Organized chaos, while an oxymoron, was the best way to describe the offices of Faust and Moore. The cold glass and steel exterior hid the madness that swirled behind it. The pandemonium was really more of a feature than a glitch, the system being set up so that the lawyer with the fewest number of wins at the end of each fiscal year was shown the door with a handshake and a kick in the ass.
One of the advantages to being a corporate lawyer was that I never ran out of clients, and the ones I brought in tended to have deep pockets. It more than made up for my somewhat strict criteria, provisos which excluded me from cases involving tobacco, alcohol, or chemical companies. I like money as much as anyone else, but I’m not going to bat for lung cancer and poison wells to get it.
My no-harm policy extended well outside the bedroom. Combined with my interest in the arts, the majority of my cases were in the intellectual property domain, dealing mostly with flagrant, for-profit violations of licensed work. Had I been practicing at the time, I would have been on the labels’ side in the Napster case. I didn’t like what some bands, were doing, going after individual fans, but it was the greater principle of the thing. I was very into principles, at the time.
The online landscape had changed a lot since those comparatively innocent days. I was having to explain the concept of “fair use” to potential clients on a near daily basis; fees from phone calls accounted for roughly a quarter of my overall income.
Weaving my way though the human traffic, every bit as dangerous as the vehicular kind, I made it to my office. It was the big one in the corner, with the panoramic view of downtown and an attendant secretary who didn’t hate my guts.
“There is a meeting in ten minutes, sir.”
“That was quick,” I said, still in the process of hanging up my coat.
“Wow,” Sandra said from behind the desk, admiring my suit.
Or possibly fantasizing about what’s under it.
To be fair, most people had a similar reaction, juggling the air of brains I give off with the brawn they can see. I liked sports as a kid, mostly rugby sevens and fencing, but I was also a massive nerd. I belied nearly everyone’s expectations by not only going to law school but getting the second highest grade point average in the entire school before departing.
Opposing attorneys had taken to calling me “The Magician,” because they never knew what I was going to pull out of my hat. The fact that I had also slept with most of their assistants and mistresses, (who were often one and the same), had not greatly improved their attitudes toward me.
“Where is the meeting?” I asked.
“Room five,” Sandra said, coming back to reality.
I was still in a fairly good mood. Even an early morning meeting was not enough to dampen my spirits much. I had just closed a huge case, bringing in a seven-figure sum for the firm in less than a month, and there was talk of partnership.
At 34, I would be one of the youngest legal partners ever, if it happened. I tried to imagine the new sign outside the building: Faust, Moore, & LeVay. Had a nice sort of ring to it.
Of course, all the lawyers would have to get new business cards, and the stationary would have to be changed. They wouldn’t like that much, even if they did like me. I was confident most would forgive me, though, considering the bonuses I was planning to give everyone, but especially the assistants and the I.T. department.
It was a fact missed by most people, but especially those who have attained a particular position of power, that, in the computer age, it was the assistants, who knew how to use computers, and the techs, who kept them running, who were the most powerful people in any company. Without them, there wouldn’t be a company. As a wise man once said, “There is nothing more dangerous than a dedicated nerd with a computer.” I wanted to keep them on my side.
Everyone was already seated before I arrived. There were a few dirty looks, but most didn’t bother, knowing me well enough to realize just how few fucks would be given. I took my usual chair between Hedfield and McKoy, mostly to keep them from punching each other’s lights out, which had nearly happened once, at an infamous and memorable Christmas party.
“I have heard from city hall,” started Edward Moore, the far more talkative of the two senior partners, “that there will be a city-wide lockdown effective at noon tomorrow. In light of this development, we have decided to try and keep working in this troubling time. The techs have set up a private network for meetings and all of our current cases should easily be able to be prepared online. Every court date scheduled for after the lockdown is scheduled to be lifted.”
“We have to work alone?” Hedfield asked.
“Yeah, I don’t think I could work without my assistants. Or at least one assistant,” McKoy said.
“That has been accounted for,” Moore said, placing a snazzy trilby onto the dark wood conference table.
“Drawing lots? Seriously?” Jim Alexander said.
“Just be happy we’re not on a boat,” I said, making Jim shudder.
“In this hat are the names of every assistant currently employed at this firm. You will each pick one name, and that person will go into lockdown with you. Hotel suites have been set up for the lockdown period. Think of it as a working holiday.”
There was dissent among the troops, each seemingly
