Water's Edge (2 page)

“Hey, Marie,” Tom said when he entered the secretary’s office. “Is he available? I know I’m a minute or two early.”

The dark-haired secretary removed her headset and leaned forward with a glistening white smile.

“Go in. He’s waiting for you. But don’t run off when you’re finished. I have a question for you.”

“Sure,” Tom said as he opened the door.

McGraw’s desk was positioned where the exterior glass walls came together. The balding, medium-built attorney was turned sideways and staring at his computer screen. Through one glass wall Tom could see the gold-plated dome of the state capitol.

“Come in,” McGraw growled in his deep voice.

“Hello, Tom,” another man said.

Olson Crowther, the partner in charge of the corporate and real estate division of the firm, was sitting in a leather wing chair to the right of McGraw’s desk. Crowther, a former JAG officer, sported a high and tight haircut. He stood and shook Tom’s hand. Seeing two of the principal partners in the same room caused a rush of excitement mixed with anxiety to wash over Tom.

“Have a seat,” McGraw said, pointing to a leather side chair in front of his desk. “We’re waiting on Joe Barnes to join us on a conference call. He just got back from Spain and is working from home today. Marie should have him on the line shortly.”

“Okay,” Tom said, his mouth dry.

McGraw turned his attention back to his computer.

“Sorry about your father,” Crowther said. “Did you receive the card I sent?”

“Yes, sir. Thanks.”

“Did the police determine what happened?”

“No one knows for sure. They were fishing from a small boat on a private pond. It wasn’t more than fifteen feet deep.”

“Life jackets?”

“No. The authorities think the boat capsized. My father was a decent swimmer. Maybe he tried to help the other man and failed.”

“Real shame,” McGraw grunted.

Tom cleared his throat. “Speaking of my father, I need to spend a week or so in Bethel shutting down his law practice. There isn’t much to it. After that’s done, I can totally devote myself to my responsibilities here. Now that Brett’s gone, I’d like the opportunity to—”

Marie’s voice came over the intercom. “Mr. Barnes on line 803.”

McGraw pushed a button. “Joe, are you there?”

“Yeah, but I’m still battling jet lag. The older I get, the harder it is to bounce back from these overseas trips. And in two weeks I’m off again to New Zealand. Do you remember the river where we caught those monster trout?”

“Yes.”

“I’m set up with the same guide.”

The fact that Joe Barnes, the founder of the firm, was on the phone meant only one thing. Tom’s hands began to sweat.

“Wish I were going with you,” McGraw said. “Olson and I are here with Tom Crane.”

“Have you told him what happened with Crutchfield Financial?”

“No,” McGraw answered.

Barnes spoke. “Tom, we’ve lost Crutchfield to King and Spalding.”

Tom raised his eyebrows in surprise. Crutchfield Financial was one of the firm’s largest clients. Its senior management didn’t hesitate to file lawsuits to enforce their will and rarely settled claims until the eve of trial. Tom racked his brain for any way the litigation group might have contributed to losing the client. Nothing came to mind.

“Uh, that’s too bad,” he said.

“Aaron Crutchfield would have stayed with us,” Barnes replied, “but there’s been a power shift on the board of directors since Aaron retired, and the new chairman has strong connections with King and Spalding.”

Tom licked his lips. “Are they going to pull all their litigation files?”

“Yes,” McGraw answered. “Rumors have been flying for several months. That’s one reason Brett took the general counsel job with Fairfield Group. As general counsel, he’ll be able to keep Fairfield from bolting.”

It was the perfect time for Tom to drop his bombshell about the call from Arthur Pelham. He clenched his teeth. Arthur’s specific instructions to keep quiet about hiring the firm kept the news bottled up in Tom’s throat.

“Our business from Linden Securities has been picking up,” Tom said, bringing up a second-tier source of business. “Mark and I were working on a major lawsuit this morning. That should take care of some of the slack caused—”

“No, it won’t,” McGraw interrupted. “I talked with Bruce Cathay in Macon yesterday. There’s overt fraud in that case. It’s going to be a damage-control situation.”

“Forged signatures on the disclosure documents?” Tom asked, shocked that his suspicions might be true.

“You talked with him too.” McGraw nodded. “They fired the woman involved, and the insurance company on the fidelity bond is going to assume responsibility for defense of the case. They’ll have their own counsel. The bottom line is we’re going to have to make another cut in my litigation group, and you’re it.”

Tom’s mouth dropped open. “I’m being fired?”

“No, no,” Barnes replied from the speakerphone. “It’s a staffing consolidation move.”

Barnes’s euphemism didn’t change the result.

“When?” Tom asked numbly.

“Effective the end of the day,” Barnes replied. “The firm will give you a good reference and pay a month’s severance in addition to your accrued vacation and personal leave time. You’ve worked hard, and this was a difficult decision. That’s why I wanted to be part of the conversation. I hope you appreciate that.”

“Yes, sir,” Tom mumbled.

“Very well. I’m going to grab a nap to knock back this jet lag,” Barnes said. “You gentlemen finish without me.”

The phone clicked off. Tom didn’t move.

“There’s not much else to discuss,” McGraw said. “Bring Mark up to speed on any cases you’ve been handling solo this afternoon. He and I will reassign them.”

“Is he going to make partner?” Tom blurted out.

“That wouldn’t be appropriate for us to discuss with you, would it?” Crowther replied with a tight smile. “You heard Joe. We appreciate the work you’ve done, and I’m confident you’ll find a good place to land. In the meantime, you can take all the time you need to settle your father’s affairs without feeling rushed. My father was a small-town CPA, and it took twice as long to administer his estate than I thought.”

“I’ll send out a firm-wide memo about the change in your status within an hour,” McGraw added. “Nothing negative about you.”

Crowther stood and extended his hand to Tom. “Best of luck to you, son. You’ve been well trained and can take that with you wherever you go.”

McGraw turned toward his computer screen. The meeting over, Tom stumbled from the office. He passed Marie’s desk, faintly hearing her call his name as he dashed down the hall. Olson Crowther had made Tom’s tenure at the firm sound like an advanced class at a canine obedience school. The dog part of the comparison was right. Tom felt like a loyal pet dropped from a car in the middle of the city and left to fend for itself.

The hustle and bustle of activity on the thirty-sixth floor now had a discordant tone. The first person Tom saw was a middle-aged paralegal who spent half her time working on Crutchfield files. His firing wouldn’t be the only fallout crashing down from the thirty-seventh floor. He resisted the urge to grab the woman and suggest she clock out early so she could take her ten-year-old son to Chastain Park and play catch with a Frisbee. Tom avoided making eye contact with anyone until he reached his office and shut the door. Plopping down in his chair, he swiveled to the side and looked out the window. Stone Mountain hadn’t moved; Tom’s world had crumbled like a dried clump of red clay.

chapter
TWO

O
n the corner of Tom’s desk was a glass paperweight, a gift from his father, shaped like a miniature rainbow trout. Beneath the paperweight were John Crane’s last words, a typically cryptic message delivered to Tom’s administrative assistant. The phone call came in while Tom was out of town taking depositions. Before Tom could return the call, he’d received the news that John Crane had drowned. Tom removed the paperweight and, for the hundredth time, read the note:

I’ve been fishing in a new spot, and the water is too deep for me. Can you come home for a few days and help me out?

Tom crumpled the note and threw it in the trash. It was time to get rid of the worthless stuff he’d accumulated during his time at the firm. A message from his father that didn’t make sense was a good place to start. Tom had emptied two drawers of his desk when the phone buzzed.

“Clarice is on line 750,” his assistant said.

Tom’s girlfriend worked in the marketing department of a major soft-drink manufacturer. In her world, success was measured by a half-percent increase in sales to the Brazilian market.

“I’m trying to decide the best colors to include in a pie chart,” she said in her slightly shrill voice. “Do you think it’s tacky to put magenta next to yellow? The new outfit I bought last week, you know, the one with the magenta top and yellow sweater, looks nice, doesn’t it? That’s what gave me the idea.”

“They go well together. And you look super in the outfit.” Tom paused for a second. “I just got fired.”

“Fired from what?” The natural tension in Clarice’s voice ratcheted up a notch.

“My job. They called it a staffing consolidation, but the end result is the same.”

“What did you do wrong?”

“Nothing.”

“That doesn’t make any sense.”

Tom told her about the meeting with the senior partners without revealing the names of the clients involved.

“At first I thought you meant you’d been fired by one of your clients,” Clarice said in a more subdued voice when he finished. “Where are you now?”

“In my office.”

“They didn’t seize your computer and escort you out of the building? That’s what happens here when someone gets axed.”

“No. McGraw asked me to work to the end of the day.”

“Do you think they’re letting you down easy? I mean, there had to be something you messed up.”

So far, Clarice was failing miserably in the comforting words department.

“No.”

“Didn’t Brett Bollinger recommend you for his position?”

“Yeah, but I guess his influence ended when he left the firm. I don’t have a clue why I became a target.”

The phone was silent for a moment.

“Did you miss a statue of limitations? A girl in our legal department did that last month and got canned on the spot.”

“It’s statute of limitations. And no, I didn’t.”

“Don’t try to make me look dumb,” Clarice replied with a snort. “I’m doing my best to help.”

“Of course you are. Look, I’m pretty shook up. I’ll see you at home.”

“I have to work late, so don’t forget to pick up dinner. I’m in the mood for Chinese again. You’ll feel better after you drink a glass of wine and eat a couple of spring rolls.”

Clarice ended the call. Tom placed his phone on the desk. It was going to take more than wine and spring rolls to get him through this crisis.

______

The hour that passed before McGraw’s e-mail hit Tom’s in-box seemed like a week. When the senior partner’s name finally popped up on his screen, Tom counted to five before opening it.

Tom Crane will be leaving the firm at the end of the day. We wish him well in his future legal endeavors.

A couple of minutes later there was a knock on his door.

“Come in,” he said, steeling himself for an onslaught of sympathy that might or might not be genuine.

Mark Nelson, his laptop under his right arm, stuck his head through the doorway. “I got a terse memo from McGraw ordering me to meet with you about your files. A minute later the one about you leaving the firm hit my server. I called McGraw’s office to get more details, but he didn’t have time to talk to me.” Mark ran his hand through his hair. “Did the request for time off to shut down your father’s practice have anything to do with it? I had a feeling that wouldn’t sit well with McGraw.”

“No.”

Mark came in and closed the door behind him. “What happened?”

“McGraw didn’t send you anything about Crutchfield Financial?”

“No.”

Tom broke the news.

“That will be bad for a lot of people,” Mark replied. “Did my name come up?”

“Only in connection with reassignment of files.”

“I’m sorry, man.”

Tom studied Mark for a moment. He didn’t sense any phoniness in his colleague. They weren’t close friends, but they’d been through many legal wars together. Combat of any type has a way of bonding men together.

“I thought you’d be the one to make partner.” Mark shrugged. “I’d even started floating my résumé to other firms a month ago. Last week I had an interview with a medium-sized firm in Sandy Springs.”

“But if our firm—” Tom corrected himself: “If Barnes, McGraw, and Crowther lets you stay—”

“I’ll hang around. The other job was a pay cut, but at least it was a job. I can’t expect Megan to start married life with a husband drawing unemployment benefits.” Mark sat down across from Tom and opened his laptop. “I bet Sweet and Becker would offer you a job, maybe even a partnership on the spot. You’ve hammered them several times, and Nate Becker has a lot of respect for you.”

“How do you know that?” Tom asked in surprise.

“He told me. A friend and I signed up to play in a charity golf tournament and ended up in a foursome with Becker and one of his associates. He talked about you the whole round and asked me a bunch of questions.”

“Why didn’t you tell me about this?”

“Would you have cared?”

“No,” Tom admitted. “It would only have fueled my ego.”

“And today your ego needs a little fuel. But Becker wasn’t asking for social reasons. You’re on his radar as a possible hire.”

Sweet and Becker was a solid law firm, not nearly as large as Barnes, McGraw, and Crowther but with a good core of clients. On the downside, the smaller firm might not be a suitable match for Pelham Financial.

“Don’t start daydreaming about your next job yet,” Mark said, interrupting Tom’s thoughts. “Turn on your computer, and let’s get started on the transition. If the firm is going to fire me, I don’t want it to be because I fumbled a handoff from you.”

Mark already knew bits and pieces about most of Tom’s cases because of biweekly status meetings. When they reached the new Linden Securities case, Tom mentioned what McGraw told him about the fraud committed by their client’s broker. Mark raised his eyebrows.