The Partner Track: A Novel

by Wan, Helen

  On the shelf below that stood a small framed snapshot of me and Rachel at the housewarming party we’d thrown in our first New York apartment, and another photograph of me with my parents the day I’d been sworn in to the New York Bar, almost nine years ago. My mother, father, and I were standing on the sidewalk outside the First Appellate Department building, down by Madison Square Park. I remembered that day as one of the happiest of my life. “We’re so proud of you,” my parents had kept saying, snapping photo after photo. “Attorney-at-law!” “Our daughter, Esquire!”

  Alone that night, after I’d dropped my parents off at their hotel, I’d tried the words out in my mouth. Ingrid S. Yung, Esquire. I remember savoring it on my tongue. The corporate world—and the world in general—had seemed wide open to me then, full of hope and possibility. You bright young women can accomplish anything you set out to accomplish! Rachel and I had both been told this all our lives.

  And we had believed it.

  We had fallen for it completely.

  I heard a light knock, and Margo poked her head in my office. She looked happy. “Mr. Adler’s secretary just called. He wants to see you in his office. He said it’s very important.”

  She leaned in my doorway, beaming. The reason Margo was beaming was that she had done the math and knew the news would be good. Early that morning, she had run into Hunter’s secretary in the pantry. That was how we had learned that Hunter Russell had officially been voted into the partnership.

  And Murph had not.

  According to Hunter’s secretary, after being called into Marty Adler’s office at nine fifteen that morning, Murph had gone home sick for the rest of the day.

  I would have thought I would be happier to hear this news. Avenged, or validated, or something. Murph had gotten exactly what he deserved. They’d taken Hunter over him. And Hunter would, of course, be infinitely easier for me to deal with at our future partnership meetings.

  I knew I should have been jubilant on this morning, of all mornings. I should have been dancing a jig on my office floor, but I only felt tired and numb.

  After all that Murph and I had gone through and all of the cruel and hurtful things he had spat at me last night, unbelievably, I still felt sorry for him. Regardless of how things had ended up between us, it was hard to forget that for eight long years he had been one of my only buddies at the firm. Ironically, it had been Murph who had often made me feel most included, like I belonged. Now, not only had I lost a boyfriend, I had lost a friend, too. Or at least the pretense of one.

  Murph had worked hard. He was a smart lawyer, too. We’d both assumed for many years that Murph had it in the bag. I knew exactly how disappointed he must feel.

  I wasn’t happy that Murph was miserable. The truth was, I was sad that his theory had been right. I knew he had a point. And this bothered me. It did. Because I’d rather make it on my own merit. If it had been any other year except this one, the year they had all the Diversity Initiative efforts, there would have been no question. But now, since all this was happening when it was happening, I felt that my much-celebrated partnership announcement would be forever sullied. People would always wonder. Well, hadn’t that Jeff Murphy kind of had a point? Wasn’t Ingrid lucky that the firm was paying attention to diversity when it did?

  “Shall I tell Mr. Adler you’ll be right up?” Margo hinted.

  I nodded. “Sure. Moment of truth, right?” I gave her a small smile.

  “I’ll tell him.” She went back to her desk, closing the door to give me a little privacy.

  I stood up, walked over to my wardrobe, and checked myself in the mirror. From looking at me, you wouldn’t know that I was a woman who’d just broken up with her boyfriend, stumbled home to her apartment in the wee hours of the morning, and was operating on three hours of sleep. My makeup was tasteful and perfect. Every hair was in place. I looked, well, fucking impeccable.

  I slipped off the right sleeve of my ivory silk crepe jacket and peered at my arm. A purple and yellow octopus-shaped bruise was spreading across my shoulder where I’d smashed it against Murph’s front door.

  How did things ever get so fucked up, I wondered.

  I appraised the rest of my outfit—a slim black tank and ivory silk crepe trousers. I’d taken special care to avoid wearing a pencil skirt today. In fact, I wanted to throw out every single one I owned.

  After tucking my hair behind my ears and taking one final look in the mirror, I walked past Margo—who flashed me a thumbs-up sign—and out into the hall. I reached the marble elevator bank and waited. When the doors in front of me opened, I entered the dark, gleaming, tomblike car—terrible if you were at all claustrophobic—pressed the button for the thirty-seventh floor, and leaned back against the wall. The car made its smooth, swift ascent, and I stepped out.

  I clicked across the marble tile floor, slid my keycard into the security pad, opened the glass doors, and began the long walk down the carpeted interior corridor to Marty Adler’s office. I felt absolutely calm, almost queenly. I could sense every secretary and paralegal I passed eyeing me closely as I glided serenely by. News—especially partnership news—spread like wildfire around this building. They all knew exactly whose office I was headed to. I consciously made myself hold my head a little higher and tried smiling a little. I should try to look happy today, after all.

  It felt like a long walk.

  When I finally got to Adler’s corner office, Sharon smiled at me and said cheerfully, “Mr. Adler is expecting you. Go on in.” She gestured at his closed door.

  This was a good sign. Wasn’t it? Secretaries knew everything around here. Sharon wouldn’t look so friendly and cheerful if she knew the news was bad; that would just be cruel. Right?

  Okay, get a grip, I told myself. You are way overthinking this.

  I thought about the fortune-cookie fortune that had come with my Chinese takeout order one recent late night at the firm. Confidence will lead you on. If there was one thing I knew, after all this time at Parsons Valentine, it was how to fake that.

  I approached Adler’s closed door and knocked once, loudly.

  “Come in,” he boomed.

  I tilted my chin up, took a deep breath, fixed a neutral smile on my face, and entered Adler’s shadowy office. He hadn’t switched on the overhead lights. I closed the door behind me with a quiet click.

  Marty Adler was sitting four or five yards away from me, in his familiar massive green leather chair. “Good morning, Ingrid,” he said. His tone gave nothing away—he sounded neither regretful nor jubilant. “Please. Have a seat.” He gestured to one of the two wing chairs in front of his desk, instead of to the sitting area over by his teak conference table. This struck me as a bit odd. I’d always thought the other chairs in his office were much more comfortable.

  And then I saw that Adler was looking somberly down at his hands.

  “Ingrid,” he began, “this is one of the hardest conversations I’ve ever had to have.”

  I blinked stupidly at Adler. Had I misheard? This was not the right way for him to preface this conversation, was it?

  “I do wish I had better news for you.”

  Oh my God, I thought. No, no, no no no. Something had gone insanely, sinisterly, incredibly wrong. This was me they were talking to. Ingrid Yung. Who had done everything they had ever asked of me, and more, much more, than they had any right to expect.

  I opened my mouth but no sound came out.

  He sighed. “I do want you to know that the partners thought long and hard about your candidacy, and that this was not a unanimous decision. You had—that is to say, you continue to have—a lot of support among the partners, a lot of strong enthusiasm for your candidacy, and we do think you are an extremely talented and hardworking lawyer…”

  “But?” I said stupidly.

  “But. We have decided not to invite you into the partnership. At least not this year, Ingrid. I’m sorry.”

  For one insane, blissful second, I actually expected him to burst
out with Just kidding! Of course you made partner! Welcome!

  Because the truth was, I was shocked. I could not have been more shocked if Marty Adler had opened his mouth and blown a big pink bubble, or stripped down to his boxers, black socks, and wingtips, climbed up onto his big antique desk, and danced the polka. Because this was unbelievable. This simply couldn’t be happening. I wanted to pinch myself awake.

  “Marty, I—”

  “Please understand. We do hope to consider your candidacy again next year.”

  “But I—I’m sure I don’t understand. All along, for all these years, I’ve been told that I was firmly on the partner track. That I was certain to be voted in this year. That as long as I kept on doing all my work exactly the way I was doing it, it was a sure thing.”

  Adler cleared his throat. “I understand your disappointment, Ingrid. Believe me, we did not come to this decision lightly. As I said, we will reconsider you for partnership next year. In fact, we strongly encourage you to continue your fine efforts, as we’re very hopeful that next year, we might have better news for you.”

  I sat back in my chair, stunned. We regarded each other for several long moments.

  Quietly I asked, “But what’s happened between my last performance review and now, Marty? What’s changed?”

  Adler looked uncomfortable. “I don’t like having to say this, but primarily, I was concerned that the level of attention to detail in your work may not be of partnership caliber.”

  I sucked in my breath, staring in disbelief at Marty Adler. I made no effort to hide my shock or anger. Adler glanced down at the floor. He looked somber, almost sad.

  “Marty,” I said, struggling not to scream. “I would like to know what, exactly, you feel about my work is not—as you say—partnership caliber. Because, as you know, I have been told, consistently, over and over, by every partner I’ve ever worked with at this firm, at every single performance review I’ve been given for the last four years running, that I have been leading and executing all of my deals at partnership caliber.”

  Adler nodded. “I understand how frustrating this must be for you.” He steepled his hands beneath his chin and sighed. “But, Ingrid, you must agree that the incident during our meeting with Ted Lassiter last week was quite embarrassing. That is not the kind of error we can simply overlook. As you know, Parsons Valentine and Hunt is one of the preeminent global law firms. Our M&A partners are highly sought after, and highly valued, and as a result we cannot afford to take any risks to our reputation.”

  “As I told you, I’d double-checked and triple-checked those documents the night before the meeting, and those errors weren’t there when I last saved them. I can swear to that.”

  “I’m sorry, Ingrid.”

  “So that’s it?” I could hear my voice getting higher and higher and made an effort to keep it low. “Because of a single word-processing foul-up, I’m going to be deferred another year?”

  “Well,” Adler said, and then he hesitated. And I could tell that that had not been the real reason, that there was something else.

  “Well, what?”

  He sighed again. “There was one other serious concern that was voiced by several of the other senior partners. Not by me, you understand, but several of the others.”

  “Which was?”

  He seemed to be struggling for the right words. Finally he said, “Well, Ingrid, they questioned your ability to dedicate yourself to your legal work, because it has lately appeared that you have been heavily involved with other … extracurricular objectives.”

  My stomach twisted. They knew! About me and Murph! Of course they did. Oh, I was going to kill Murph. And that little brat Justin Keating. Absolutely kill them. Both of them.

  I managed to say, “Just what extracurricular objectives are they referring to?”

  Adler wouldn’t meet my eyes. “Your work on the Diversity Initiative.”

  “My work on the Diversity Initiative?” I had never been punched out before, but I imagined that it felt much like this. The breath was quite literally knocked out of me.

  Adler shifted in his chair, still looking anywhere but at me. “Yes.” He cleared his throat. “It was commented upon that you’ve been devoting quite a lot of time and energy to our diversity and inclusion efforts, and a few of the partners questioned whether you would consistently be able to put the legal work of the firm first, ahead of your other, nonbillable priorities.”

  “But that wasn’t my priority, Marty, it was yours! You forced me to carry that flag!” I said in a headlong rush. “I wanted nothing to do with your Diversity Initiative, but you practically made it a condition of partnership for me, Marty. I hope you told them that!”

  “Whoa, whoa.” Adler held up his palms, looking decidedly less apologetic now. “Careful. I think we should be extremely clear about what we’re saying to each other. I never placed any conditions upon your partnership, Ingrid. Not a single one. Whatever you did or did not do was totally up to you. Let’s be very clear.”

  “Actually, Marty, you made it crystal clear exactly what your expectations were of me, what the rules were, and now I’m getting punished for playing by those rules. For doing exactly what you said!”

  He shook his head. “Ingrid, I’m very sorry you feel that way, and I’m even sorrier if you misunderstood.”

  We regarded each other. I cast about wildly to recall our exact conversation in the elevator bank—it seemed like so many years ago. What precisely had he said? Could Adler be right? Could I have completely misread what he was telling me to do? I replayed his words in my head. I don’t have to tell you how much we value an associate’s nonlegal contributions to the firm when we’re making our partnership decisions. No. There had been no misunderstanding. My only mistake had been to trust him.

  “I know exactly how you must feel,” Adler said.

  I looked at him, incredulous. “No. Please don’t say that. You really don’t.”

  He nodded. “I do. And I’m so sorry if you misunderstood.”

  That was it. What else could happen to me now?

  “Go fuck yourself, Marty.”

  “Excuse me?” He blinked.

  I took a deep breath. “Fuck. You.”

  “Ingrid, calm down.” Adler glanced discreetly at his phone.

  “I’m perfectly calm.” I shook my head. “Eight years. Eight goddamn years. You say jump, I’d say, ‘How high?’ Take on SunCorp? Done. Close it in five weeks’ time? No problem. Be your little trained seal at the Diversity Dinner? Of course! ‘Take a bow, Ingrid. Ladies and gentlemen, for your entertainment, it’s the Little Minority Who Could!’”

  “Ingrid, I’m very sorry. But this conversation is over. I had no idea that you would react in this way. I must say, it’s very unbecoming.”

  He picked up the phone and, keeping his eyes trained on me, spoke to Security. “Yes, this is Marty Adler. I’m going to need some assistance here escorting a young woman out of the building. Yes, right now. Thank you.”

  I was very surprised and a little bit pleased to see that I had finally managed to shock Marty Adler.

  “Ingrid,” he said, “I think you and I both understand that this is completely unacceptable behavior.”

  “Actually,” I said, “I’m just following the best advice you ever gave me.”

  Adler lifted his eyebrows.

  “You told me not to take it all so fucking seriously, remember?”

  He hesitated for a moment, and I could tell he was actually trying to remember whether he had ever given me this piece of advice or not. But it didn’t really matter.

  “Ingrid, you’re not giving me any choice. We’re done here. I’m letting you go.”

  “Let me save you the trouble, Marty. I quit.”

  We stared at each other across the expanse of his desk. Finally Adler shook his head and said sadly, “You have no idea how sorry I am that this is how you are ending your relationship with the firm.”

  “And you have no idea how so
rry I am that I wasted so much time.”

  I stood up and walked out.

  Sharon and three other secretaries scattered back to their desks.

  They all looked on as a uniformed security guard—a hefty, bald man I’d never seen before, and thankfully not Ricardo or one of the other guys I was friends with—fell in step next to me, without a word, and grimly followed me down the internal staircase to my floor. I held my head up, stared straight ahead, and took some small comfort in the fact that since it was before ten, not everyone was in their offices yet to see me go by.

  When we got to my office, Margo stood from her desk and looked from me to the security guard in open surprise. “Ingrid, what—”

  “It’s okay, Margo,” I croaked out, and the security guard followed me into my office. He informed me, not unkindly, that I was permitted to pack a box of my personal effects, but I left almost everything—even my law school diploma on the wall. I just grabbed my briefcase and handbag and the two framed photographs that I kept on my bookcase—of me, Rachel, and my parents. Sorry, everyone, I thought. Sorry, Mom and Dad. Sorry, Rach. Sorry, Professor Tanaka. I blew it. For me, for you, and for everyone who was supposed to come after. I choked back a sob as I stuffed them into my briefcase.

  I took one last look at the mess in my office and my view of Madison Avenue. Then, as the security officer looked on, I swept my arm recklessly across the top shelf of my bookcase, knocking eight years’ worth of deal toys and plaques and awards onto the floor with a satisfyingly loud crash. He made no move to stop me.