by Lexi Whitlow
Chapter 17
Bryn
Monday mornings, I hate them. We’ve got a partners’ meeting at ten to discuss current and prospective caseloads, and I’ve got two packets to get to the clerk’s office by 4:00. It’s that much harder coming to the day job after all the progress we’re making getting the legal aid offices set up, not to mention the lovely weekend I spent with Logan.
Logan’s Mom, Marilyn, is great. She cut quite a contrast to my own mother, who was always so chilly and distant. She’s warm, and obviously devoted to her sons. She was sweet to me, even bragging about what a hard worker Logan is, and how good he’s always been with Drake; almost as if she’s trying to sell me on the idea of him.
She doesn’t need to.
Watching Logan with Drake was amazing. Logan is attentive and patient, but he’s also kind. I don’t know why that surprises me, but I didn’t expect to see the deep, affectionate connection between them. I expected impatience and frustration, because sometimes that’s how Logan describes his experience with Drake, but it’s not what I witnessed. I saw Logan being playful and loving.
One day he’s going to be an incredible father to a laughing brood of kids. With any luck at all they’ll never even know their good-fortune at being his. They’ll just assume that’s how all dads are, and go about their lives in blissful ignorance of the fact that not all fathers are kind and patient, and some aren’t even present.
My mother and I had our issues, but I always knew my father was my best friend and my biggest cheerleader. I never questioned his motivations, or bothered to consider how advantaged I was to have him. It was only later when I was older, when I began to encounter families with very different realities than those I grew up with, did I begin to recognize the benefits of my upbringing.
* * *
The first odd thing I notice after arriving at work is that the admins are huddling, whispering among themselves. One of them gives me an odd look as I pass by on my way through the breakroom getting coffee, then the whole gaggle bursts out in giggles when they think I’m out of earshot.
This does not bode well. Something’s up.
I put it all together once the partners assemble at 10:00 A.M. for our weekly round-up.
My father appears, taking his customary seat at the head of the table after everyone else has arrived. I note that Charles isn’t in attendance. His place is empty; highly unusual.
“Before we get started on the review,” Daddy says. “I need to update everyone on a personnel change that’s just happened.”
What?
Everyone stops their usual fidgeting and phone checks, focusing intently on my father. This never happens. This is huge.
“Charles Pearson is no longer with the firm,” Daddy continues. “As of nine this morning. He resigned. I accepted his resignation without reservation…”
That’s code for, ‘he was going to be fired if he didn’t walk away’.
“And now we have some scrambling to do to cover his cases, reach out to every client who has had contact with him in the last two years, and let them know what’s happening and who will be taking on their work. We should start with active, retainer clients first, working down the list until we’ve spoken with each one personally. I want partners on the phones. No juniors, and certainly no paralegals or admins. This is sensitive. I’ll be handling our top five billing clients myself. This needs to be done by the close of business today. It is our top priority.”
The tension is so thick, the air so still, when my father ceases speaking, you could hear a pin drop in the room.
I wonder what Charles did to get his sorry ass canned? I know it wasn’t my harassment complaint. I would have heard of it before it happened.
We spend a good part of the rest of the meeting with the partners reassigning cases and strategizing how to redistribute the work load. When that’s done, it’s time to discuss new business. My mind is still reeling, trying to figure out what happened, and what it all means. I’m barely paying attention to the new business discussion, until I hear the name Logan Chandler tossed out. The next thing I hear is paternity suit.
“That’s sordid,” my father replies to the brief description of the case he’s just been told of.
I’m still trying to catch up.
“We should probably take it just on its PR potential alone,” one of the senior partners observes. “It’s bound to make some news.”
“Only if there’s anything to it,” my father replies. It’s clear he doesn’t like it, and I’m at least happy for that.
He turns to Dan Brown, the attorney who’s handling the inquiry.
“Is she willing to do DNA?”
The attorney shrugs. “I had a ten-minute call with her, we didn’t get that far. I got background on the relationship between her and Chandler. The timing seems to fit if she’s telling the truth. She said she never pursued it before because she knew he didn’t have a pot to piss in, but now that he’s rich, she feels like he’s obligated.”
My father nods. “I’m inclined to agree with her, if she’s telling the truth.” His brow folds. “When did this come in? Who took the call?”
“She called on Friday and asked for Charles. He’d been expecting the call and told his admin to take the details and he’d get back to her on Monday. His assistant kicked it to me this morning, since all new business is supposed to go through my office for assignment anyway.”
Oh god. This is awful. This is worse than awful. My house of cards is coming down around my head, and there’s nothing I can do to stop it.
“Daddy!” I call, following him on heel as soon as the meeting breaks up. “Daddy, I need to talk to you.”
He barely pauses as I fall in line beside him.
“It’ll have to wait, Bryn,” he says dismissively. “I’ve got a lot to do and not a lot of time this morning.”
“This is important too,” I say, hearing the edge in my own tone. “Conflict of interest important, and more.”
He stops, his expression shifting to something even more grim than the one he had a moment before.
“What?” he asks.
“Your office,” I say. “Closed door.”
My father’s office is large and well-appointed, with plenty of dark hardwoods, and floor-to-ceiling walls lined with glassed-in bookshelves. It’s imposing, as it’s intended to be. When you’re in there, facing him at his giant oak desk, sitting in the small chair while he occupies the big chair, you’re supposed to feel insignificant in contrast to his looming prestige.
Unusually the place doesn’t have that effect on me, but now I’m feeling it.
“Speak,” he insists, folding his hands in front of him, giving me every iota of his attention.
I take a breath, feeling my heart pound in my chest.
“The new case, the paternity suit,” I say. “Against Logan Chandler. I… um…”
“Yes?”
Good lord. Why is this so hard?
“I… um…” I huff in another breath, attempting to calm myself. “The roses in my office a couple weeks back. They were from him. We’ve been seeing each other for a while now,” I blurt out, hoping to get that part over and done with so I can just go ahead and cop to the rest of it before he blows an artery.
Daddy blinks. He starts to say something, then thinks on it, turning his head to one side oddly. His shoulders drop, and he sits back in his chair, a question crossing his mind. I see his wheels turning.
“How long is a while?” he finally asks me.
“About a month,” I say.
He nods, flexing his jaw. “Okay,” he replies. “That’s not that big of a problem. We can refer the case…”
“There’s more Daddy,” I say, my breath catching. “I’ve done something that… well… in light of what happened with Charles, and everything going on, you need to know about it. I’ve kept it to myself for too long.”
Now his expression shifts to one I’ve never seen on his face before. It’s almost dee
r-in-the-headlights, what the fuck can happen next?
“What?” His tone is sharp, edged with dread.
“I’ve set up a 501(c)(3) with a few other attorneys’ around town. It’s a legal aid group to serve the low-income community...”
If the furrow in his brow cuts any deeper, it may leave a permanent scar.
“…and we’ve gotten funding from the Chandler Foundation. Four million to start-up, with more potentially, depending upon need.”
This intelligence bowls him over. I’ve never done anything to truly shock my father; he’s ill-equipped to process this.
He’s speechless, contemplating what I’ve said. He’s trying to work out how this has happened right under his nose without him discovering it.
“I kept it secret. Everyone involved is sworn to secrecy until the press releases are ready to drop.”
“You did all this, on your own, and you got funded… Were you seeing Chandler before he gave you four million dollars, or…?”
“We got approved for the grant before Logan and I started seeing each other,” I say, knowing now that’s the truth. At the time I didn’t know it, but Logan came clean with the fact he approved it long before we ever went out, and would have, even if I hadn’t been involved. “We were approved on the merits of the grant application, not anything having to do with Logan and me.”
He’s still trying to process it.
“Daddy, I know you dislike Logan. I know you don’t approve of him. And I know that sooner or later I’m going to go full-time at the Legal Aid Network. So… if you want to keep the paternity case, I’ll tender my resignation…”
“Oh, Bryn, don’t be ridiculous,” he says, dismissing the idea with a wave of his hand.
He sits forward, fingers thumping on his desk, then he looks up, fixing his gaze on me.
“I’m proud of you, kiddo. Setting up your own practice, that took balls. Getting funded, that took skill.”
I’m astonished.
“Your work here is great, and I have big plans for you, but if it’s not what you want to do, I’ll accept it. You decide when the time is right. I hope the day never comes, but we’ll work with it.”
He’s talking to me like I’m an adult. This is, new territory.
He hauls in a breath, then sinks back in his chair, a contrite expression biting him.
“And it’s not that I disapprove of Logan Chandler,” he says, darkened eyes meeting mine with reservation. “It’s that I tried the case that ruined his father’s life, and when you were kids, I didn’t want you getting any blow-back from that.”
This is news to me. I had no idea my father was involved. I wonder if Logan knows.
Daddy shakes his head in recollection of something he’d clearly rather forget.
“I was overly enthusiastic about that case,” he says. “I needed a big win to buy out my father’s senior partners and take over this firm. I gambled on it, and I won.” He fixes his gaze on me again, something guilty in his eyes. “But I cheated, and it destroyed the man’s life. And then he died, leaving those two kids without a father, and his wife to deal with the tragedy of it all by herself.”
I feel a chill run up by spine.
“What do you mean, you cheated?”
There can be no legal consequences and my father knows it. Whatever happened occurred so long ago that all the statutes of limitations have long since passed, and the principle victim of any misconduct—the only one with standing to lodge a complaint—is long dead.
“I had a witness,” he says. “The guy said he saw Drake Chandler, Sr. blowing back shots at a bar thirty minutes before the accident. Before the trial I learned there’s no way the guy could have seen any such thing, because at the time he was in police custody for public intoxication, after leaving a different bar on the other side of town. Counsel for the defense never caught it.”
He relates this to me with the nonchalance of describing what he had for dinner last night.
“The cop who performed Chandler’s roadside sobriety test managed to sway the jury with a load of contrived nonsense about eye-movements and slurred speech. That’s what we won on. Two bullshit testimonies. The blood alcohol test came back clean. I answered that in court by suggesting Chandler chugged a couple gallons of water to flush the alcohol from his system before the test. His lawyer didn’t even address the spurious science in my claim.”
My father bites his lip, then sighs. “So, between cheating on my side and incompetence on Chandler’s side, the guy got railroaded. I got a fifty-million-dollar jury award for my client, twenty of which I kept, and Logan Chandler lost his father.”
It’s me who needs to process things now. Everything I thought I knew about my dad has just been redefined.
Daddy’s confessions aren’t quite over.
“Charles was attempting to poach clients,” he says without prompting. “I got a call from one this weekend, letting me know. I suspect he’s up to something more than just hanging his own shingle. I have an idea that this paternity case against Logan may have something to do with it. He would know not to take a new business call. The fact that he was looking for the call, tells me he’s involved.”
“He’s trying to hurt Logan,” I say, putting it together. “And probably me too.”
My father’s brow folds again. “Why would he do that?”
I tell my father about Charles’ long-standing jealousy of Logan, going back to high school, and how it escalated after Logan won the Powerball. In regard to myself, I simply say, “You should talk to HR.”
“Okay,” he says, a brow raising. “And what am I going to learn from HR?”
Since we’re suddenly over-flowing with honesty, I decide to state the facts.
“You’ll learn that every bit of this could have been avoided if the women in this company felt secure in their positions, even if dropping a dime on a partner-track favorite of the boss. The last girl that did that, got fired. They couldn’t fire me because I’m your daughter, but they sure as shit didn’t fix anything. No consequences for Charles, and as far as I know, up until Friday afternoon, he was still demanding blow jobs from the juniors in exchange for pro-bono cases.”
Daddy’s eyes narrow. “You reported this to HR?”
I nod.
“Why not come directly to me?”
I smile coolly at him, as if I’m facing opposing counsel. “Because we had a talk about the proper chain of command, remember that? I went by the book, and when nothing changed, I wrote a grant application to get me out of this toxic work environment.”
It all dawns on my dad in that instant, he’s the one who empowered Charles to abuse his position, and then he protected Charles, even while Charles was going behind his back, attempting to poach clients.
Humility looks good on him.
“You have a lot to do,” I say. “I won’t keep you from it any longer. I’ve got no more revelations.”
I excuse myself, letting my father get back to beating himself up, which I hope he does for at least a half-hour. This is after all, his law firm. The buck stops with him, or at least it ought to.
* * *
Just when I think my day can’t get any worse, Claire pings my messenger with an attachment and the text, See this. Boyfriend troubles.
I launch the attachment. It’s an AP Wire story claiming that at least three women and perhaps more have filed suit against Logan Chandler in district court, claiming paternity of their children, suing for support and other damages.
It’s at least four women. What the hell? Is everything I think I know about every man in my life a delusion? Are all men essentially self-serving assholes?
Chapter 18
Logan
Bryn is ditching my calls. Her work number goes to voicemail, and her admin is making excuses for her. As if that’s not enough to have me spinning like a top, I got a call from Tim Dunigan at the firm in D.C. first thing this morning telling me he’s getting on a plane to come see me. All he would say is,
“We have issues popping up that I need to go over with you in person.”
It’s got to be bad—really bad—if he’s flying to Raleigh on a Tuesday.
When he arrives, it’s obvious he’s troubled. He lifts his suitcase to the kitchen counter and unzips it, revealing at least twenty—maybe more—legal case files.
“I warned you this was coming,” he says, piling the files on the counter, then spreading them out. “In the last ten days this is what we’ve gotten. One complaint after another. Most of them are spurious at best, malicious at worst, but there are a few that are going to plague us.”
