Sheldon Siegel - Special Circumstances (Mike Daley, Book 1)

Special Circumstances by Sheldon Siegel A NOVEL BY Sheldon Siegel

For the last twenty years or so, being a partner in a big corporate law firm has been like having a license to print money. At my firm, Simpson and Gates, weve had a license to print a lot of money. At six-fifteen in the evening of Tuesday, December 30, the printing press is running at full speed forty-eight floors above California Street in downtown San Francisco in what our executive committee modestly likes to call our world headquarters. Our 320 attorneys are housed in opulent offices on eight floors at the top of the Bank of America Building, a fifty-two-story bronze edifice that takes up almost an entire city block and is the tallest and ugliest testimonial to unimaginative architecture in the city skyline. Our two-story rosewood-paneled reception area is about the size of a basketball court. A reception desk that is longer than a city bus sits at the south end of the forty-eighth floor, and I can see the Golden Gate Bridge, Alcatraz Island and Sausalito through the glass-enclosed conference room on the north wall.

The gray carpet, overstuffed leather chairs and antique coffee tables create the ambiance of a classic mens club, which is entirely appropriate since most of our attorneys and clients are white, male and Republican. Even in the evening of the customarily quiet week between Christmas and New Years, our reception area is buzzing with a higher level of activity than most businesses see in the middle of the day. Then again, most businesses arent the largest and most profitable law firm on the West Coast. Tomorrow is my last day with the firm and I am trying to shove my way through three hundred attorneys, clients, politicians and other hangers-on who have gathered for one of our insufferable cocktail parties. I hate this stuff. I guess its appropriate I have to walk the gauntlet one last time.

In the spirit of the holiday season, everybody is dressed in festive dark gray business suits, starched monogrammed white shirts and red power ties. A string quartet plays classical music in front of the blinking lights of our tired-looking twenty-foot Christmas tree. The suits have gathered to drink chardonnay, eat hors doeuvres and pay tribute to my soon-to-be ex-partner, Prentice Marshall Gates III, the son of our late founding partner Prentice Marshall Gates II. Prentice III, one of many lawyers in our firm with roman numerals behind his name, is known as Skipper. He is also sailing out of the firm tomorrow. The circumstances of our respective departures are, shall I say, somewhat different.

After my five years as an under productive partner in our white-collar criminal defense department, our executive committee asked me to leave. I was, in short, fired. Although the request was polite, I was told that if I didnt leave voluntarily, they would invoke Article Seven of our partnership agreement, which states, and I quote, that a Partner of the Firm may be terminated by the Firm upon the affirmative vote of two-thirds (2/3) of the Partners of the Firm, at a duly called and held meeting of the Partners of the Firm. In the last three years, fourteen of my partners have been Article Sevened. I have graciously agreed to resign. On Monday, Ill open the law offices of Michael J.

Daley, criminal defense attorney, in a subleased office in a walk-up building in the not-so-trendy part of San Franciscos South of Market area. Welcome to the modern practice of law. Skippers story is a little different. After thirty years as an under productive partner in our real estate department, he spent three million dollars of the money he inherited from his father to win a mean-spirited race for district attorney of San Francisco, even though he hasnt set foot in a courtroom in over twenty years. My partners are thrilled. They have never complained about his arrogance, sloppy work and condescending attitude.

Hell, the same could be said about most of my partners. What they cant live with is his four-hundred-thousand-dollar draw. He has been living off his fathers reputation for years. Thats why all the power partners are here. They want to give him a big send-off. More importantly, they want to be sure he doesnt change his mind.

The temperature is about ninety degrees and it smells more like a locker room than a law firm. I nod to the mayor, shake hands with two of my former colleagues from the San Francisco Public Defenders Office and carefully avoid eye contact with Skipper, who is working the room. I overhear him say the DAs office is his first step toward becoming attorney general and, ultimately, governor. In your dreams, Skipper. Im trying to get to our reception desk to pick up a settlement agreement. Ordinarily, such a document would be brought to me by one of our many inhouse messengers.

Tonight, Im on my own because the kids who work in our mailroom arent allowed to come to the front desk when the VIPs are around. I sample skewered shrimp provided by a tuxedoed waiter and elbow my way to the desk, where four evening-shift receptionists operate telephone consoles that have more buttons than a 747. I lean over the polished counter and politely ask Cindi Harris if she has an envelope for me. Let me look, Mr. Daley, she replies. Shes a twenty-two year-old part-time art student from Modesto with long black hair, a prim nose and a radiant smile.

She has confided to me that she would like to become an artist, a stock-car driver or the wife of a rich attorney. I have it on good authority that a couple of my partners have already taken her out for a test drive. A few years ago, our executive committee hired a consultant to spruce up our image. Its hard to believe, but many people seem to perceive our firm as stuffy. For a hundred thousand dollars, our consultant expressed concern that our middle-aged receptionists did not look perky enough to convey the appropriate image of a law firm of our stature. In addition, he was mortified that we had two receptionists who were members of the male gender.

At a meeting that everyone adamantly denies ever took place, our executive committee concluded that our clientsthe white, middle-aged men who run the banks, insurance companies, defense contractors and conglomerates that we representwould be more comfortable if our receptionists were younger, female, attractive and, above all, perkier. As a result, our middle-aged female and male receptionists were reassigned to less-visible duties. We hired Cindi because she fit the profile recommended by our consultant. Although shes incapable of taking a phone message, she looks like a model for Victorias Secret. S&G isnt known as a hotbed of progressive thinking. Dont get me wrong.

As a divorced forty-five-year-old, I have nothing against attractive young women. I do have a problem when a firm adopts a policy of reassigning older women and men to less-visible positions just because they arent attractive enough. For one thing, its illegal. For another thing, its wrong. Thats another reason I got fired. Getting a reputation as the house liberal at S&G isnt great for your career.

Cindis search turns up empty. Im sorry, Mr. Daley, she says, batting her eyes. She flashes an uncomfortable smile and looks like shes afraid I may yell at her. While such wariness is generally advisable at S&G, it shows she doesnt know me very well. Jimmy Carter was in the White House the last time I yelled at anybody.