Page 83 of Maddy's Justice

He looked at Marc and said, “You know, I’ve been meaning to have you here and give you a tour. Now’s a good time. What do you say?”

“Okay, I guess” Marc said.

“If Melanie comes looking for him, page me,” Cliff told the receptionist.

“Will do,” she said.

As they walked past the receptionist, Marc stopped, leaned over her counter again, and said, “You know you’re going to have that image of Melanie tied up in some kinky sex pose in your head, all day.”

“I know. Thanks a lot. Now go and remember, someday I’ll get you for it.” She was smiling and shaking her head when she said it.

As they walked down the interior hallway, Marc asked, “Could that be considered harassment?”

“Oh god, don’t even say that,” Cliff said. “But no, I don’t think so. Especially with Becky. I think that would be considered office banter.

“Why are you here to see Melanie?”

“Personal matter,” Marc replied.

“Not about…”

“Your case? No,” he lied.

Stafford, Hughes occupied four floors of the Wells Fargo Center. The offices of the senior partners in Minneapolis were located on the 44th floor. There were also four senior partners in each office in Washington D.C. and Los Angeles and two in San Antonio.

Along with these there were, currently, thirty-two junior partners. At any given time, a dozen or so in Minneapolis, and the rest scattered among the other three.

Finally, there was the normal contingent of associates, also referred to as galley slaves. Albeit well paid galley slaves. There were usually between seventy and eighty. Their job was to bill an enormous number of hours to enrich those above them. Their quest, their Holy Grail, was to someday arrive on the forty-fourth floor so they could, figuratively, take their turn whipping the galley slaves and making a lot of money off their work. They were also scattered among the other three offices.

The tour started on forty-four. Those senior partners who were in their office were introduced to Marc. By the time they finished with the senior partners, Marc found out there was a grand total of three women, including Melanie. One of them was black. Of the seventeen male senior partners, including Cliff Spenser, there was a grand total of one African American.

When they entered the interior of the forty-first floor, the first thing Marc saw was a professionally made sign hanging down from the ceiling. It read: “Abandon Hope All Ye Who Enter Here.”

“That doesn’t bother you?” Marc asked Cliff Spenser.

Cliff smiled and said, “A year or so after I started here, it was my idea to put it up. It’s a joke. People need to learn to laugh a little.”

It took almost two hours to work their way through all four floors. Melanie had not paged them even once during that entire time. This, of course, struck Marc as a little odd.

Forty-one was separated into sections of cubicles, interior offices, and exterior offices. The cubicles were for first year associates. If you survived the first year you could get an interior office. These were for second year associates who survived the first-year cut. Most did not. There were exterior offices with windows looking out for third year associates who survived the second-year cut. Almost all who made it past two years would make it past three. After the third year, the survivors would be senior associates. The best would relocate to floor forty-two and even other cities. It was then you might meet a live client and get inside a courtroom.

Finally, there was a larger than normal room along the exterior wall. There were no interior windows to this room. Inside were twenty cubicles, each occupied by a nonlawyer with a headset and a computer. This was the call center for the Mass Torts Department.

The firm spent over thirty million dollars per year on TV and radio ads luring clients for consumer litigation. Most of these people would end up with a check smaller than the one Stafford, Hughes received for representing them. A factory for victim litigation.

By the time they finished the tour on the forty-first floor, it was time for lunch. Marc tried to break away to sit down with Melanie, but Spenser wasn’t finished with him. Unknown to Marc, Spenser had Gavin Blake make other plans.

The elevator took them back to 44 and the senior partner offices.

“I really should keep my meeting with Melanie,” Marc said as they left the elevator.

“Don’t worry about it,” Spenser said for at least the third or fourth time. “She’ll wait.”

“Isn’t that a little demeaning to her? You’re telling her your time is more important than hers,” Marc said.

“She knows what we’re doing,” Spenser said.

As they walked through the reception area toward the door to the offices, Marc could not resist. “So, did you get rid of the image of Melanie tied up?” he asked the receptionist.

---