Page 13 of Love Is an Art
He waits for a moment, as if expecting more.
My assistant appears at the door. “Ken from FLAFL is on the line. He has a new case he thought you might want.”
FLAFL is the acronym for the Free Legal Advocacy For Liberty, an organization that provides legal services to low-income New Yorkers. White & Gilman has an agreement with FLAFL that it will screen and refer individual cases for White & Gilman associates, like me, to serve as co-counsel with a FLAFL attorney. Usually, our pro bono coordinator posts the cases on our internal website, but Ken and I have worked together for several years now, so he calls me directly with any cases of possible interest to me after clearing it with the firm’s pro bono coordinator.
If all goes well—and I get the summer bonus—I plan to quit my job as a corporate lawyer in six months to work for FLAFL.
“I have to take this,” I say.
“Still doing all that pro bono?” Stuffed Shirt asks. “That’s not going to increase your billables.”
“It’s not all about billable hours.” Did he become a lawyer solely for the money? Not that I don’t like the pay … and the security it provides.
“It is for the extra summer bonus.” And on that grim reminder, he leaves.
And he’s right. I’m going to have to turn Ken down and focus on my billable cases for the bonus. Every summer, our law firm rewards one top-tier associate in each class with an extra bonus. And hours worked for paying clients is one of the main determinants. I pick up the phone.
“This is a compelling housing case for you,” Ken says. “She’s fighting for the succession rights to her grandmother’s rent-controlled Harlem apartment. Her grandmother raised her, and she’s lived in the apartment the whole time—until she left to serve in the military. But her grandmother died while she was away, and some man is claiming he’s the successor as a ‘common law spouse’ of her grandmother.”
I bite my nail.
No.
I can’t say no. Not to this type of case. My best friend’s tear-stained face saying she and her mom were going to lose their apartment. That’s why I became a lawyer.
“I’m in,” I say. “I’ll email you with times when I can meet her.”
As I hang up, Lakshmi says, “I thought you were not going to take any more pro bono cases so you can get the bonus and pay off your law school debt.”
“I couldn’t turn this down.”
“You could have. Especially since the sooner you pay off your law school debt and quit to work for FLAFL—”
“Shh.” Lakshmi knows my plan to quit to work for FLAFL, but she’s the only one at the firm. I enjoy corporate law more than expected, but if I work for FLAFL, I can literally change lives. Like how FLAFL saved my best friend, Tara, and her mom from eviction when we were in high school. But I’m still torn because giving up my current salary is hard. This case can be one last chance to make sure that I truly want to quit White & Gilman. Maybe representing pro bono clients as part of my caseload here is enough.
“The sooner all your cases will be those types of cases,” Lakshmi continues. “But if you don’t get the bonus …”
“I’m going to get the bonus.”
“All I’m saying is at this point in time, your focus should be on increasing your hours working on billable cases—not pro bono.”
I nod, acknowledging her point, and refresh my email. And there it is. My team of associates emailed that the document review is complete on their end.
I grab my legal pad and run in as dignified a manner as I can down the hallway to the partner’s office at the corner, the carpeting muffling my heels, stopping to walk each time I pass a partner’s open office door. So not so dignified. I probably look more like a squirrel scampering, pausing to stick its head up to check for danger. Only a new assistant looks up from her cubicle outside the lawyers’ offices. The others are used to my mad dashes.
No Tom.
I knock on the partner’s door, and Paul, a distinguished-looking, gray-haired man in his fifties, waves me in. Bird prints line the wall. There’s a heron. That’s about what I can identify. None of the typical New York City species line the walls. Illustrations of pigeons, cardinals, crows, seagulls, sparrows, and bluebirds wouldn’t quite convey the same gravitas, I presume.
“We finished,” I say.
“Great job. So, now, we’re waiting for Tom’s team to finish.” He straightens a stack of papers on his desk. “And thank you for working late these past few nights preparing that client memo of our best legal arguments. I appreciate that you went the extra mile to ensure that it was done. Jack was also extolling your work in your recent M&A case with him at the partner lunch yesterday. I hope you get to enjoy your weekend.”
Jack is the best. I adopted him as my mentor, even though he’s a corporate partner and I’m a litigator, after we’d met at a firm cocktail party in my first year, and he was hilarious.
I sit in the armchair in front of Paul’s massive, cherry wood desk. “Did you see my email? Plaintiff admitted the fund was risky but worth it. He wrote “No Risk, No Return” in an email and a Facebook post. That should help us win this case.”
“I shared it with Brooke,” Paul says.
