to make a final decision. He turned off his phone and took a long drive, east for some unknown reason, on Highway 1, past New London and into Rhode Island. He lost track of time. After midnight, the snow picked up and he found a cheap motel where he slept for a few hours.
He had changed his mind. He was going to New York, to Scully & Pershing.
He spilled this over lunch, over a sandwich at The Grill. Olivia listened with skepticism but did not interrupt. She seemed to believe the story about last night, but she was not buying the sudden change in
career plans. “You must be kidding,” she blurted when he hit the punch line.
“It's not easy,” he said, already on the defensive. He knew this would not be pleasant.
“You, Mr. Pro Bono, Mr. Public Interest Law?”
“I know. I know. I feel like a turncoat.”
“You are a turncoat. You're selling out, just like every other third-year law student.”
“Lower your voice, please,” Kyle said as he glanced around. “Let's not have a scene.”
She lowered her voice but not her eyebrows. “You've said it yourself a hundred times, Kyle. We all get to law school with big ideas of doing good, helping others, fighting injustice, but along the way we sell out. Seduced by big money. We turn into corporate whores. Those are your words, Kyle.”
“They do sound familiar.”
“I can't believe this.”
They took a couple of bites, but the food was not important.
“We have thirty years to make money,” she said. “Why can't we spend a few years helping others?” Kyle was on the ropes and bleeding.
“I know, I know,” he mumbled lamely. “But timing is important. I'm not sure Scully & Pershing will defer.” Another lie, but what the hell. Once you start, why quit? They were multiplying.
“Oh, please. You can get a job with any firm in the country, now or five years from now.”
“I'm not so sure about that. The job market is tightening up. Some of the big firms are threatening layoffs.”
She shoved her food away, crossed her arms, and slowly shook her head. “I don't believe this,” she said.
And at that moment Kyle couldn't believe it either, but it was important, now and forever more, to give the impression that he'd
carefully weighed the issues and had arrived at this decision. In other words, Kyle had to sell it. Olivia was the first test. His friends would be next, then his favorite professors. After he'd practiced the routine a few times and the lying was finely tuned, he would somehow muster the courage to visit his father and deliver the news that would lead to an ugly fight. John McAvoy detested the idea of his son working for a corporate firm on Wall Street.
Kyle's selling job, though, did little to convince Olivia. They traded barbs for a few minutes, then forgot about lunch and went their separate ways. There was no goodbye peck on the cheek, no hug, no promise to call each other later. He spent an hour in his office at the law journal, then reluctantly left and drove back to the motel.
THE ROOM HAD changed little. The video camera and laptop were gone, no sign of electronics anywhere, though Kyle was certain every word would be recorded in some fashion. The folding table was still ground zero, but it had been moved closer to the windows. Same two folding chairs. The setting was as stark as a police interrogation room somewhere deep in the basement.
The headache was back.
Kyle flipped the card Ginyard left behind onto the table and began with a pleasant “Please tell this son of a bitch to stop following me.”
“We're just a little curious, that's all, Kyle.”
“I'm not going to be followed, Bennie, do you understand?”
Bennie gave a smart-ass smile.
"The deal's off, Bennie. I'm not going to live my life with a bunch of goons watching everything I do. Forget the surveillance, forget the wiretaps and hidden mikes and e-mail snooping, Bennie. Are you listening? I'm not walking down the streets of New York wondering who's behind me. I'm not chatting on the
He had changed his mind. He was going to New York, to Scully & Pershing.
He spilled this over lunch, over a sandwich at The Grill. Olivia listened with skepticism but did not interrupt. She seemed to believe the story about last night, but she was not buying the sudden change in
career plans. “You must be kidding,” she blurted when he hit the punch line.
“It's not easy,” he said, already on the defensive. He knew this would not be pleasant.
“You, Mr. Pro Bono, Mr. Public Interest Law?”
“I know. I know. I feel like a turncoat.”
“You are a turncoat. You're selling out, just like every other third-year law student.”
“Lower your voice, please,” Kyle said as he glanced around. “Let's not have a scene.”
She lowered her voice but not her eyebrows. “You've said it yourself a hundred times, Kyle. We all get to law school with big ideas of doing good, helping others, fighting injustice, but along the way we sell out. Seduced by big money. We turn into corporate whores. Those are your words, Kyle.”
“They do sound familiar.”
“I can't believe this.”
They took a couple of bites, but the food was not important.
“We have thirty years to make money,” she said. “Why can't we spend a few years helping others?” Kyle was on the ropes and bleeding.
“I know, I know,” he mumbled lamely. “But timing is important. I'm not sure Scully & Pershing will defer.” Another lie, but what the hell. Once you start, why quit? They were multiplying.
“Oh, please. You can get a job with any firm in the country, now or five years from now.”
“I'm not so sure about that. The job market is tightening up. Some of the big firms are threatening layoffs.”
She shoved her food away, crossed her arms, and slowly shook her head. “I don't believe this,” she said.
And at that moment Kyle couldn't believe it either, but it was important, now and forever more, to give the impression that he'd
carefully weighed the issues and had arrived at this decision. In other words, Kyle had to sell it. Olivia was the first test. His friends would be next, then his favorite professors. After he'd practiced the routine a few times and the lying was finely tuned, he would somehow muster the courage to visit his father and deliver the news that would lead to an ugly fight. John McAvoy detested the idea of his son working for a corporate firm on Wall Street.
Kyle's selling job, though, did little to convince Olivia. They traded barbs for a few minutes, then forgot about lunch and went their separate ways. There was no goodbye peck on the cheek, no hug, no promise to call each other later. He spent an hour in his office at the law journal, then reluctantly left and drove back to the motel.
THE ROOM HAD changed little. The video camera and laptop were gone, no sign of electronics anywhere, though Kyle was certain every word would be recorded in some fashion. The folding table was still ground zero, but it had been moved closer to the windows. Same two folding chairs. The setting was as stark as a police interrogation room somewhere deep in the basement.
The headache was back.
Kyle flipped the card Ginyard left behind onto the table and began with a pleasant “Please tell this son of a bitch to stop following me.”
“We're just a little curious, that's all, Kyle.”
“I'm not going to be followed, Bennie, do you understand?”
Bennie gave a smart-ass smile.
"The deal's off, Bennie. I'm not going to live my life with a bunch of goons watching everything I do. Forget the surveillance, forget the wiretaps and hidden mikes and e-mail snooping, Bennie. Are you listening? I'm not walking down the streets of New York wondering who's behind me. I'm not chatting on the
Similar Books
