Pamela Samuels-Young
Books
Chapter 2
B
y the time we made it back to the offices of O’Reilly & Finney, word of the verdict had already raced through the firm. I barely had time to shove my purse underneath my desk and touch up my lipstick before I was whisked off to the 38 th floor to continue bathing in the glory of my mind-blowing victory.
A handful of my colleagues pounced on me before I had barely entered the conference room, corralling me in a small circle of professional envy. Lawyers are a lot like ten year olds. They smile and pretend to be happy when someone else wins the big case, but on the inside they’re pouting.
Al McAndrews, a tax partner, was the first to congratulate me. “Incredible work, counselor,” he said, giving me a benign pat on the back. McAndrews routinely ignored me during our morning elevator rides. I hoped this didn’t mean I would have to make small talk the next time we were stuck in an elevator together.
For the next twenty minutes, I graciously accepted praise heaped on top of praise even though I knew most folks were there for the jumbo shrimp. I spotted David across the room entertaining his own flock of worshippers. I could hear snatches of his conversation. He was explaining how well we had worked together. All lies.
The post-trial victory celebration was an O’Reilly & Finney tradition. It was a first for me, having been at the firm for only nine months. I scanned the room, looking for Jim O’Reilly, the firm’s managing partner, but he was nowhere in sight. When I saw Neddy McClain walk in, my body stiffened.
For a reason I had yet to figure out, the woman acted as if she despised me. The fact that we didn’t get along was especially tragic since we were the firm’s only African-American attorneys. Black folks are like crabs in a barrel, my grandmother used to say. As soon as one climbs up, another one pulls ‘em back down.
As usual, Neddy’s lips were ziplocked into an obnoxious frown, broadcasting the perpetual state of discontent that she wore like an old sweater. Thank God we had different practice areas and never had to work together.
I took a sip of a Diet Coke somebody had handed to me and checked my watch. If I didn’t leave soon, there was no way I was going to make it across town for dinner with my husband. I had promised Jefferson that as soon as the trial ended, I was all his. I had also promised to give some serious consideration to starting a family. The first promise I planned to keep. I was still searching for a loophole big enough to get me out of the second one.
All the bodies hemming me in were beginning to make me feel claustrophobic. Just as I was about to make a break for it, an attorney I barely recognized bogarted his way through the huddle. “Way to go, Henderson!” he yelled, giving me a high five.
All I could do was grin . The rays of praise beaming down on me felt so good I almost wanted to squeal. Truth be told, I had actually fantasized about this day in law school. This was what it was all about.
While the praise fest continued, I watched out of the corner of my eye as Neddy studied the colorful display of hors d'oeuvres. She did not appear anxious to make her way toward me, but decorum dictated that she must. I wondered just how long it was going to take her to march across the room and give me my props.
O’Reilly finally towered in, giving her a temporary reprieve. He grabbed an empty wineglass from the tray of a passing waiter and gently clinked it with a knife.
“May I have your attention?” He didn’t actually need to ask for the floor. When O’Reilly walked into a room, all heads automatically turned his way. An oversized, gregarious Irishman with curly, reddish-brown hair, he had an easy-going, Clintonesque style about him. He was just as comfortable addressing a room full of wealthy bankers as a congregation of black Baptists.
“I want to give an official O’Reilly & Finney congratulations to Vernetta and David on the Hayes verdict and a jury award so big even I couldn’t believe it.” O’Reilly looked extremely pleased. Probably because forty percent of that five million dollar award would go straight into the coffers of the 80-attorney litigation boutique founded by his grandfather.
“It just shows you what good, solid legal work can produce. Keep on kicking butt, guys!” He raised his glass and everyone applauded. Except Neddy. Her hands were conveniently occupied. She took a sip of wine and dipped a broccoli spear into a bowl of Ranch dip.
A few minutes later, O’Reilly headed my way and pulled me off to the side. “You won’t believe it,” he whispered excitedly. “You heard about Max Montgomery’s murder Saturday night, right?”
Who hadn’t? Max Montgomery was a local icon. Rich, attractive, politically connected and undeniably brilliant. His investment banking firm owned most of the city’s prime real estate. The murder made the front page of the L.A. Times and every news station in town was milking the story like it was a prized cow.
“Well, guess who’s a suspect, and guess who wants our firm to defend her?”
I had absolutely no idea who “her” could be.
“His wife!” There was sheer joy in O’Reilly’s voice. “And you, lucky lady, are going to be sitting at the defense table.” He turned his back to me and began scanning the room.
He was right. I couldn’t believe it. This was the kind of case that turned lawyers into celebrities. Although I was wiped out from the round-the-clock hours demanded by the Hayes trial, the prospect of a sensational criminal case caused a tingling sensation to overtake my weariness. Then I remembered my promise to Jefferson. He would freak when he found out I’d taken on another, even more-demanding case. I downed the last of my Diet Coke and momentarily waved that worry from my mind. I’d deal with Jefferson later. I was about to be catapulted into super-lawyerdom.
Then I heard O’Reilly call Neddy over and my heart did a flip-flop.
“This is going to be a helluva case,” he said, turning back to face me as Neddy walked up. “You ladies can thank me later.”
“Thank you for what?” Neddy asked.
“For teaming you up on L.A.’s next high-profile murder case.”
Neddy and I locked eyes, but we both exercised our right to remain silent.
O’Reilly, still all smiles, threw his burly left arm across my shoulder and pulled Neddy to him with his right. We were the perfect Jet Picture of the Week.
“Yep,” he said, looking first at Neddy, then shining his gaze on me. “I’d say you two ladies are about to become very, very famous.”
