Page 20 of The Wrong Side of the Law

Chapter Six

Emily

“This,” I tell Barbara, “is not what I was expecting.”

“I know,” she says. “It’s not what I had in mind, either, when I hired you.”

“What happened?” I ask. “I thought I was supposed to be just ASA Cooper’s assistant. Now I’m…” I gesture at the six overflowing in-out boxes in my little cubicle, shaking my head. “Now I’m being spread thin across all these guys, and there’s not enough time for everything. I’m writing a brief for Meyer on a precedent for arguing that his evidence shouldn’t be excluded. I’m re-typing all of the witness statements for Kochansky, because she didn’t like the way that the police formatted them. I’m… sheesh. I don’t feel like I’m getting any real headway on anything.”

“There’s a backstory to it,” she tells me. “Youweresupposed to be Gabe Cooper’s assistant. Working only for him. Someone… interfered.”

That’s a fascinating bit of information. My father always said that the State Attorney’s office was full of internal office politics, and that the games were played with very sharp knives.

“Oh? What happened?”

“How are you holding up?” Barbara asks, ignoring my question and patting my hand.

“So far, so good,” I answer, smiling wryly. “The sad truth of the matter is that, as frustrating as it gets sometimes, I enjoy the work. It’s interesting, even when it shouldn’t be. And it’s not like I’m not used to working frantically for long periods of time. This is easier than law school.”

It’s true, so far as it goes, but I am exhausted. I have been working harder than I expected.

“I’ve been hearing good things about your work,” she says.

“You have? From who?” I know the question is pointless: Barbara is anything but an office gossip. Chances are that I’m not going to get any extra information.

“I have my sources,” she says, favoring me with one of Old-Family-Friend-Barbara’s small conspiratorial smiles. Now that I’ve gotten to know Work-Barbara, that expression seems as out of place as if the Grim Reaper himself had a big bundle of pink flowers instead of a scythe.

“Listen, Em,” Barbara says. “I know this week has been a little rough. Getting passed around like this, having all these different bosses, that’s never easy. Things will get better. It’s not going to last: I’ll get this fixed, and you’ll be set working for one boss.” She turns her head, glaring off into the distance.

If the heat in her eyes could burn, there’d be a hole through my wall. I wonder whose office is off in that direction? Who was it that… how did she put it? Who was it thatinterferedwith my job?

“I hope so. Right now, I feel like one of those circus acts, one of the clowns who twirls plates on sticks. I’m running from one stick to the next, trying to keep from breaking them all.”

“Just be patient,” Barbara says. “How are things at home? Are you getting things figured out?”

“Slowly. It’s a huge mess. Lisa’s helping, of course, but it’s not going to be easy to untangle everything. We’re going to try and have Margaret removed as the executor of the estate, get her away from what’s left of anything.”

“The mess she made of everything, it should be easy to do,” Barbara snorts.

“You’d think so, wouldn’t you? But, my father leftherin control of everything, rather than hiring someone from the outside to do it. An accountant or something. Hindsight being what it is, that may have been a mistake.” I wince at making even this gentle criticism of my father, but it’s true. “So, it’s left to me to prove that there was malice or fraud in any of her dealings—and I just can’t imagine that there was—rather than simple incompetence and poor business decisions.”

“Good luck with that,” Barbara says. “I can’t even imagine if I’d had to go through this sort of thing after my father died.”

“Yeah, right,” I laugh. “Like anyone would dare screw with you!”

“And yet,” she says. “You’re down here instead of up in Mr. Cooper’s office.”

“Speaking of him,” I sigh, “It’s getting late, and I’ve got a bunch of things I need to drop off at his office. No doubt he’s got another pile of stuff ready for me, too. And so will Meyer, Kochansky, Garcia, Carrey, and Maurer. Gotta keep those plates all spinning.”

“Most likely they will,” Barbara says, glancing down at her watch. “Most likely. I’ve got a meeting I have to get to in a couple of minutes, too. I just wanted to check in on you, see how things were going.”

“Thank you,” I tell her. “It really means a lot, knowing there’s still an existence outside of work and my dysfunctional family crap.” It truly does.

Once Barbara’s off on her way, I gather up all the folders and loose papers from each inbox and rubber band each ASA’s stack together. The entire collection must weight close to ten pounds, by the time it’s all assembled. The weight goes up and down as I stop at each office in turn, but by the time I reach my last stop—ASA Cooper’s office—my load is significantly lighter. I saved his office for last: with the famously long hours that Gabriel Cooper works, there’s no chance that he’s already left for the day.

His receptionist, on the other hand? I’m glad to see that her desk is empty. From the very moment that I first saw her, it was obvious that she disliked me. Is it just because Barbara bypassed her completely in bringing me to ASA Cooper’s office for my interview, or is there some other reason that she’s so catty to me whenever I come to drop off or pick up work? I have no answers for that.

The door to the inner office stands open, and the sound of fingers banging furiously on a very clicky keyboard radiates from within. I peek around the door frame. Mr. Cooper is sitting at his computer, his back to me. It’s the first time I’ve seen him since my interview, a bit over a week ago now.

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