when a junior editor asked his bosses if they shouldn’t at least verify the story. He was told to shut up. In fact, Jimmy’s source overheard one senior editor boast that he’d already bagged one congressman and wanted a new scalp to hang off his bedpost. Malicious intent, right?”
“Right. But I sure hope you carefully vetted this source.”
“Yes, you always should, shouldn’t you?” An eyebrow raised. “In fact, seconds after Jimmy examined our witness in court, Jackler introduced a ream of evidence showing the man had been fired by the network for cheating on his expense accounts, as well as statements from several witnesses who heard him swear he’d get revenge. Under Jackler’s cross, the witness crumbled and admitted every bit of it.”
“Always a cinematic moment.”
“Indeed.” After a moment, he added, “Jimmy later confessed that he’d lied to us. He wanted to impress us with his detective work. Actually, his source found him, claimed he’d read about the suit in the papers and tracked down our firm to offer his services.”
“A plant?”
“Probably.”
“But so what, right?”
“Right. Our case was dismissed. We were even ordered to restitute the legal costs of the defendants. Word spreads pretty quickly around the industry-it was a great humiliation for the firm, and Jackler charges six hundred an hour. The greedy bastard hit us for ten million.”
Surely there was a point to this story, and I guessed, “This is the same firm I’ll be facing?”
“Same firm.”
“And you’re looking for blood?”
“Absolutely not.” He looked me in the eye and insisted, “We’re all professionals here, Sean. We never take it personally.”
We both chuckled at this little lie. I was starting to like this guy.
He then said, “But our cases are worth big money. The great corporations, the GEs and Pepsis of the world, they hire the best, pay a fortune for the service, and demand excellence. We don’t pick cherries off trees.”
Which was obviously the real point of our discussion. Motivational psychology 101: Cy was equating the stakes of corporate law with those of criminal law-money and reputations versus lives and fates.
Of course, one did not get where Cy had gotten without having a persuasive, even charismatic manner. I therefore spent a long and respectful moment contemplating his point. Nope-still bull-shit.
But I decided it was my turn, and I leaned against my desk and asked Cy, “Sally Westin? Why’s her name on your masthead?”
He sighed. “Sally’s story is… intriguing. Her grandfather was one of our founders. He died about twenty years ago but remains legendary. His fingerprints are all over the firm, the secret to our success, we believe. He was an eccentric old coot who believed in winning at all costs. He drove the other partners crazy, and from what I hear drove the associates even crazier. Every firm likes to brag about what it puts its associates through. Frankly, we make the others look like daycare centers. We work them twice as hard, put more pressure on their shoulders, and are less forgiving than any firm we know. We tell our aspirants their chances of making partner are one in seven, and law students being the perversely competitive creatures they naturally are, it draws them like flies.”
“And the connection to Sally Westin…?”
“I’m getting to that. Sally graduated from Duke Law, barely in the top half of her class. We can afford to be very picky and we are. In practice we don’t interview at Duke-we draw only the top ten percent from the top five. We made an exception for her.”
The moment seemed appropriate to ask, “Why?”
“Guilt.”
“Guilt?”
“Yes. Sally’s father had also been an associate in this firm, back when old man Westin was our managing partner. It was one of those perverse instances of counter-nepotism. The old man nearly worked his son to death, gave him three times the workload of other associates, and hounded him relentlessly. This went on for seven years. Then he fired him.”
“Sounds like a lovely guy.”
“Last of the real coldhearted bastards.” After a moment, he added, “It was long before my time, but I’m told he was also a very shrewd and talented lawyer. The son moved to another firm but was a shattered man. Five years later, when Sally was two, her father was again rejected for a partnership.”
“Time to consider another profession.”
“Perhaps he did. But instead he killed himself.” He allowed me a moment to think about that, then explained, “But Sally works like a demon. I doubt if she’s gotten more than four hours of sleep any night since she started. Nor have we gone easy on her. That’s just not our way. All associates have to prove themselves.”
“And how’s she doing?”
He waggled a hand. “In a few months, we’ll decide which three of seven associates in her year group we’ll keep. Two are golden children
… true prodigies. Also, since bankruptcy is now over half our business, we prefer our associates to possess both legal and accounting degrees. Sally lacks an accounting degree and, frankly, if she has a knack with numbers, she keeps it well hidden.”
He appeared to have more to say, and after a moment, he added, “I was the one who persuaded the management committee to assign her to work for me. If she strikes you as a bit stiff and intense, I thought it fair to explain why.”
Well, there are many motives for entering the field of law, intellectual or moral fascination, parental expectations, greed, and outright confusion heading the list. Miss Westin was apparently driven by ghosts. I wasn’t sure that was altogether healthy. Actually, were I running this firm, there’d be a bomb-sniffing dog and a metal detector by the door on the off chance Miss Westin wanted to even up the score a bit. But that’s just me.
Cy then said, “Don’t mention this to Sally. Or, for that matter, to anybody. We try to respect one another’s privacy, and only a very few of our senior partners know the tale. Our associates are bred to be competitive, and some would no doubt find ways to employ it as a weapon.” His expression turned grave and he added, “But you’re not in the hunt for a partnership, and you need to be aware that your behavior can affect her future.”
“I’ll try to be responsible for my own screwups.”
“Always a commendable attitude.” He shoved off from the door, flashed a smile, and placed a chummy hand on my shoulder.
He suggested, “And I’ll bet you’re wondering why the Army agreed to use this firm.”
“Actually, I’m not.”
“Sure you are.” He gave me a knowing look and added, “I went to law school as a route into politics… Catholic University Law, in fact. A young Army officer named Tommy Clapper was in my studygroup. We got to be pretty good friends.”
“Is that right?”
As he walked out, he remarked, “We talk all the time.”
That aside, I found myself liking Cy, and I think he sort of liked me. I don’t mean we were butter and toast, but I was marooned here because I pissed off my boss, and he was stranded here because he pissed off the American people. Set aside that order of magnitude and it did strike me that we had a bond of fellowship. Also, there was something of the charming rogue in him. I like a man with a few serious flaws. I can relate.
Further, it’s an admirable skill to deliver a threat with panache, velvet gloves, and all that. Any idiot can say, “Cross me, mother-fucker, and I’ll lump you up good.” A diplomat smiles and says, “Here, doggie, doggie,” with a big rock held behind his back.
The more impressive feat was that Sally Westin story. Talk about motivational force-how do you ignore that? The poor girl had all those awful demons in her head, and now it was up to little ol’me to see her that ass didn’t end up on the street.
CHAPTER FOUR
