Big Law (24 page)

My breath caught in my throat. I did a full 360 in the revolving door and was deposited back outside the building. For a moment I just stood there, frozen. The memory of working with Saul and Sarah was still burned into my head the way a POW recalls his captivity. I thrust my BlackBerry into my purse and, without knowing where I was going, staggered away from the office. It was a primal fight-or-flight reaction and my body had chosen flight.

Dazed, I crossed the street despite the orange “Don’t Walk” blinking hypnotically. I kept going past the man peddling fake Gucci purses spread out on a white sheet, nearly tripping over a large LV patterned suitcase. People blurred past me and the sounds of the city—horns honking, a jackhammer pounding, the loud conversations of the passersby—all blended into a buzz in my head. The air smelled of meat frying from a nearby food truck.

Another deal with Saul and Sarah—this can’t be happening. I walked faster as Alex’s voice rang in my head.
He can’t be bargained with, he can’t be reasoned with, he doesn’t feel pity, or remorse, or fear. And he absolutely will not stop, ever, until you are dead.
Alex was right. That line from Terminator 2 was a surprisingly accurate
description of Saul. Suddenly Arnold Schwarzenegger’s voice burst through my thoughts in one clipped line: “Your foster parents are dead.” I stopped in my tracks, my pulse quickening, as my mind replayed the scene from Terminator 2 like a movie reel.

The Terminator has just told John Connor that the T1000 has been sent to kill him. In an attempt to warn them, John calls his foster mother from a pay phone. “Something is wrong. She’s never this nice,” he tells the Terminator. Knowing that this diversion from ordinary behavior means John is now in danger, the Terminator takes the phone, unceremoniously hangs it up, looks John square in the eye, and says, “Your foster parents are dead.”

With shaking hands I pulled my BlackBerry out of my pocket. There, in all caps, shouting at me, was the word “PLEASE.” Saul had never used that word before. I could hear myself gulp. That’s when I knew this had nothing to do with being put on a new deal.

I
PUSHED MY WAY
past the large group of summer associates lingering in the elevator bank and made my way to conference room 27C, as Rita had instructed, ready to hear my fate. Questions zipped through my mind.
Did they find out about the forged signature page for Stuart? Am I about to be fired?

“Mackenzie,” Sarah hissed from the other side of the corridor. Her precise and perfect demeanor was harried and disheveled, making me wonder who had finally pulled the bobby pin out causing her to completely unravel. “Everyone is waiting!” She angrily gestured towards the conference room before disappearing back inside.

You can do this
.

But when I stepped through the door, I froze. Standing up to introduce himself was a man whose head was as bald as a cue ball, and just as shiny. His enormous arms bulged through his grey suit jacket. Dangling from his left earlobe was a gold hoop earring. My heart began thundering in my chest. He bore a striking resemblance to Mr. Clean, just as Rita had described.

“Miss Corbett, I’m Tucker Sullivan with the Securities and Exchange Enforcement division.” He stuck out a paw-like hand, squeezing my hand in a hardy shake. “I have a few questions for you regarding some unusual trading activity we’ve discovered. Why don’t we all take a seat?” He strode briskly behind me and pushed the conference room door shut.

I pulled out a leather rolling chair, sneaking a surreptitious glance at Saul. I noticed he’d perspired through his dress shirt.

“Let me start with some background for you, Miss Corbett.”

“Mackenzie,” I croaked, my sweaty hands clasped tightly in front of me.

“Mackenzie.” He nodded, scratching something down on his pad of paper. “In the past year we’ve become aware of an unusual amount of trading in the shares of five different takeover targets days before bids were announced. This type of activity is a red flag for us that there is insider trading going on. What we look for in these situations is a common thread among the bids and when we find the common thread, we pull it.” He mimed pulling an imaginary thread from his suit jacket. “And what we unravel is
always
securities fraud. The common thread here, in all five bids that were the subject of the suspicious trades, was the law firm negotiating the deal. F&D negotiated all five.” He raised his eyebrows ominously. “So let’s start tugging at that thread, shall we?” He pulled a piece of paper out of a redweld and slid it across the table with a satisfied look on his face.

“Did you have access to confidential information regarding any of these companies?”

“Yes,” I answered, scanning the list. “I worked on transactions involving these five companies.” I tried to keep my voice even, worried that a shaky voice would make it seem like I had something to hide.

“And did you work with Mr. Siever and Miss Clarke on the failed bid of Falcon Mobility Inc.?”

Sarah and Saul stiffened. In my nervous haze I’d forgotten they were sitting there. Saul wasn’t normally someone who faded into the background, but clearly he had no interest in being front and center at this meeting.

I nodded. “And a number of specialists as well.”

He scratched something on his notepad. I noticed he’d already filled a few pages, presumably with answers from Saul and Sarah.

“Let’s talk about that deal because that’s the one that opened up Pandora’s box for us. We uncovered an abnormal amount of shorting
activity before Falcon’s announcement that the deal fell through. Do you know what that means?”

“I know if you’re short selling stock you’re betting the stock is going to decline.” I could feel the confidence returning to my voice now that I was given the opportunity to utter more than a one word answer.

“And I’m assuming you know how short selling works, then?”

“Yes.”

Without looking up from his notepad, he rolled his hand, gesturing for me to go on.

“You borrow shares of stock and then sell them in the open market without ever owning the shares. When the stock drops, you buy back shares at a later date at the cheaper price to return to the owner.” I wiped my wet palms on my pants.

“So the goal of short selling is to purchase the shares for less cost in the future and net a profit.” His tone sounded more like a question than a statement, so I nodded assent.

He slid another piece of paper out of his redweld, peered down, and pushed it over to me. “Here is a list of individuals or corporations that shorted Falcon Mobility stock. Do you recognize any name on that list?”

The room was silent as I peered down at the list. “No.” I shook my head.

Out of the corner of my eye I noticed Sarah and Saul exchange a brief, pointed glance.

“So you never knowingly or inadvertently passed confidential information to any person or entity on that list?”

“Of course not!” My tone was flustered. “Are you accusing me … Do … do I need a lawyer?” My eyes darted to Sarah and Saul, who sat expressionless, averting their eyes from my stare.

“You are the only person that had access to confidential information on all five of these deals. So, here’s what I think, Mackenzie.” The look on Mr. Clean’s face was like he was about to devour a delicious dessert. “I think someone knew that the media reports of your client bidding on Falcon inflated the Falcon stock. That person was also
privy to the information that the negotiations ended when Falcon informed your client that they were seeking a loan instead of a sale. Knowing that this meant the stock was ripe for a sharp decline, that person then fed the information to someone on this list, who shorted the stock before the failed bid was publicly announced.”

The room was spinning like a carnival ride that I couldn’t get off. Nauseous, faces were whirling in front of me—Saul, Sarah, Mr. Clean.

“Yes, Miss Corbett,” he continued. “You may want to get a lawyer because this train is pulling out and it looks like you’re on the tracks.”

H
E WAS GRINNING WHEN
he opened the door, but his smile quickly faded as he took in my sweaty, splotchy, disheveled appearance. Out of breath from running the entire way from the train station, I could barely manage to get the words out. “Uncle Nigel,” I puffed. “I need your help.”

His hand felt solid and comforting on my shoulder as he guided me inside, reassuring me I’d come to the right place. He had the same look on his face that Mom had when Margaret had called her to tell her she had suffered an injury that would jeopardize her scholarship — unwaveringly calm and pragmatic. For the first time since I left the office, I could feel my rapid heart rate start to decrease a little bit.

“Let’s talk in here, Mac.” He gestured towards the study.

I sat down heavily on the couch and rubbed my eyes with my palms. I hadn’t formulated a script in my mind for how best to explain what was happening to me. It was too dreadful and humiliating to comprehend, let alone explain it.

“Listen,” Uncle Nigel started gently. “The economy still isn’t great and this happens to the best of lawyers. Law firms just over-hire and then let good quality people go. It’s the only way they can maintain their pyramid structure. It is nothing to be ashamed of.”

I shook my head. “I didn’t get fired, Uncle Nigel.” I raised my eyes, meeting his. “It’s worse.” And then the words came tumbling out of me in a hurried, uncontrollable crush. I told him about when I first heard about the SEC investigation from Rita and when Alex saw
the list of associates who’d worked on the five deals. I described the horrible meeting with Mr. Clean, Sarah, and Saul and how I’d been told I may need to get a lawyer. “So.” I exhaled a shuddery breath. “Here I am.”

Uncle Nigel was rubbing his chin and nodding. He had a quiet, thoughtful look on his face, but it was impossible to read. “What is the firm’s position? Have they put you on leave?”

“No, not officially. Mr. Clean said he needed to meet with us again on Thursday. The SEC is still gathering information internally and will have more questions for us then. So, HR told me and Sarah that it would be best if we didn’t come back to the office until that meeting.” All the times I would have embraced what amounted to a two day break from the office and now here it was. Be careful what you wish for.

He was looking carefully at me now. “Is there any way you passed on confidential information to anyone inadvertently? Maybe carried a file without a codename or talked about a transaction in a public place?”

“No.” I shook my head adamantly. “I’m so cautious with stuff like that that people actually make fun of me about it.”

“Does anyone have access to your network password?”

“My secretary, but I trust her.” I shrugged. “I don’t know. Maybe the IT guy?” The room was quiet as my brain whirred. The memory of Sarah in my office standing behind my desk when I arrived one morning suddenly filled my mind. “Maybe Sarah,” I whispered.

He furrowed his brow. “Did you give her your password?”

“No, but she was in my office one morning before I arrived. And there’s been a lot of weird stuff that I’ve just pushed out of my mind because I’ve been too tired to deal with anything but work.” I chewed on the side of my fingernail. “But none of it really adds up either.” Sarah was crazy, but was she a methodical white-collar criminal? The only thing I knew for certain right now is that I wasn’t.

“Is my situation right now as bad as I think it is?” I asked Uncle Nigel in a voice so small I didn’t even recognize it as my own.

“Well, you’re not going to go to jail.” He blew out a long breath. “They certainly don’t have enough evidence to turn this into a criminal matter.”

I put my hand to my chest in relief.

“But it isn’t as easy as that.” He paused, and I could tell he was trying to bring himself to say something difficult. “I need to be straight with you, Mac. In situations like this, if you aren’t able to prove your innocence there’s a good chance you’ll be fired. And you know how small the legal community is. No other firm will hire you. There’s a possibility you could even be disbarred.”

I felt like the wind had been knocked out of me. Everything I’d worked so hard for was crumbling and there was nothing I could do to stop it. This couldn’t be the way it all ended. It was too horrible to stomach.

“But how could I ever do that? Prove my innocence?”

His expression was grave. “Unfortunately, the only way to clear your name in this situation is to prove that someone else did it.”

I left Uncle Nigel’s house a little shaken, but with a firm resolve. I hadn’t let anything break me before and I wasn’t going to start now.

I punched the familiar numbers into my phone. I may have been told not to come back to the office until Thursday, but nobody said anything about calling. She answered on the first ring.

“Rita, it’s Mackenzie.”

“Oh my Gawd! I’m so glad you cawwwled. Are you okay?”

“I’m okay,” I answered, with more certainty than I felt.

“I wasn’t sure if Mr. Clean had locked you away somewhere.”

“Listen, Rita, I really need your help. I need you to get a paralegal to run the standard corporate searches on the following companies. Everything you can get—bankruptcy, court house, corporate register. Everything.” If there was one thing I knew about after nearly three years with F&D it was how to perform due diligence on a company. Luckily for me, the names of the companies on the list that Mr. Clean had shown me that had short sold Falcon stock had been burned into my memory.

“That’s going to take a long time, Mackenzie. When would ya’ need this?”

“Tomorrow. And listen, no one can know about this. You have to keep it under the radar.” I squeezed my eyes shut, praying this would work. There was a beat of silence before Rita answered.

“Meet me at the Starbucks on 59th tomorrow at noon. I’ll have it for ya’ then.”

“How are you going to get through all that before the meeting with Mr. Clean tomorrow?” Kim pointed to the banker’s box brimming with documents that I’d schlepped on the subway from Starbucks to my apartment an hour ago. Rita had been sporting large, dark sunglasses when she’d entered Starbucks, looking every bit the part of an informant. Spotting me in the corner, she’d set the box down, mouthed “good luck,” and turned towards the door. I was so moved by her gutsy act of loyalty that it took me a minute to compose myself enough to walk across the coffee shop to retrieve the box.

I didn’t realize how badly I needed to see a friendly face until I saw Kim waiting for me in the lobby of my apartment building when I returned home, my muscles burning from supporting the weight of the box. “I called you at your office to chat about that email you sent me about a great night you wanted to fill me in on, but the receptionist told me you were taking the day off. I knew something had to be wrong,” she’d explained. Without any questions, she relieved me of my heavy load and helped me up to my apartment, where I filled her in on the terrible turn of events.

“I’ve become an expert in reviewing documents in a short time frame. Especially when my ass is on the line,” I replied now, lifting the top off the box and pulling out the first manila folder. “And it’s not like I have a choice.” I collapsed on the couch and began flipping through a company profile.

“Well, then, let’s get down to it.” She raised my window blinds, letting in the afternoon sun. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d been in my apartment during the day and I suddenly wished she would close the blinds so I didn’t have to think about it. Out of the corner of my eye I saw her run a finger along my coffee table and peer at the dust on her finger. “I’ll just clean up our work space a little.” She disappeared into the kitchen and came back with a wet paper towel and set to work wiping down the surfaces around me. I’d never known
Kim to be a fastidious person, which made me think my apartment must be in particularly bad shape.

“So,” she said gently, “what do you hope you’ll find in these documents?”

“Honestly? I hope I’ll find any morsel of evidence that clears my name and implicates Sarah,” I replied, without looking up.

I could feel her standing over me, scanning my apartment before fixing her eyes on me.

“When was the last time you’ve been in this apartment, Mac?”

“Well, I sleep here every night,” I snorted.

“Really?” She eyed me doubtingly.

“Most of the time,” I mumbled.

“I’m worried about you. You look like you haven’t slept in days. Or showered for that matter.”

“Does dry shampoo count?”

She sat down beside me and took a slow, cleansing breath, reminding me that I hadn’t been to a yoga class in months. “I know you’re under a lot of pressure, Mac.” She was speaking slowly, her kind eyes full of concern. “But maybe this is all some kind of sign. Maybe what you need is to be heading in a different direction.”

“No.” I shook my head, too drained to talk about anything other than the task at hand. “It’s not a sign, it’s a set-up, Kim. I know I sound like a crazy person right now, but I was this close to everything I’ve ever wanted and if I don’t fix this then …” Unexpected tears prickled the back of my eyes. “I can’t even go there in my head.”

“Okay.” She was quiet for a moment. “Okay,” she repeated more resolutely. “Then let’s prove the Ice Queen did it. But first we need to deal with the food issue because you’re starting to remind me of Kate Moss and not in a good way.” She stood up. “Do you have anything in your kitchen to eat?”

I shot her a droll look that said
Do you even know me at all?

“Right.” She nodded. “Sushi it is. You get to work, I’ll get to dialing.”

When the sushi arrived, Kim set it out on my coffee table along with plates, napkins, and two glasses of wine. “Don’t say no.” She handed me a glass. “You need it. And I’ll force feed you that California roll if you don’t stop for five minutes and eat.”

“Thank you, Dr. Bawolska.” I smiled, accepting the glass. “But I’ve mastered the fine art of reviewing documents while eating.” I buried my nose back in the company profiles.

“Suit yourself.” She picked up a manila folder from the box, flopped down on the couch, and began flipping through it. “Man, this stuff looks painfully boring. Sometimes do you just want to scratch your eyes out so you won’t have to look at it anymore?”

“Sometimes,” I answered distractedly, gnawing my pen.

“Company registration number, tax reference number, VAT number …” Kim rattled off in a monotone voice. “Nothing interesting in this one.” She tossed it on the table and reached for another file. “Hey, there’s a yellow sticky on this one.”

“Really?” I felt a sudden burst of hope. “Let’s see.”

She passed me the file, squinting at the note curiously. “It’s about Mr. Clean.”

My heart rate sped up as I read Rita’s scrolled message.
Mackenzie, I copied this stuff from the file Mr. Clean left for Vincent. I don’t know if it will be helpful, but if it is, you didn’t get it from me.—Rita

“Rita, I love you,” I whispered. “And you too, Kim.” I squeezed her hand.

“Does it have what you’re looking for?”

“Hopefully.” I hunched over the coffee table and examined the folder’s contents, scrutinizing lists of associates, spreadsheets of trades, and names of companies until my eyes blurred.

“Anything?” Kim finally asked, peering over my shoulder.

I shook my head, feeling defeated. This was a waste of time. There wasn’t going to be a smoking gun with Sarah’s fingerprints all over it in this pile of useless documents. I was screwed. After all those nights spent hunched over a computer and weekends spent fielding angry emails, all those movies I’d missed and vacations I didn’t take, this was how it was all going to end. I wasn’t going to be awarded the StarCorp secondment. I wasn’t going to be a partner at F&D. I wouldn’t reach the top of the mountain after all. I wouldn’t even be employed.

Reading my expression, Kim reached out and put her hand on my shoulder. “Why don’t you take a break from this and get some rest?
When you wake up tomorrow maybe you’ll see something different with fresh eyes.”

“I know she did it, Kim.” I buried my face in my hands. “But nobody is going to believe me.”