respect of the most senior and experienced members of the firm.
thing less, the management committee had decided, would firm wages, and
for the big bucks, they expected big-time ef All of that should have
made him feel guilty, undeserving–and it would have if he hadn’t been
so miserable about the rest of his life.
He popped the final miniature doughnut into his mouth, leaned forward in
his chair and opened a -file. Corporate work was often monotonous and
his skill level was such that his tasks were not the most exciting in
the world. Reviewing ground leases, preparing UCC filings, forming
limited liability companies, drafting memorandums of understanding and
private placement documents, it was all in a day’s work, and the days
were growing longer and longer, but he was learning fast; he had to in
order to survive, his courtroom skills were virtually useless to him
here.
The firm traditionally did no litigation work, preferring instead to
handle the more lucrative and steady corporate and tax matters. When
litigation did arise it was farmed out to select, elite litigation-only
firms, who in turn would refer any nontrial work that came their way to
Patton, Shaw. It was an arrangement that had worked well over the years.
By lunchtime he had moved two stacks of drift from his in to his out
basket, dictated three closing checklists and a couple of letters, and
received four calls from Jennifer reminding him about the White House
dinner they would be attending that night.
Her father was being honored as Businessman of the Year by some
organization or other. It spoke volumes about the President’s close
nexus to big business that such an event would be worthy of a White
House function. But at least Jack would get to see the man up close.
Getting to meet him was probably out of the question, but then you never
knew.
“Got a minute?” Barry Alvis popped his balding head in the door. He was
a senior staff associate, meaning he had been passed over for partner
more than three times and in fact would never successfully complete that
next step. Hardworking and bright, he was an attorney any firm would be
fortunate to have. His schmooz skills and hence his client-generating
prospects, however, were nil. He made a hundred sixty thousand a year,
and worked hard enough to earn another twenty in bonuses each year. His
wife didn’t work, his kids went to private schools, he drove a
late-model Beemer, was not expected to generate business and had little
to complain about.
A very experienced attorney with ten years of intense and high-level
transactional work behind him, he should have resented the hell out of
Jack Graham, and he did.
Jack waved him in. He knew Alvis didn’t like him, understood why, and
didn’t push it. He could take his lumps with the best of them, but then
he would only allow himself to be pushed so far.
“Jack, we’ve got to get cranking on the Bishop merger.”
Jack looked blank. That deal, a real pain in the ass, had died, or at
least he thought it had. He took out a legal pad, his hands twitching.
“I thought Raymond Bishop didn’t want to get into bed with TCC.”
Alvis sat down, placed the fourteen-inch file he was carrying on Jack’s
desk and leaned back.
“Deals die, then they come back to haunt you. We need your comments on
the secondary financing documents by tomorrow afternoon.”
Jack almost dropped his pen. “That’s fourteen agreements and over five
hundred pages, Barry. When did you find out about this?”
Alvis stood up and Jack caught the beginnings of a smile tugging at the
other man’s face.
“Fifteen agreements, and the official page count is six hundred and
thirteen pages, single-spaced, not counting exhibits. Thanks, Jack.
Patton, Shaw really appreciates it.” He turned back. “Oh, have a great
time with the President tonight, and say hello to Ms. Baldwin.”
Alvis walked out.
Jack looked at the bundle in front of him and rubbed his temples. He
wondered when the little sonofabitch had really learned the Bishop deal
had been resurrected. Something told him it wasn’t this morning.