Page 84 of Maddy's Justice

“You are so bad,” she said again. “Cliff, please take him away.” But, again, she was laughing when she said it.

They stopped at a conference room that had the curtains drawn covering the windows to the hallway. Inside, they found Brandon Stafford, Gavin Blake, Melanie Stewart, and Troy McGovern waiting for them. They were seated around the table with a catered lunch about to be served.

For the next hour and a half, the senior management of Stafford, Hughes displayed the good life for Marc’s benefit. Best of all, during the entire time, not a word was spoken, or a question asked about the harassment suit Marc was handling. In fact, most of the talk was about the baseball season and how well the Twins were doing. Melanie, obviously a baseball fan with considerable knowledge, argued with the best of them.

“They’re having a terrific season. They’ll win a hundred games again. Then, when the playoffs start, they’ll walk into Yankee Stadium and melt,” Melanie declared which turned out to be the last word on the subject.

“So, Marc,” Brandon Stafford said while illegally lighting a Cuban cigar. “What do you think of our little shop?”

Trying to sound polite, Marc said, “Well, it’s an impressive place.”

“Excuse me,” Melanie said as she stood up. “If Brandon’s going to smoke that thing, I’ll go back to my office. My dry-cleaning bill is bad enough already.”

When she was gone, Stafford looked at Marc and said, “Women. What are you gonna do?”

Burn my clothes to get your cigar stink off when I get home, Marc thought without responding to the obvious misogynistic insult.

“Marc,” Cliff Spenser started to say while Marc thought,here it comes. “we’ve done some research on you and you’ve made yourself into an exceptional litigator. We’d like it if you would consider joining us.”

“You’d move right in as a junior partner,” Gavin Blake added.

“And the financial rewards would be well worth it,” Stafford added.

Then Troy McGovern, being unable to resist, opened his mouth and stuck his arrogant foot in it. “Would be quite an achievement for someone who went to that night school, where is it, St Paul?” he said.

Suppressing his desire to leap over the table and slap the little twerp, Marc was able to remain calm. He looked at the other three men instead. Spenser was staring holes in Troy’s forehead. Blake and Stafford acted as if what Troy said was perfectly acceptable.

“I’ve done some research on you gentleman, also,” he calmly began. “Very impressive. Except for Brandon, almost all the senior partners of this firm are at least top ten percent of their very prestigious, mostly Ivy League schools. Brandon got to be senior partner the old-fashioned way. Nepotism. Although he did manage to graduate in the top two hundred out of a class of two hundred and six at the University of Minnesota.

“Pays to know people,” Stafford said with a laugh.

“Indeed,” Marc agreed. “It’s especially nice that, at least from what I’ve found, all of the lawyers in this firm, as in most white shoe firms, are filled with lawyers from well to do families. Families who could pay for all of you to go to college and law school. Even Cliff here. His father was a senior partner in a St. Paul firm of forty lawyers. His mother was a high-ranking vice president of 3M.

“Unfortunately for me, my parents came from a more modest background. The old man drove a truck for a living and my mother worked at low skill, minimum wage jobs.”

Cliff Spenser started to say something, but Marc held up a hand and stopped him.

“I’m not complaining. Never have. Life is what it is. I had to work my way through college and law school. Somewhere along the way, came marriage and two children.

“I do kind of envy you, though,” Marc continued looking around the table. “I’ll admit it would have been nice to have parents who could pick up the tab for my education. I didn’t have those parents; except I think I’m better off for it.

“Because if all I had to do was study,” he looked at McGovern and added, “and party through college and law school, I have no doubt I could’ve graduated a top ten student from an extremely overrated Ivy League school. Worse, I would have ended up in a place like this where the only thing that matters is billable hours. I would have been thrown into a dungeon like you have on forty-one, working eighty to a hundred hours a week.

“Knowing the way I am, after seven or eight months of it, I would’ve gone up on the roof and jumped. Because I had kids to feed, my wife and I worked our butts off so I could get my JD, something I doubt any of you are capable of doing,” Marc said looking first at Brandon Stafford then Troy McGovern.

“So,” he continued looking right at Troy, “you may want to keep that in mind when you look down your Ivy League nose at that night school in St. Paul. From what I’ve seen of you, you would not be able to do what I did. You’re not tough enough.

“Thanks for the tour and lunch,” Marc said as he stood to leave.

He looked at Stafford and said, “If you want to fire me, then fire me.”

With that, he walked out.

After Marc left, the room went silent for over a full minute. It was, of course, Troy McGovern who spoke first.

“Okay, let’s fire him,” Troy said.

“When are you going to learn what your job is around here?” Cliff Spenser said. “Bring in business, serve as liaison for our other interests and keep your mouth shut.”

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