add to the CC line of the e-mail while Eunice thought.
“We used to have a handwritten inventory of the vault that carried over from the previous use. This was a bank long ago—Colorado State Trust. Don’t know if you knew that. But it’s how we managed to have a vault here, rather than just a safe. And, even after the bank folded, we kept a lot of things from the bank in there, waiting for people to come claim them. We’ve still got deeds and coins and stuff from the 1800s. Nobody ever claimed them so they just sit there. But if your grandmother was an actual client, then she’s listed somewhere. I just need to think where that old list might be. When do you need this document?”
Mila sighed, because she understood what she was asking. “Last night, apparently. She asked me to get it and send it to her.”
She could almost see Eunice wince. “Ouch. Well, keep in mind that the instruction filed with the document might not allow you to take it out. But if it does, then I might be able to find it for you. Probably quicker than Devon could. At least, I know where in the vault to start looking. But I’ll expect flowers for this.” Her voice had a smile attached to it, but Mila took it seriously.
“Hey, if you can pull this off for me, I’ll buy you roses.” It might set her back another hundred, but it would be well worth it. Another hundred. It reminded her that she still needed to pay the mortgage. She added it to the mental list on her way downstairs. Her loan was with American Bank, so it was just a matter of sliding into the bank on her way downstairs. “Is there anything I can do to help?”
“Sure!” came the immediate response. “You want to do some grunt work? The vault’s pretty full right now and my back isn’t what it used to be. We’ll need to pull some boxes out to get to the very back where the old stuff is. I’m thinking I remember squirreling a copy of the handwritten inventory inside a pigeon hole in the old desk that’s built into the back. It was shortly after Myron died and I moved into bookkeeping that I gave up handling the vault. Devon might have moved it, but that’s where I’m going to start. I could definitely use some help getting to it.”
Another check of the watch, but then she shrugged. It really didn’t matter how long it took. This was her main reason for coming in. However long it takes is how long it takes. “Be happy to. Just let me finish up this brief … which has to go in today, and I’ll come upstairs.”
“Great. That’ll give me a chance to finish up this batch of vendor 1099s. I’d love to be able to get them all in the mail before the tenth. Just come up when you’re ready.”
“Sounds like a plan.” The intercom light clicked off and she started to read the e-mail to Jean-Paul one last time. It wound up being a lot longer than planned, but she couldn’t pass up the opportunity to get all the details in one list that they could both check off during the pre-inspection the night of the party. Once more she read through it, looked for any tweak of language that could be construed as negative. But no, it was just right. She signed it, made sure David and Rick were copied, and crossed her fingers as she clicked the send button.
Then it was back to the brief, which Mike had now signed. While the paperless filing concept had indeed resulted in a leaner and meaner court, it had actually doubled the paper used in their office. The partners insisted on having the original signed document in the file, as well as the date stamped when one actually filed online. So, while it would be immensely easier to simply file the brief out of her computer folder, the attorneys required that she scan the completed, signed document and file it that way. Paranoid and overkill, yes. But the clash of the old ways with the new had been going on since the firm was founded. Eventually, Mr. Harris and a few of the other senior partners would pass on, or the court would demand they change. But until then, the process would remain a pain in the patootie for the staff.
She felt a surge of satisfaction as the file was sent and received in the court’s system. While she was at it, she went ahead and finished up the probate motion and got that in, too. It was now eleven o’clock, but even if she got out of here at noon, that would still be okay.
Eunice was digging bits of paper out of the laser printer when Mila walked through the main door of the bookkeeping department. The older woman, her hair a natural silver that complemented the green-and-red sweater she was wearing, let out a frustrated breath. “Damn micro-perf paper, anyway. Get a sheet with one little nick and the rollers will rip it apart. Gums up the works until you get out every last scrap. It’s times like these I long for carbon paper and a typewriter.”
Mila leaned on the long countertop that separated them. “I can’t even imagine trying to run a law office without computers. It must have been a nightmare.”
Eunice shrugged as she yanked out another bit of paper and pressed the button to start the printer again. “It wasn’t that bad, actually. Clients were more courteous. Nobody expected a multipage document the same day. The lawyers understood that billing would take a week every month instead of a few hours. And, we only took on the number of clients we could manage. It was still stressful—the legal trade just is, but it wasn’t more stressful just because of the equipment.”
The printer began to feed paper, but then stalled again, causing Eunice to let out a growl. She looked straight at the printer. “I got all the paper out, you worthless piece of plastic.” Still, she opened the clamshell once more, took out the paper cartridge, and started to search for more bits.
Just wanting to fill the silence, Mila decided to indulge her curiosity. “So do you remember my Baba Nadia at all? What sort of work did she have the firm do?”
“She has a really thick accent, doesn’t she? Mostly I remember that it was tough to understand her. And no offense, but she was one of those pain in the butt clients, if you know what I mean. Everything had to be absolutely perfect which, when you were rushed and working on an electric typewriter—even a correcting one—slowed down the process a lot.”
Mila smiled, part amusement, but mostly in sympathy. “Yeah, she’s a perfectionist, all right.” It made her think again of Suzanne and the ticking clock. “But she’s got a good heart and is as hard on herself as anyone else. Her accent’s gotten better, too. She’s picked up a lot more English.” Mila motioned toward the printer as Eunice pressed the button one more time. “Do you want me to get started on moving stuff until you can get that thing running?”
She let out a snort as the printer’s light once again moved from green to red. Abruptly, she pressed the power button. “Maybe a time-out’s what you need. Just sit there and think about the trouble you’ve caused until I get back.” She shrugged as Mila smiled. “Hey, works for the grandkids.”
Mila had only been inside the vault a few times in the entire time she’d worked for the firm. It wasn’t visible to the general employees, the entrance being down a back hallway accessible only through bookkeeping. Rather than a modern brushed steel door with a time lock, this one was painted black and gold and had a massive dial set into the steel. Eunice stopped her at the outer glass door, about a dozen feet from the vault. “Stay here until I have it open. Company policy.”
The glass door had an additional code lock, and the angle of the door made it nearly impossible to see the dial being turned once the authorized person was inside. “We can stack the boxes out here in the entry. We’ll still be locked in, w
hich is why they built this extra room. Betty used to get really claustrophobic working in the vault for hours, but Myron got really weird about having anything in the vault left in the open for more than a minute or two.”
“Well, you just tell me what to do that’ll make the partners happy and I’ll do it.”
Eunice proved that she was a manager for a reason. It was amazing to Mila how much trash was packed into the old vault, which when empty must easily be twenty feet square. It wasn’t just boxes of documents inside, but old furniture, paintings covered in bubble wrap, and even a crumbling, water-damaged old globe. “What is all this junk? Who’d want to keep it in a vault?”
Eunice raised her eyebrows. “You need to spend more time watching Antiques Roadshow. That bit of junk in your hands is an extremely rare and valuable celestial globe. There are about five of that diameter in existence. The last one sold at auction for over ten grand.”
Mila looked askance at the papier-mâché globe. “But it’s ruined. Look at this—big chunks have disintegrated and fallen inside. The paint’s almost gone and it smells like it sat in a musty cellar for a decade or so.”
“It was still appraised at ten thousand, and it’s in this vault to stay in good shape until an auction house is selected. So be careful with it, huh?”
“Oh, I’d planned to be careful with it either way. But geez! Who buys this crap?” She shook her head and carried it gingerly to the outer room. The room was filling fast, but they were nearly to the back. Just a few more boxes and Eunice would be able to open the rolltop desk against the back wall. That’s when she noticed someone standing outside the glass door. The senior partner, Thomas Harris was watching the moving process with a very disapproving expression. He pointed to the lock and then to the door handle. Mila hurried to open it for him. It set off a little beeping noise inside the vault that she hadn’t noticed before, and brought Eunice running.