Present
My opportunity to prove I was partnerworthy presented itself the following Monday, wrapped in a red satin bow, just waiting for me to unwrap it.
It was godsent. If I were a believing man, which I had absolutely no reason to be, I would have given up something for Lent to show my appreciation to the big man above. Not anything critical, like sex or meat, but maybe my wine-club subscription. I was more of a scotch man, anyway.
“There’s someone here to see you,” Claire, a junior associate, announced. I could see her in my periphery, tapping my office door, a thick manila file pressed to her chest.
“Do I look like I accept walk-ins?” I asked, not lifting my gaze from the papers I was inspecting.
“No, which was why I sent her on her way, but then she told me what made her come here, and well, now I feel like you should definitely swallow your pride and hear her out.”
I was still scribbling on the margins of the document I was working on, not looking up.
“Sell it to me,” I barked.
Claire gave me the elevator pitch. The bare bones of the case, as they were.
“Sexual harassment lawsuit against a former employer?” I asked, tossing a red Sharpie that had run out of ink into the trash can and uncapping a new one with my teeth. “Sounds standard.”
“Not just any employer.”
“Is it the president?”
“No.”
“SCOTUS justice?”
“Um . . . no.”
“The pope?”
“Christian.” She flicked her wrist flirtatiously, her giggle husky.
“Then it’s not a big enough case for me.”
“He’s a power player. Known around all the right circles in New York. Ran for mayor a few years ago. Friend of every museum in Manhattan. We’re talking real big fish here.” I glanced up. Claire ran the heel of her stiletto around her shapely calf, scratching it. Her voice wrapped around the words with a quiver. She was trying to tamp down her excitement. I couldn’t blame her. Nothing gave me a semi like knowing I was about to land a juicy case with hundreds of billable hours and win it. There was only one thing more exciting to a natural-born killer than the scent of blood—the scent of blue blood.
Swinging my gaze from my notes, I dropped my Sharpie and leaned back in my chair. “Did you say he ran for mayor?”
Claire nodded.
“How far’d he get?”
“Far-ish. Got endorsed by the former White House press secretary, some senators and local officials. Mysteriously dropped out of the race due to family issues four months before elections. Had a very pretty, very young, very not-his-wife campaign manager who now lives in another state.”
Getting warmer . . .
“Do we believe the family-issue excuse?” I stroked my chin.
“Do we believe Santa slides down chimneys and still manages to be jolly all night?” Claire tilted her head, pouting.
Picking up my Sharpie again, I tapped it against my desk, mulling this over. My instincts told me it was who I thought it was, and my instincts were never wrong. Which technically meant I shouldn’t touch this case with a ten-foot pole. I was familiar with the key players and held a grudge against the defendant.
But should and could were two different creatures, and they didn’t always get on well.
Claire launched into all the reasons why I should accept this walk-in like I was some C-grade ambulance chaser until I held up a hand to stop her.
“Tell me about the plaintiff.”
Funny, how admirable my impulse control was in every other area in life—women, diet, exercise, ego—until it came down to one family. Riggs was wrong. Not about the demons part. I had plenty of them. But I knew exactly where they’d lead me—to this man’s doorstep.
Claire’s blush deepened as she relished my eyes on her. I made a mental note to screw her senseless tonight for that sultry look.
“Reliable, trustworthy, and forthcoming. I did get the sense that she is lawyer shopping. It’s going to be a big case.”
“Give me five minutes.”
Claire headed for the door, then stopped. “Hey, there’s a new Burmese restaurant opening in SoHo tonight . . .”
She left the sentence hanging. I shook my head. “Remember, Claire. No outside relationship.” That was our agreement.
She tossed her hair with a huff. “What can I say? I tried.”
Ten minutes later, I was sitting in front of Amanda Gispen, CPA.
Claire was right. Ms. Gispen was the perfect victim. If this case went to trial, the jury would likely be taken with her. She was educated without coming off as condescending, middle aged, soft spoken, attractive without being sexy, clad head to toe in St. John. Her carefully highlighted hair was pinned back, her brown eyes intelligent but not shrewd.
When I entered the conference room Claire had made her wait in, she rose from her seat like I was a judge, offering me a respectful bow.
“Mr. Miller, thank you for making the time. I’m sorry for showing up unannounced.”
No, she wasn’t. She could’ve tried to book an appointment. The fact that she hadn’t, that she’d honestly believed I’d see her, made me curious.
I sat opposite to her, sprawling over a Wegner swivel chair, my latest Christmas splurge. Obscene luxuries were a constant in my life. I had no family to shop for. The swivel chair was supposed to stay in my office, but Claire, who very much enjoyed taking liberties and straddling invisible scarlet lines, sometimes wheeled it into conference rooms and used it as a sign of our friendship and intimacy. Everyone else knew they could never get away with such a thing.
“Why me, Ms. Gispen?” I cut straight to the chase.
“Please, call me Amanda. They say you’re the best in the business.”
“Define they.”
“Every employment attorney I’ve visited the past couple weeks.”
“Word to the wise, Amanda—don’t believe lawyers, myself included. Who’d you end up hiring?”
When dealing with a sexual harassment lawsuit, I always advised my clients to get an employment attorney before making a move. I cared who I was going to work alongside with. Lawyers in New York were a dime a dozen, and most were about as reliable as the E subway line when it snowed.
“Tiffany D’Oralio.” She smoothed away invisible wrinkles from her dress.
Not bad. Not cheap either. Amanda Gispen clearly meant business.
“I know the man who wronged me is going to be armed with a convoy of the best lawyers in town, and you are known as the most ruthless litigator in your field. You were my first call.”
“Technically, I was your first drop-in. Now that we’ve officially met, I assume you think I won’t be able to represent your former boss.”
She smiled hesitantly. “If you knew that, why did you agree to meet me?”
Because I would rather endure a long, meticulous death being thrashed by a million plastic spoons than represent the piece of flaming crap you are going after.
Running my gaze along the planes of her face, I decided I respected Amanda Gispen. Pushy was my love language, assertiveness my favorite word. Plus, if my hunch was right, we indeed had a mutual enemy to take down, which made us both allies and fast friends.
“I gather your former boss knows you are seeking legal action.” I picked up a stress ball I kept in the conference room, rolling it in my fist.
“Correct.”
Shame. The element of surprise was half the fun.
“Elaborate.”
“The incident that brought me here occurred two weeks ago, but there were telltale signs before it.”
“What happened?”
“I threw my drink in his face after he’d invited me to play strip poker in his private jet on our way back from a meeting in Fairbanks. He grabbed me by the arms and kissed me against my will. I stumbled and hit my back. When I saw he was advancing toward me again, I raised my hand to slap him, but then the flight attendant barged in with refreshments. She’d asked if we needed anything really loudly. I think she knew. The minute we landed, he fired me. Said I wasn’t a team player. Accused me of giving him mixed signals. That’s after twenty-five years of employment. I told him I’d sue him. That would be a dead giveaway, I’m afraid.”
“I’m sorry you had to go through that.” I genuinely was. “Now tell me about the telltales you were referring to.”
She drew a ragged breath. “I heard from someone that he sent her a picture of his . . . his . . . thing.” She shuddered. “And I don’t think she was the only one. Understand, there was a whole vibe to this company I worked for. Men would get away with just about anything, and women had to sit there and take it.”
My jaw flexed. Her attacker was probably already lawyered up through the nose. In fact, I wouldn’t be surprised if he was working on a motion to be filed for the case to be dismissed on technical or procedural grounds. However, from my experience, hedge fund princes were fond of settling out of court. Their victims, too, weren’t too hot on lamenting their most sensitive and shameful moments in a room full of strangers only to get ripped apart by lawyers afterward. Problem was, I didn’t want to settle out of court. If he was who I thought he was, I wanted to put him on the chopping block and make meatballs out of him for everyone to see.
And I wanted to make him my means to an end. My prized win, when I finally got the partnership.
“Have you thought this through?” I rolled the stress ball along my palm.
She nodded. “I’ve seen him get away with too much. He’s wronged so many women along the way. Women who, unlike me, weren’t in a position to complain. They went through things much harsher than what I had to deal with. I’m ready to put an end to this.”
“What are you looking to get out of this? Money or justice?” I asked. Usually, I’d butter my client up to go for the former. Not only because justice was an elusive, subjective goal, but also because, unlike money, it wasn’t guaranteed.
She shifted in her seat. “Both, maybe?”
“The two are not always mutually exclusive. If you settle, he walks away unscathed and continues abusing women.”
Let the record show that this wasn’t just the out-for-blood monster sitting in the pit of my stomach that was speaking, or fourteen-year-old Nicky, but also a man who’d met enough sexual harassment victims to know a predator’s pattern when he recognized one.
“And if I go to court?” She blinked fast, trying to absorb it all.
“You might get your payday, but then . . . you might not. But even if we lose, which—no promises—I don’t think we would, he’d hopefully become more wary and potentially have a harder time getting away with this sort of behavior.”
“And if I choose to settle?” Her teeth sank into her lower lip.
“Then I cannot, in good conscience, take the case.”
This was Nicky speaking. I couldn’t see myself sitting with this man in an air-conditioned room, running numbers and meaningless clauses, while knowing he’d get away with another atrocity against humanity. I leaned forward.
“So let me ask you again, Ms. Gispen—money or justice?”
She closed her eyes. When she opened them again, there was thunder in them.
“Justice.”
My fingers squeezed the ball more firmly, adrenaline pumping through my bloodstream.
“It’s going to be hard. It’ll force you to step out of your comfort zone. And I mean leave its zip code completely. Assuming we can get past their inevitable motion to dismiss, we’ll move into the discovery phase. During discovery, his lawyers are going to serve interrogatories and requests for production with the sole objective to dig up dirt and drag your name through the mud a hundred different ways. There’ll be depositions and evidentiary hearings, and even after all of that, your former boss will certainly file a summary judgment motion to try and get the case dismissed without a trial. It’ll be painful, and perhaps long, and definitely mentally draining. And when you come out of this, on the other side, you will change the way you look at the human race as a whole.”
I felt like an ambitious frat boy covering all his bases before getting someone into bed—was she sober enough? Willing enough? Did she have a clean health sheet? It was important to align our expectations before getting started.
“I’m aware,” Amanda said, sitting a little straighter, tipping her chin up. “Trust me, this isn’t a hasty reaction, nor a power trip to get back at a former employer. I want to go through with this, Mr. Miller, and I have plenty of evidence.”
Three and a half billable hours and two canceled meetings later, I knew enough about Amanda Gispen’s sexual harassment case to understand I had a good shot at this. She had time stamps and call logs aplenty. Witnesses in the form of the flight attendant and a receptionist who’d been let go earlier that year, and damning text messages that would make a porn star blush.
“Where do we go from here?” Amanda asked.
Straight to hell, after the amount of ethical rules I’m about to break.
“I’ll send you an engagement letter. Claire will help you with gathering all the information and prepare for filing a complaint with the EEOC.”
Amanda’s fingers bunched the hem of her dress. “I’m nervous.”
I handed her the stress ball like it was a shiny apple. “That’s natural, but completely unnecessary.”
Amanda took the ball. Pressed it shyly. “It’s just that . . . I don’t know what to expect once we file.”
“This is what you have me for. Remember you can settle a sexual harassment case at any time. Before and during litigation, or even throughout the trial.”
“Settling is not really something I’m considering right now. I don’t care about the money. I want to see him suffer.”
You and I both.
Her upper teeth caught her lower lip, biting. “You believe me, don’t you?”
How peculiar, I thought, was the human condition. My clients asked me this question often. And though my real answer was that it didn’t matter—I was on their side, rain or shine—this time, I could appease her and still speak my truth.
“Of course.”
I wouldn’t put anything past Conrad Roth. Sexual harassment seemed within his capabilities.
She handed me the ball back, drawing a breath. I shook my head. “Keep it.”
“Thank you, Mr. Miller. I don’t know what I’d have done without you.”
I stood, buttoning up my blazer. “We’ll discuss your expectations, and I will relay my recommendations based on the evidence.”
Amanda Gispen stood up, one hand clutching the pearls around her neck, the other reaching for another handshake.
“I want this man to rot in hell for what he did to me. He could’ve raped me. I’m sure he would have, if it wasn’t for the flight attendant. I want him to know he’ll never be able to do that to anyone else.”
“Trust me, Ms. Gispen. I’ll do everything in my power to ruin Conrad Roth.”
