firm. When he and Aaron had first started out, they’d set the tone immediately, getting rid of deadwood on sight. And soon enough the word got out and the stars came calling from the good law schools and from other firms—the diligent, the brilliant, the ambitious. Workers all. Here his attorneys could accomplish great things, could kick some real ass and make real money without anyone wondering whether they’d been hired to meet some quota or kept on because they couldn’t be fired.
Now, saddened on many levels by the murder of one of his true stars, Elaine Wager, Clarence Jackman was going to have to deliver one of the tough messages to one of the good people. He had seated himself behind his desk—always an effective tool for reinforcing emotional distance—and was shuffling papers as the door opened. He kept at it for a few more seconds, then looked up. “Ah, Ms. Ghent. Thanks for coming up.”
“You’re welcome.” She was standing in a classic military at-ease position by the Empire chair that he’d placed in front of his desk.
“Please. Have a seat.”
Nodding briskly, all business, she thanked him and took the chair, sitting ramrod straight and managing to do it without appearing stiff or nervous. She looked at him expectantly, then surprised him by speaking up first. “What can I do for you, sir?”
In spite of the message he was about to deliver, Jackman found himself almost enjoying the moment. This was a woman with presence. A slight puffiness around her eyes in no way detracted from her appearance. If she was wearing any makeup, it was very subtle—she sat about ten feet from Jackman and he saw no sign of any, not even lipstick. Her face was handsome—Jackman decided that if she made it up it would be close to beautiful, which was probably why she didn’t bother. It had an angular, almost exotic cast—some hint of an Asian bloodline in the racial mix. Conservatively dressed in a honey-colored silk blouse and knee-length skirt, she still managed to project a powerful physicality. There was no sign of any extra weight on her, but she wasn’t petite. She came across, more than anything, as strong.
These impressions coalesced in the seconds it took Jackman to frame his response. His own expression was grave, his body language sympathetic as he came forward, his arms on his desk. “Well, first,” he began in his deep, soothing voice, “I wanted to see how you’re holding up in the wake of . . . Elaine.”
“I’ve tried to do most of my crying at home.” He admired the self-deprecating way she phrased it, meeting his eye. “I haven’t always been successful.”
“It’s a tragedy,” Jackman declared. “A terrible tragedy.”
“Yes, sir, it is.” She inhaled deeply and waited. Jackman might be both sympathetic and sincere, but he hadn’t called her up here to share condolences.
It didn’t take any time at all for the managing partner to get to it. Jackman pulled himself up straight in his chair and cleared his throat. “On another note, a bit unpleasant I’m afraid, I wanted to make sure that your situation over the next few weeks isn’t any cause for awkwardness.” He paused. “I understand that you worked for Elaine pretty much exclusively.”
Treya nodded in acknowledgment. Jackman, of course, wasn’t guessing. He knew that Treya and Elaine had evolved a working relationship that was unique in the firm. All of the other paralegals “floated” between loosely defined teams of three to five attorneys, taking assignments from any of them. Treya, on the other hand, got all of her hours assisting Elaine. Though it was an unusual arrangement, Jackman had allowed it to continue because it had worked. Elaine had been a workhorse with a case and business load of incredible diversity, and Treya was organized and efficient enough to keep up with her.
But now, the arrangement loomed as a liability. Jackman drove home the point. “I assume that over the next six weeks
Now, saddened on many levels by the murder of one of his true stars, Elaine Wager, Clarence Jackman was going to have to deliver one of the tough messages to one of the good people. He had seated himself behind his desk—always an effective tool for reinforcing emotional distance—and was shuffling papers as the door opened. He kept at it for a few more seconds, then looked up. “Ah, Ms. Ghent. Thanks for coming up.”
“You’re welcome.” She was standing in a classic military at-ease position by the Empire chair that he’d placed in front of his desk.
“Please. Have a seat.”
Nodding briskly, all business, she thanked him and took the chair, sitting ramrod straight and managing to do it without appearing stiff or nervous. She looked at him expectantly, then surprised him by speaking up first. “What can I do for you, sir?”
In spite of the message he was about to deliver, Jackman found himself almost enjoying the moment. This was a woman with presence. A slight puffiness around her eyes in no way detracted from her appearance. If she was wearing any makeup, it was very subtle—she sat about ten feet from Jackman and he saw no sign of any, not even lipstick. Her face was handsome—Jackman decided that if she made it up it would be close to beautiful, which was probably why she didn’t bother. It had an angular, almost exotic cast—some hint of an Asian bloodline in the racial mix. Conservatively dressed in a honey-colored silk blouse and knee-length skirt, she still managed to project a powerful physicality. There was no sign of any extra weight on her, but she wasn’t petite. She came across, more than anything, as strong.
These impressions coalesced in the seconds it took Jackman to frame his response. His own expression was grave, his body language sympathetic as he came forward, his arms on his desk. “Well, first,” he began in his deep, soothing voice, “I wanted to see how you’re holding up in the wake of . . . Elaine.”
“I’ve tried to do most of my crying at home.” He admired the self-deprecating way she phrased it, meeting his eye. “I haven’t always been successful.”
“It’s a tragedy,” Jackman declared. “A terrible tragedy.”
“Yes, sir, it is.” She inhaled deeply and waited. Jackman might be both sympathetic and sincere, but he hadn’t called her up here to share condolences.
It didn’t take any time at all for the managing partner to get to it. Jackman pulled himself up straight in his chair and cleared his throat. “On another note, a bit unpleasant I’m afraid, I wanted to make sure that your situation over the next few weeks isn’t any cause for awkwardness.” He paused. “I understand that you worked for Elaine pretty much exclusively.”
Treya nodded in acknowledgment. Jackman, of course, wasn’t guessing. He knew that Treya and Elaine had evolved a working relationship that was unique in the firm. All of the other paralegals “floated” between loosely defined teams of three to five attorneys, taking assignments from any of them. Treya, on the other hand, got all of her hours assisting Elaine. Though it was an unusual arrangement, Jackman had allowed it to continue because it had worked. Elaine had been a workhorse with a case and business load of incredible diversity, and Treya was organized and efficient enough to keep up with her.
But now, the arrangement loomed as a liability. Jackman drove home the point. “I assume that over the next six weeks
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