by Dave Daren
We both worked a few kinks out of our necks and then went back to our respective piles. We flagged and highlighted bad behavior, and stopped to compare notes on what we found. Noble himself swept in just before lunch to check on our progress and he nodded in approval when he saw how much we’d managed to work through.
“Have you found anything that might derail the merger?” the partner asked.
“No,” I admitted. “Lots of questionable behavior, but nothing clearly criminal, and nothing that would keep the merger from proceeding.”
“Good,” Noble declared. “Well, glad to see you back in the office today, Hunter. Wasn’t sure we would after yesterday’s little shootout.”
“Little shootout,” I murmured.
“So, team meeting tomorrow morning,” Noble continued. “In-house counsel will be there so let’s try to finish the review work before you leave for the day.”
Satisfied that all was well, Noble departed with a smirk and a cloud of his cologne trailing in his wake. I covered my nose until the air had cleared and glanced at my officemate.
“Is it just me or did he put an extra dab of cologne on this morning?” I asked.
“Rumor has it that he’s been spending nights with Victoria Nguyen,” Mark replied.
“But isn’t he married?” I asked as I tried to conjure up an image of Victoria Nguyen. She’d joined the firm a year ahead of us, I seemed to remember, and was on the short list for partner consideration. She was cute, at least physically, though I’d heard she could be a bitch to work with.
“So is she,” Mark said with a shrug.
“Right,” I muttered as I stared at the current pile of paper on my desk.
The drive to Riverhead was growing more appealing by the minute, and I wondered if I could simply grab one of the boxes to take with me. I could review it in the comfort of my own apartment after I met with Anthony, at least that’s what I told myself. But part of my brain was still grounded enough to scoff at that idea, and I knew I probably wouldn’t do much review work once I got home.
“Hey, Reg,” Mark said as another associate wandered into our office.
“Jerry, Tricia and I are heading over to the fish and chips place,” Reg announced. “Jerry feels like he earned an ale after spending all day yesterday and all of this morning listening to a bunch of Harvard business school graduates claim they didn’t understand how derivatives work.”
“Does anybody understand how derivatives work?” I asked.
“Well, the Harvard guys are supposed to know,” Reg chuckled.
“I’ll join you,” Mark announced as he stretched his back. “I could use a break from oil shipments. How about you Hunter?”
“You guys go ahead,” I said as I plotted my escape for the day. “I need to check in with my client.”
Reg nodded while Mark retrieved his jacket, and then I was alone in my office. I gave up on the documents and pulled out my cell phone. I was about to dial the number Anthony had sent along with the street address when Ovitz appeared in the doorway.
“Hunter,” she purred as she stepped inside and looked around the tiny office. “Glad to see you working so hard today. You aren’t joining your fellow associates for fish and chips?”
“Um, no,” I replied. “I had a few phone calls I wanted to make.”
Her smile instantly vanished, and she crossed the short distance to my desk.
“Really?” she said. “And would those phone calls be to a certain pro bono client I told you to drop?”
I felt my anger boil up so high that I couldn’t even decide what to say first.
“It’s none of your business who I call,” I finally blurted out. “Not on my personal cell phone.”
“It is if it’s interfering with your duties to the firm,” she said sharply.
“Has anyone complained about my work?” I snapped. “I’ve completed every assignment I’ve been given and I’ve only heard good things about the work I turned in.”
Ovitz considered that for a moment and then sighed heavily.
“No one’s denying the quality of your work,” she replied. “That’s why I’m so concerned about you.”
“Concerned about me?” I laughed.
“There’s a great deal more to making partner than just doing good work,” she said. “Loyalty is important as well.”
“Loyalty,” I repeated. “Loyalty to whom?”
“To the firm and to your clients,” Ovitz stated as if this was the most obvious thing in the world.
“Then shouldn’t you be applauding the care and concern I’ve had for my pro bono client, as you keep calling him,” I pointed out.
Ovitz shook her head slowly and her face took on a sad expression, as if she couldn’t quite believe how slow I was.
“Of course that type of display is good,” she replied. “But as I told you before, we need to take care of our regular clients first.”
“Our paying clients,” I corrected.
“Yes,” she agreed.
“And if my pro bono client was to start paying?” I asked.
Ovitz pursed her lips as she pondered my suggestion. I could see her calculating how much money that might involve, and I thought she might have been won over, until she frowned.
“This isn’t the type of client we normally represent,” Ovitz asserted.
“The documents I’ve just spent the morning reading would contradict that,” I replied.
Ovitz looked thrown off balance for a moment, but she quickly buried that beneath a frown of disapproval.
“Are you comparing a major oil company to the Mafia?” she sniffed in disapproval.
“They operate pretty much the same way,” I replied. “So yes, I guess I am.”
“Be very careful, Mr. Morgan,” she hissed. “You do not want to insult the client’s who make your comfortable life possible.”
My mouth fell open, but I didn’t speak for several seconds. I pictured the old car I drove, the tiny apartment that ate up most of my monthly salary even with the firm’s housing stipend for junior associates, the meals eaten on the run, and the gym I had to visit either late at night or way too early in the morning because there was no other time to take care of boring things like trying to stay fit. Sure, I had it better than a lot of people, but it wasn’t what I would call comfortable. It was stressful and unhealthy, and I’d be lucky if it didn’t give me a heart attack before I was forty.
“My life should be more than comfortable and should be about more than just existing,” I finally said.
“And it is,” Ovitz assured me. “The work you do for your clients--”
“Doesn’t help anyone,” I finished for her. “The only client I have right now who really needs my help is the one you spend all your time disparaging.”
Ovitz managed to look offended, though I wasn’t sure which part of my statement offended her.
“Mr. Morgan,” she finally said. “Do you intend to continue on here at McHale, Parrish?”
I’m sure the question was meant to be rhetorical, or to at least have me assure her that I was fully invested in my career at McHale, Parrish and that I would remain for as long as the firm would have me. But all I could hear was Liz telling me that I had never been happy at the firm, and for the first time, I understood just how true that was.
“I do not,” I said after several heartbeats and felt a tremendous weight lift off my shoulders.
I’m not sure who looked more shocked by my declaration, me or Ovitz, but it had to be a close call. Ovitz looked like I just slapped her across the face and chanted ‘nyah-nyah-nyah’ at her, but I could feel my own jaw gaping open and I had to tell myself to close it if I didn’t want to look like a fool. I snapped my mouth shut with an audible click, and then the partner and I stared daggers at each other with only the desk between us.
“Mr. Morgan,” Ovitz barked.
But I already had my briefcase open on my desk and I tossed in the few personal items that I had in the office. It d
idn’t amount to much, and I snapped the case closed with a satisfying slam.
“I’ll send you my official resignation,” I announced as I stepped around the desk.
Ovitz glared but didn’t move to stop me as I plucked my jacket from the coat rack and stepped into the hall. Our voices must have been louder than I realized because a small gathering of McHale, Parrish employees stood outside. Most looked stunned, though I spotted a fellow associate who looked envious. I waved to the crowd then strode back to the elevators. I could hear the wave of murmurs that followed me the length of the building, but I ignored everyone and everything until I was in the elevator and on my way down to the lobby.
The security guards were on the phone when I stepped off the elevator, and I saw both of them look in my direction. One of them started to move towards me, but I needed my building pass to get into the garage. It was possible the guard would simply escort me to the garage without any further ado, but I didn’t feel like finding out. I waved to the security team and then headed for the basement level and the access to the garage.
Part of me was surprised that I made it all the way to the Volvo without encountering another human being. I tossed everything into the back seat, then hopped into the front seat as quickly as I could. I sat there for several moments, with my hands on the steering wheel, but I didn’t turn the engine on until I saw a security guard step through the door to the basement.
The guard started towards the car as soon as I started to back out though I wasn’t clear on what he was expected to do. He tried to wave me down, and I stopped long enough for him to approach the driver’s side of the car. I rolled down the window and tossed my ID to him, then drove past him to the exit.
I was in the middle of the Brooklyn Bridge before my heart settled to a normal rhythm and my brain started to focus on something other than the fact that I had just quit my job. My client was expecting me, and I had told him I would call when I was on my way. Unfortunately, my phone was in the back seat, and I had no way to reach it. Maybe a quick stop at the apartment was in order, I decided, just to gather my thoughts before I dealt with Anthony’s problems.
I worked my way through the narrow streets of old Brooklyn and pulled into the parking garage for the unit. It took me a moment to find my pass, but I finally found it in the glove compartment after only two honks from the car behind me. I parked quickly, and too close to one line, but I figured I wasn’t going to be in the apartment very long anyway. I grabbed everything from the back seat and headed for the door that led into the apartment building.
The lobby was empty as I bolted across the floor. I spotted the doorman outside, trying to wave a rust brown Charger away from the curb. I sprinted up the stairs so fast that I was out of breath when I hit my floor. I stopped for a moment to slow my breathing, then stepped into the hallway. The floor felt empty and even the usual sounds of occupancy were missing. It felt eerie in a way, like I was the last survivor of a catastrophe.
I realized I was on tiptoe and laughed at my sudden bout of nerves as I stopped in front of my door. I opened the door and stepped inside, and dumped everything on the table. My throat felt dry, so I filled a glass with cold water and drank it down before I pulled my phone out.
Ten more deep breaths, and I felt steady enough to use the phone. I tried Anthony’s number first, and he picked up almost immediately.
“Anthony, it’s Hunter,” I said. “I’m getting ready to head out to the house.”
“Oh, good,” he replied. “Cathy picked up mom about an hour ago so maybe you’ll pass each other on the LIE.”
“I’ll look for them,” I replied though I could tell my voice sounded anything but chipper.
“Geez, what happened?” my client pressed. “You sound sad.”
“I’ll fill you when I get there,” I assured him as I used my heartiest voice.
“Sure, okay,” he replied though he sounded skeptical.
“See you in a bit,” I finished lamely before I hung up.
I drank another glass of water, used the facilities, and then decided I might as well put on something more comfortable since I wasn’t working at McHale, Parrish any more. While I was trying to find something other than the standard suit and tie combination or dirty gym clothes to put on, I heard my cell phone ring. I did a quick check of the number and saw that it was a McHale, Parrish number, so I ignored it. The phone rang again a few minutes later from Ovitz’s office, and I ignored that as well. The third call was from Liz, and after a brief hesitation, I answered.
“What’s up?” I asked as I finally settled on a pair of khakis and a green and blue striped rugby shirt.
“Just checking in,” Liz replied. “I’ve requested a copy of the 9-1-1 call and I’ve got an expert lined up who will tell us what he can about the caller.”
“Great,” I replied. “I’m just about to leave for Riverhead. I’ll call when we’re done. Maybe we could have dinner again tonight if it’s not too late?”
“Sure,” she replied. “Just let me know.”
The phone rang again as soon as I disconnected the call from Liz, this time from Noble’s extension. I finished getting dressed, then put the phone on silent mode. Feeling better than I had in a long time, I took one more deep breath, then left the apartment for my drive back to the Febbo estate.
The doorman was still outside when I returned to the lobby though he appeared to be chatting with a couple of passersby. I slipped into the garage completely unnoticed and returned to the Volvo. Just a few minutes later, I was pulling out of the garage again and heading towards the LIE.
I was in a good mood as I pulled onto the highway. I found a decent station to listen to during the drive, the sky was clear, the air tasted clean, and the line of cars moved quickly through Brooklyn and out towards the far reaches of the island. I passed a group of girls in a convertible who were singing along to an Ariana Grande song. They whistled at me as I drove by and I gave them a friendly wave in return.
I was laughing at the absurdity of driving to the beach during a weekday when I noticed something in the rearview mirror. Something pinged in my brain, and I scanned the cars behind me again to figure out what had seemed so familiar.
And there it was. A rust brown Charger, a few cars behind me, but definitely staying with me. I switched lanes a couple of times, just to see what the car would do, and I wasn’t at all surprised when it moved with me.
As I kept an eye on my tail, I tried to figure out who might have sent it. There was always the chance that it belonged to the NYPD, since they often drove Chargers, or even the feds, though I had a hard time imagining either of them opting for a rust brown paint job when there were so many more bland and boring colors to choose from. That left one of the families, which seemed like a good guess, though I couldn’t understand why they would want to follow me. Unless my meeting with Marinello had ruffled more feathers than I’d realized.
Whoever it was, they weren’t that concerned about being spotted. In fact, I was willing to wager that the driver wanted to be seen, just to see what I would do. So what was I going to do? I wasn’t heading to any top secret lairs, and given the direction I was heading, no one would be surprised to see me turn into the drive at the Febbo estate. I decided I would ignore the Charger and continue on, to hell with whoever was trying to scare me.
It seemed like a reasonable plan, but unfortunately, Mafia thugs are not known for their reasonableness. As we passed the exit for Elmont and the Belmont horse track, the driver had apparently had his fill of sedate driving. I could have heard his engines revving up from a mile away and I was ready to wave to the driver as the car passed me. I even had a smile on my face, until I realized that he wasn’t going around me. He was going through me.
Chapter 15
The Charger swerved around a slow-moving minivan and almost clipped the tail of a BMW as it bore down on my Volvo. It only took a few seconds to take in the scene, which as so many ads have warned over the years, is it all takes to h
ave an accident. I moved my eyes back to the road in front of me and was about to stomp on the gas when I realized I was nearly on top of an original VW Beetle. I ended up swerving onto the shoulder and scraping along the edge of the road until I was clear of the Beetle.
As I swerved back into traffic, I looked for the clearest lane, but the other cars on the highway were shifting lanes and open stretches didn’t stay open for long. I heard the Charger coming up behind me and hit the gas. I drove up on the back end of a Ford truck and barely managed to shift lanes before the hole I’d spotted closed. The truck driver gave me the finger as I shot forward, but a glance in the rearview mirror showed the Charger switching into the lane right behind me.
I cut off the Ford then swerved around an eighteen wheeler. I kept pace with the semi and tried to use it as a shield from the Charger. It seemed to work for a bit, and after a few quick glances in the rearview mirror confirmed that the Charger was nowhere to be seen, I heaved a sigh of relief.
“Shit!” I exclaimed as the Charger suddenly pulled into the lane ahead of me and hit the brakes.
I scraped the other side of the Volvo against the concrete dividers as I slammed on the brakes and pulled the car into the service lane. There was a painful, ear-piercing sound and even a few sparks, as the Volvo met the divider but the semi had kept trundling along. I managed to swing the car behind the truck just in time to avoid smashing into the back of the Charger, though I had to cut off a fast approaching Hyundai to do it. The Hyundai managed to jump into the next lane, and as soon as he was past me, I pulled in behind him and followed him down the far right lane.
The Charger was back before I had a chance to catch my breath and figure out exactly where I was. We’d passed a couple of exits, and I couldn’t imagine that someone hadn’t called in our bad driving by now. I decided I needed to make it easier for the cops to find us and started to search for the next exit.
I spotted the green sign just as the Charger pulled up next to me. The windows were tinted so I couldn’t see the driver, but at that point I didn’t care. The Charger veered towards me and smashed into the side of the Volvo. I felt the jolt as the two cars collided, and then the Charger was pushing me off the expressway.
