Page 7 of The Trouble With Spells
She shook her head, “I honestly have no clue. But–” she gave me a sympathetic look and my heart fell straight into my stomach.
As if the last twenty-four hours hadn’t been bad enough, it felt like I had walked into an episode ofThe Twilight Zone. My scraped hands gave a throb, and I remembered tripping yesterday evening after leaving the office.
My mind had been on the cases of the day, still whirling with all the losses and what had gone wrong, and I had tripped on the curb. Falling straight into busy Boston traffic. Somehow, all the blaring horns and screeching tires had managed to miss me and I hadn’t been hit by any of the cars. I had scraped my palms on the pavement pretty badly, but otherwise I had been unharmed.
Finally making it safely home, I had spent the next several hours pouring over each case from the day, trying to decipher what had gone wrong with them. Then another two hours going over all my notes for today’s schedule. I did not want a repeat of yesterday.
I had barely fallen asleep, when the fire alarms in the building had started blaring. Gray smoke had already been seeping under my front door, and the hallway had been hazy with it, but the fire hadn’t reached us yet. The advantage of being on the top floor, I supposed.
Thankfully, all the residents had made it safely outside, but the building was off-limits to all of us until it was cleared for our return. The fire captain had said it might be next week before we would be allowed back in to collect any of our belongings. Even then, depending on how things turned out, we might not be able to stay in our homes for a while, as the structure might not be safe.
All of that paled in comparison to Maggie telling me that they were waiting for me on the top floor. I could only guess it was Harry and his boss, Charles, who were waiting on me. But apparently that wasn’t where my bad luck was ending as Maggie had tacked on a ‘but’ to her last sentence.
“What?” I was almost afraid to ask.
She sighed heavily, not quite meeting my gaze. “They had me reassign all your cases.”
At my sharp inhalation of breath, she hurriedly added, “Just for the next two weeks. The rest of this week and next. But–”
Sinking down on wobbly legs into the chair in front of her desk, I gripped the edge of her desk tightly. “I’m really starting to hate you saying that word.”
She gave me a soft look, her brown eyes glistening with what I hoped weren’t tears. Maggie didn’t cry. Like ever. She was tough as nails, didn’t put up with anyone’s bullshit, especially mine, and she knew the in’s and out’s of this office like I knew how to deliver closing arguments. Pretty damn well. “They told me to be on standby to reassign the week after that.”
“Fuck,” I whispered, my vision going spotty. Raising my head to give her an imploring look, I whispered, “Am I fired?”
“No!” She leaned against her desk, her arms crossed over her chest. “No, this–whatever this is–isn’t being handled like a termination. And they aren’t going to terminate their best prosecuting attorney because of one bad day in court.”
“Every single case, Mags,” my voice was rough and hoarse. “I lost every single case yesterday.”
“Oh, Michael, get over that ego of yours,” she admonished sharply. “Do you think you’re the only lawyer in this office that loses cases? Please,” she rolled her eyes, “Kevin loses more than he wins and he’s still here. Fuckknows why. Taking up space is all he’s good for.” Her desk phone rang, and she eyed it with distaste. Glancing over her shoulder so she could read the caller I.D., she told me, “That’s them. Again. I’m going to tell them you’re on your way up. Go. Stand tall, shoulders back, and remember that you're Michael Endicott, their golden boy hotshot.”
“Michael,” Harry stood from the seat in front of Charles’ desk, his concerned eyes taking in my disheveled appearance, “are you alright?”
I probably should have taken the time to change into my suit and make myself look halfway presentable. But since Maggie had picked up the phone and told them I was coming up, I didn’t have the time.
Shaking his hand, I shook my head, waving off his concern. “I’m fine. Rough night.”
Charles nodded, “The fire at your building was on the news. Everyone got out?”
Harry indicated for me to sit in the only other vacant chair next to his, so I did. “Yes, thankfully. Some minor smoke inhalation, but no other casualties.”
“I’m sure you’re wondering why we asked to see you,” Charles didn’t waste any time getting down to it.
Nodding, I sat up straighter in the chair. “And why you’ve reassigned my cases for the next two weeks?”
“Ah,” Harry sighed, “Maggie told you, then?”
Turning narrowed eyes to him, I asked, “Did you think she wouldn’t? What’s going on? Are you firing me?”
So much for playing it cool.
“Of course not,” Harry hurried to assure me.
“But–” Charles cut in, his bushy white brows frowning as he slid a file folder in front of him and flipped it open.
I was getting really tired of all the ‘buts’ people were throwing my way this morning. They weren’t at all the usual kinds of butts I enjoyed.
Turning my full attention to Charles, I waited for him to continue, wondering what exactly was in that file folder he was perusing, his finger running down the page, looking for something. “It has come to our attention that you routinely clock eighty or more hours in a week.”
