61

CONNOR’S CELL PHONE BUZZED AGAIN. HE DISCREETLY SLIPPED IT OUT OF his pocket and glanced at the screen. Allie. Again.

He suppressed his irritation and returned it to his pocket. Even if he wanted to talk to Allie, this was a particularly bad time. He was sitting next to Tom Concannon on one side of a table at Slanted Door, a fashionable Vietnamese restaurant on San Francisco’s waterfront. On the other side sat Bill Fisher, head of D&B’s litigation department. And next to Bill was Frank Garibaldi, general counsel of Phoebus Partners—a wealthy and highly litigious investment group in San Francisco.

Years ago, Frank had worked on the staff of a congressional committee headed by Connor’s father. A couple of weeks ago, Frank and Connor had sat at the same table at a black-tie charity dinner. Frank had mentioned that Phoebus wasn’t happy with their current outside counsel. Connor had suggested that Doyle & Brown might be a good fit and had offered to arrange dinner with some D&B partners. Frank had accepted, and here they were.

Frank noticed the phone call. “You’re a popular guy tonight, Connor.” Genial male laughter. “Do you need to get that?”

Connor looked back at his companions and dropped the phone back into his pocket. “No, no. I’m sure it’s nothing. Sorry, Frank, I didn’t mean to interrupt your story. So, you were in New Orleans for the Vikings-Saints playoff game and you met Zygi Wilf in a karaoke bar on Bourbon Street.”

“Right. He’d obviously had a few and he was singing ‘Born to Run’ as loud as he possibly could.” Connor nodded and laughed as his guest told a rambling ten-minute anecdote, the main point of which appeared to be that he knew the owner of the Minnesota Vikings.

Connor didn’t mind. Phoebus was a plum client, with billings worth millions per year. If he could land them, he could write himself a one-way, non-stop ticket from the firm’s doghouse to its penthouse. Nothing encourages law firm forgiveness quite like a fat book of business. Profitability is next to godliness in the Big Law world. Actually, it beats godliness cold—as Connor knew through personal experience.

Connor’s phone buzzed again. Frank and Bill discovered that they shared a love of Buster Keaton movies and were busy quoting favorite scenes to each other, so Connor risked a quick look at his phone. A new text message from Allie. He opened it and read, “trapped @ dp 7 dock. help!!”

He glanced up quickly. Frank and Bill hadn’t noticed, but Tom was looking at him. Connor showed him the message below table level. Tom frowned and shook his head slightly.

Connor messaged back, “Call 911.”

Bill had steered Frank away from movie trivia and back to business. “… and our financial litigation group has had quite a run of success in recent years. We’re also open to alternative billing models, as Connor may already have explained to you.”

Frank’s eyebrows went up and his martini glass stopped halfway to his lips. He looked at Connor. “Why, no. I’d be very interested in hearing about that.”

Connor put his elbows on the table and put on his most winning smile. “And I’d be very interested in telling you about it. We—” His pocket buzzed again. “I’m very sorry. I’ve just learned that we have a minor emergency brewing. Could you excuse me for just a moment?”

Frank swept his martini toward the door, spilling a drop on the table. “Of course.”

Connor rose and hurried an exit, opening the new message as he went. “already called cops. they stopped @ gate, talked to grds & left. dont know what to do now. bad stuff going on-nkoreans w/ nukes! im scared.”

“Allie again?”

Connor turned and saw that Tom had followed him out and was standing behind him on the walkway between the restaurant and the water.

Connor handed the phone to his friend. “So, what do we do?”

Tom glanced at the message. His jaw tightened and his eyes narrowed. “What do we do? Nothing! Not one blessed thing, you understand?” He shook the cell phone in Connor’s face. “She is trespassing on Deep Seven property and you’re giving her advice! And you’re doing it on your cell phone by text message so that they’ll get every word when they subpoena the phone company!”

“I’m sorry, Tom, but I didn’t have much choice. She might be in real danger and—”

Tom bared his teeth and cocked his arm. For a frozen instant, Connor thought he was going to throw a punch. But he pivoted and hurled Connor’s cell phone far out to sea. “Don’t you lie to me! You had a choice and you made it! You chose to shaft me and the firm so that you could keep helping that cute, lying little—” He bit off the last word and took a few seconds to master himself. “Look, you know how bad this’ll look in Deep Seven’s suit against the firm, right? Didn’t we talk about exactly that? And didn’t you agree that you wouldn’t have any contact with her? You’re already hanging by a thread, Connor. You know that. Why are you trying to cut it? If you can’t shut up and do exactly what you’re told, you… are… dead.” He shook his head and rubbed his eyes, then nodded toward the door. “All right, let’s go back in there and have dinner. If you can land Phoebus, maybe ExComm will let this go. Maybe.”

He turned and walked back in. Connor followed him in a daze. Tom had never acted like that toward him. No one had. Or at least no one who inhabited his world. Every now and then, he’d run into a loudmouth at a baseball game or a bar, but you couldn’t expect class from people like that. But from Tom Concannon?

They crossed the restaurant and found their meals waiting for them. Tom flashed a grin at Frank. “Emergency resolved! Did Bill fill you in on our alternative billing models?”

“I gave him an overview, but I thought I’d let Connor tell him about a couple of cases where our partial-contingency fee system turned out to be a real win-win for us and our clients.”

Tom took his seat. “And a lose-lose for our opponents.”

“That’s how our cases tend to turn out.” Bill picked up his chopsticks and winked at Connor. “Now you talk while I work on this delicious-looking branzino.”

Connor stood looking down at the table, every detail crowding in on his senses. He saw the exquisitely presented Dungeness crab and cellophane noodles on his plate and the dew-beaded glass of Chardonnay next to it. The click of Bill’s chopsticks and the pleasant murmur of a dozen conversations around them blended into a wistful music in his ears. The bouquet of fresh gourmet food and a hint of sea tang filled his nose with a tempting perfume. He felt three pairs of eyes looking up at him expectantly.

“Aren’t you going to sit down,” Bill asked.

He almost did. He put his hand on the gray leather chair and started to pull it out. The invitation lay right there in front of him, waiting for him to accept. He would sit down and make his sales pitch to Frank, who would probably accept it. Phoebus would become a Doyle & Brown client, and Connor’s future road with the firm would be wide and smooth.

But he stopped. Allie had told him once that she couldn’t trust him. It was time to prove her wrong. And to follow his own advice about hard choices.

For a few seconds, he prayed for the strength to say the necessary words. Then he looked up and smiled. “I’m sorry, but I’m going to have to bid you all good night. There’s a pressing matter I have to attend to.”

Tom’s face turned deep red and the muscles of his neck stood out. “What are you doing, Connor?”

“I’m making a choice. You were right, Tom. It’s wrong for me to endanger the firm’s finances or reputation by my actions. I am therefore resigning my partnership, effective immediately.”