Lethal Lawyers Read online

  Sophia reported to the assistant office manager Beth Hoffer, in her mid-twenties and bubbly, with a methodical preciseness about her.

  As she took a seat beside Beth’s desk, Beth disposed of Judith’s death in passing. “Ms. Rubin’s death was a tragedy. She was such a friendly person.”

  “Yes.” Sophia was jarred by the word friendly, but validated the polite lie. “I interviewed with her and liked her very much. I was looking forward to working with her.”

  “You’ll get a memo on the service. It’ll be at the well-known Westside Temple on Wilshire.” Beth took an appropriate reverent pause before moving on. “Well, we have a lot to do in a short time. So let’s get started.”

  Beth did all the new-hire orientations and enjoyed it. She was fast and efficient. First, she had Sophia fill out her contact information.

  “Be sure and put your cell number down so the partners can get you anytime, anywhere.”

  “I will.” Sophia was not surprised at this required accessibility—the quid pro quo for the big bucks.

  Beth then unceremoniously handed Sophia a short, boilerplate associate intake contract with a starting salary of $160,000 plus bonus.

  “Read and sign it at the bottom.”

  Sophia looked at it and read it quickly. She knew reading it had nothing to do with signing it. This was a done deal and quite frankly she would have accepted any terms, even the turnover of her first born. She still had undergraduate student loans and now those from law school—all accumulating interest. Payments were going to be thousands of dollars a month in after-tax dollars.

  Sophia looked at the contract a few more minutes to feign serious contemplation. She knew Beth had seen such posturing before and would have signed her own life away for just a chance at this salary.

  Sophia found a place on the corner of Beth’s desk and signed the document she had sweated blood for three years to get. As she did there were no bells, cheers, or pats on the back. She felt an anti-climatic hollowness. She thought of her parents and wanted to call them, but didn’t.

  “Here.” Sophia handed it to Beth.

  Beth looked at the signature and unceremoniously set it in a pile of other miscellaneous papers on the desk.

  “Relegated to miscellany?” Sophia chuckled.

  “What?”

  “Nothing.”

  * * *

  Beth had Sophia fill out and sign employee information forms with her address and cell phone number, tax and medical benefits forms, and other employment documents. Then, on the corner of the desk where Sophia had signed her contract, Beth placed an 8½ x 14 inch ebony wooden “in-box” with Sophia’s name on it.

  “It’s empty,” Sophia noted.

  “It won’t be in a minute.” Beth took out a stack of papers and pamphlets and dropped them in the in-box. “Here you go. Your L.A. office directory, plus our national and international office directories with our London, New York, and Hong Kong offices. They have all cells and home information. Remember it is only for your personal use. Don’t leave it lying around.”

  “Thank you.” Sophia looked at the pile that was getting higher.

  “We’re not done yet! Here is the stairwell key card, library orientation booklet, Lexis/Westlaw packet, guide to downtown restaurants, rules for the firm’s condos nearby if you work too late to go home, expense reimbursement procedures for travel, and a handbook on general firm procedures, structure, and policies.” Beth took a breath. “Any questions?”

  “Not yet.”

  “Next month there will be a series of social media in-house training programs to get you going. You know, Facebook, Twitter, Flickr, Tumblr, Linkedin, your personal web site. We have rules governing how you use all of them. The firm arranges to have professional portraits taken for the firm’s web site. You can use them for anything, though. It’s really nice. But don’t worry about all that now.”

  “Good. I won’t.” Sophia thought of her sequestered three and a half years of law school plus bar exam when she had been technologically limited in the extreme due to money and time. “It sounds overwhelming.”

  “It’s not. You'll see. But . . . first things first. Let’s get going!”

  “To my office?”

  “No, that’s in the works. Time for the tour now.” Beth stood with a pleasant, efficient smile. “Leave the box. I’ll drop it off this afternoon when I take you to Roger Morelock’s office for your assignments. He’s the assigning partner.”

  “Roger again?” Sophia thought. She wondered why their paths kept crossing. He was the most overtly unpleasant person she had met besides Toak, and she could excuse Toak because he clearly had a Napoleon complex.

  She followed Beth down the paneled hall, passing antique tables with fresh flowers. Sophia was again awed by the extravagance.

  Sophia was proud. She would learn from the best hired guns, premier litigators. Lawyers who were not afraid to go to trial, but so skilled that long before the trial date, they crushed most their opponents. Crushed them with legal but oppressive discovery, clever strategy, intimidating depositions, and unassailable motions in court.

  ⌘

  Chapter 18

  Bad Neighbors—Good Fences

  As Beth and Sophia waited at the elevator bank, Sophia saw Paul hurrying down the adjacent hall.

  “Excuse me, Beth.” Sophia stepped away and intercepted Paul. “How’s the filing?’

  “Okay. Thanks for asking. I have to get it out by noon because Tricia and I want to take you on your first day lunch. How about it?”

  “Great.”

  “Where’s your office?”

  “I don’t know yet. I’m not sure they do.”

  “We’ll find you. But just remember—in real estate, location is the key. It’s the same here.” Paul departed, calling back, “Welcome aboard.”

  Beth took Sophia and showed her the essentials on the firm’s eight floors, including the firm’s dining room.

  “You can get free snacks here all day, breakfast from seven to ten, lunch from noon to two, and order box dinners”

  “That’s nice.” Sophia knew, however, that nice had nothing to do with it and that the firm would do anything to keep the billable hours machine churning—apparently, even feed the billers.

  At eleven, Beth was texted Sophia’s office assignment and they headed there.

  As Sophia got off the elevator, her heart sank. It was Toak’s floor. Even worse, Beth led her towards his wing and then by little-man Toak’s office, within sight of the dreaded Marlene. Four doors up from Toak’s office Beth stopped.

  “You’re lucky. This was the only office available and ready. It’s really nice.” Beth beamed and opened the door to a large office furnished with warm woods and a subtle green Oriental area rug on its dark oak floors.

  “It’s beautiful.” Sophia tried to muster enthusiasm. “But shouldn’t I be down with the other associates?”

  “They took the only open offices for war rooms. There are two big trials in progress.”

  “Oh.” Sophia thought morbidly that Judith’s office was available and dealing with Judith’s ghost would be better than dealing with a live Toak and Marlene.

  “Don’t forget Paul and Tricia for lunch at noon. I’ll email you your schedule with your Westlaw and Lexis orientation. And I’ll come get you to go to Mr. Morelock’s after lunch for your assignments.”

  “Great.”

  “Have a nice lunch,” Beth said, taking her leave.

  Sophia was resigned, but devastated. Despite the eight sprawling Thorne & Chase floors and hundreds of offices in the Pacific Coastal Building, she had ended up here as neighbors with Toak and Marlene.

  * * *

  Sophia closed the door, sank into her plush brown leather desk chair, and surveyed her office. It was all hers. She couldn’t believe it. For a moment she let herself forget about having to run the Toak-and-Marlene gauntlet every time she left it. She reveled in the feel of the rich leather chair beneath her, the beauty
of the shiny wood desk in front of her, and the paycheck that would follow, every two weeks like clockwork. Sophia mentally started rearranging her list of “Things to Spend My Money On” for the hundredth time since receiving her offer.

  She took her cell from her purse and checked for messages and texts. There was one message, her Mom wishing her good luck on her first day. She turned it off again. As she put it away, she thought her first purchase should be an updated cell phone.

  Just then, she was surprised to hear her office phone ringing. Sophia was proud answering her first phone call as an associate making the big bucks. She wished she had a client to bill it to.

  “Hello. Thorne & Chase,” Sophia chirped.

  “No. No. No. Don’t say Thorne & Chase. They’ll think you’re the receptionist.”

  “Oh?” Sophia was embarrassed both because she had apparently goofed in her first act on her way to full partnership, and because she recognized Taylor’s voice.

  “It’s me . . . Taylor.”

  “I know. Good morning.” She feigned equanimity.

  “I just wanted to welcome you officially. How do you like your digs?”

  “They’re beautiful.” She decided not to mention the horrible location that went with them.

  “Have you recovered from last night?”

  “Sure.” Sophia achieved a tone commensurate with the gravity of death but in conformity with the disliked person Judith was. “But the reporters haven’t. They accosted me in the lobby.”

  “You didn’t talk to them did you?”

  “Of course not.”

  “Chet is making a statement to the news media today at noon in our large conference room. That’ll put an end to it. That and his contacts.”

  “Good.”

  Sophia didn’t want a repeat of her ride up in the elevator. She thought of the card in her pocket, but didn’t dare put it in her empty trashcan for anyone to see. She slid it in her purse to trash later.

  “I feel bad about the things I said last night about poor Judith,” Taylor said. “Don’t mention them to anyone.”

  “From my brief encounter with the woman, you were probably spot on. But don’t quote me either.”

  “Beautiful and wise, too . . . I’m on the road to defend a deposition in Orange County. I’ll drop by if I get back in time, and you can share your first day with me. Happy hour at The Edinburgh Grill?”

  “That would be nice.” Sophia’s voice was reserved, but she had a grin from ear to ear.

  She hung up and whirled her chair around. As she gazed out her window with her view down to Pershing Square, she decided to wait here until at least eight tonight for Taylor. The simple truth was that she liked him.

  Sophia swiveled back and looked at the wall of empty wood bookcases with a lone box marked office supplies. She decided she would decorate the shelves with old law school books—cheap, easy, and classy. She also decided to bring her bright reading lamp from home. Having good lighting was a habit she had picked up in law school; it helped her avoid eyeglasses.

  As she turned back to her desk, suddenly Sophia’s joy turned to dread. Now that she had actually started at Thorne & Chase, she had a hard phone call to make. She had to call Bode to tell them she would not be coming. Sophia sat replaying the upbeat dialogue she had rehearsed in her mind over and over again last night. There was no way around the call. A letter was too slow and an email too impersonal. She took a breath and then called the partner who had mentored her during her summer there. He was genuinely disappointed. It was awkward, but Sophia made it short. In reality, she knew some other first year who wanted to “trade up” to Bode would quickly take her place.

  That done, Sophia started on the box of office supplies. She was thwarted in her efforts to put them in her desk because the drawers were cluttered with papers, pens, and old cellophane-covered red and white peppermints.

  Mercifully, the phone rang again.

  “Sophia Christopoulos.” She took Taylor’s advice and saying her name felt right.

  “Hey, Sophia. It’s me, Tricia. You’re on speaker and Paul’s here, too.”

  Tricia followed office etiquette to announce those present on a speaker call.

  “Ready for lunch? Paul’s done with his filing.”

  “Sure.” Sophia was excited about seeing Paul and Tricia again.

  “We’ll meet you down in the building lobby,” Tricia said.

  “Don’t worry, there won’t be any news gauntlet. Chet’s timed his news conferences strategically,” Paul added before the disconnect.

  Sophia grabbed her purse and hit the restroom. She looked in the mirror and smoothed her wrinkled synthetic suit. She needed new suits that did not need the nightly ironing ritual.

  She headed for the lobby.

  ⌘

  Chapter 19

  “Greek’d” at the Deli

  The lobby showed no residual signs of last night’s emergency. The light marble floors were pristine and devoid of blood droplets. But the lobby was not devoid of Ben Kowrilsky. Sophia saw him running for an elevator for the news conference just as she stepped off. He was too focused on catching the elevator to see her. But, it was a close call for a second encounter that Sophia did not want to repeat. Chet was smart to schedule his news conference for lunchtime.

  * * *

  Standing in the lobby waiting, Sophia appreciated the majestic light marble and natural stone lobby for the first time. The ceiling was several stories high and covered with tan stone hexagons, softly lit and framed with emerald marble crown moldings. The elevators were topped with carved beige marble arches that matched each hallway arch and to the right was a sweeping light stone stairway rising to a mezzanine balcony—all trimmed with an elaborately doweled matching stone banister and railings.

  “Lovely, isn’t it?” Tricia walked up and looked at the stairway with Sophia.

  “Yes.” Sophia was still entranced.

  “After a while you don’t even notice it,” Paul blurted out as he kept walking. “Come on. I’m hungry.”

  “That won’t happen to me,” Sophia insisted as she fell into step with Tricia now following Paul’s march to the nearby deli.

  * * *

  The deli was well lit, narrow, and deep—packed with men and women in suits, workmen, and locals in every size, shape, and rank. It was lunchtime in the city and hungry people clamored two-deep at the long red Formica counter for hearty deli sandwiches.

  Paul skillfully honed in on a table being vacated at the back. Tricia was on his heels like clockwork, and the two were seated even before the table was cleared. Sophia brought up the rear and landed across from Paul and Tricia in a small, tottering round wooden chair.

  Paul grabbed the sticky plastic coated menus from behind the finger-smudged chrome napkin dispenser crammed against the wall. “Here. Breakfast all day on the back. Everything else is everywhere else.”

  “Excuse me.” The busboy swept up the plates of the previously fed. He wiped the red Formica with two swipes of a tattered rag, knocking the remains of the departed on the floor.

  A stocky waitress in a pink starched uniform and a food-stained green striped apron quarterbacked past the busboy as he departed. She carried three clear plastic tumblers, sloshing water, and plopped them down in front of the trio.

  “I’m Marla.” She looked at Sophia as she tapped her pencil on her crooked “Marla” shoulder pin and then stabbing it into her order pad. “What’ll it be?”

  Paul and Tricia interceded and ordered corned beef on rye and Diet Cokes. Sophia lowered the unread menu and followed suit.

  “Bread pudding?” Marla cocked her head at Paul after she scrawled their choices.

  “Yeah.” Paul replied to this functionary who had perceptibly honed in on his weakness, even though he knew nothing about her. “Try it, Sophia.”

  “Don’t,” Tricia cautioned. “It’s addictive.”

  “I’ll pass,” Sophia told Marla.

  “Sure, hon.” Marla grab
bed the menus, reached across, and deposited them back behind the napkin dispenser.

  “And a potato salad for me,” Paul called out as Marla left.

  She didn’t look back, but instead waved her pencil in acknowledgment.

  “You guys?”

  Tricia shook her head in the negative and Sophia again followed Tricia’s lead.

  “So the wicked witch of the North is dead,” Paul announced unceremoniously.

  “Yep, she was the victim of her own shoes.” Tricia smirked and then added somberly “But I’ll never forget her moaning helplessly in the stairwell.”

  “Me neither.” Paul eyed two young women dressed to kill as they grabbed a table nearby. “And the reporters won’t let us until Chet does his job.”

  “Yeah, they were all over the lobby this morning,” Tricia said. “And my mom was all over my phone.”

  “I’ll undoubtedly hear from mine too, but they only do the news at night.”

  “You’re lucky,” Tricia said.

  “I guess you guys are used to this?”

  “Occasionally, with high-profile cases or mishaps.” Paul replied.

  “Mishaps,” Tricia smirked, thinking of the Jim Henning incident.

  There was a silence, which Sophia chose to fill.

  “Is it true she stole Marvin Gross’s client?” She asked.

  Marla plopped three large tumblers of Diet Cokes in the middle of the table. Then She threw down three straws into the mixture of spilled water and Diet Coke.

  Paul took his and slid the others to their respective drinkers. He took a drink of his Diet Coke. “She took fifty percent or more of every client she could get her hands on.”

  Tricia looked at Sophia. “But how did you know that?”

  Sophia sipped her Diet Coke and contemplated how open to be with Tricia and Paul. She decided she would take a chance on friendship. They were open with her and she liked them. Sophia shared what she heard of the fight in Judith’s office, Marvin’s threats, and the peace making of Chet Apel.