In Practice

Philadelphia

February 23, 2008 – 3:27 pm

(To read from the beginning, click here)

She noticed that the message light on the phone was blinking. It was late.

“Christ, what a day,” she muttered, “Who could that be?”

She hit the voice mail button with her pencil.

“Beep. Monday. 6:43 p.m. Hey Katie, it’s Charles. Elena gave me this number and said I could reach you here. Some of us are taking a study break and heading over to Ortlieb’s for a bit. It’s open mike night on Mondays. Maybe we’ll see you? You haven’t been around much this summer. Hope you can make it. We’ll be there around 9:00 p.m.” The machine beeped again, signaling that there were no more messages.

Charles was one of Michael’s friends from law school. He, Michael, Elena and the rest of the Thursday night bar crew were taking a bar exam prep course in Center City during the day. As a result, none of them were working during the summer. Elena had put her job doing insurance defense at a mid-sized Center City firm on hold while she studied. Like Elena, Charles deferred his job defending class action suits while he prepped for the exam. Michael, on the other hand, had a position guaranteed at one of the most prestigious firms in the city waiting for him in the fall, so long as he passed the bar exam.

Katie sighed. She couldn’t afford not to work during the summer, nor could she afford the exam prep course that ran about $2,000. She was working during the day and studying by herself at night, using her old text books and notes from law school. It had put quite a dent in her social life during the week, not to mention creating unneeded extra stress.

She stared at the clock. 8:38 p.m. I’m too tired to go out and I should probably do some studying anyway. She felt underprepared; the bar exam was less than a month away.

She flipped her legal pad shut and tucked it into her briefcase. On her way out of the room, she paused at the light switch and stared again briefly at the house across the way before turning out the light.

The walk to the light rail station was pleasant. Haddonfield definitely had that small town charm going for it. Despite the fact that it wasn’t even 9:00 p.m., most of the small businesses along Kings Highway had already closed for the night, leaving the corridor quite dark with the exception of some interior lights in storefront windows. Nonetheless, Katie felt safe; it was one of the things she liked most about the town. It reminded her of home.

The train was, remarkably, on time. Katie slid her transpass through the turnstile and ran to get on before the doors closed. It was too late to risk having to wait for the next train.

The train crossed the Delaware River via the Ben Franklin Bridge. When she first arrived in town, it had taken Katie awhile to make sense of the fact that the main river in Philadelphia was the Delaware and that it divided Pennsylvania and New Jersey. Philadelphia was located at the southeastern corner of Pennsylvania, which meant that it was just miles away to Delaware and New Jersey. And on the right traffic day, Washington, DC and New York City were a couple hours’ drive away. As cities go, Philadelphia had the perfect location.

The proximity to New Jersey made for an easy commute, especially since Katie did not have a car. The light rail was more or less a straight shot from Haddonfield to her neighborhood and it was a great ride. There was something infinitely inviting about the city’s skyline at night, reflecting just over the river as the train rumbled by. After the train left the bridge, it crossed near Vine Street, just slightly north of Center City. On clear nights, like tonight, you could see Billy Penn high atop City Hall, nestled between the two towers at Liberty Place as you traveled. It was an amazing view.

She loved the city. She loved its energy. She missed hanging out, getting to know what the city had to offer. The constant hours at the firm were draining. Haddonfield was nice enough, but it was still the suburbs.

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Chapter Two |

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The Funeral

February 2, 2008 – 2:11 pm

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“Yeah.” He started out of the door.

“How’s he doing anyway?” Katie asked softly, referring to Jeff.

Jim’s mood grew somber. “I think he’s okay. Every day he’s a little better than before.”

“Good,” she replied.

The silence was awkward.

Jim shuffled his feet.

“See you tomorrow,” he said abruptly.

“Okay, yeah, see you” Katie replied. And with that, Jim quickly pulled the door shut.

Damn, she thought. I shouldn’t have asked.

Jeff was Jim’s only son, now almost seven years old. Almost a year ago, Jim’s wife, Caroline, was diagnosed with cancer. Katie had just started working at the firm as a clerk when they heard the news.
At first, the word had been breast cancer, fairly easy to treat and things were expected to turn out well. The surgeon performed a single mastectomy on Caroline, then a double. But it was already too late. The cancer had spread to her lymph nodes. The doctors gave her a prognosis of six months to a year; she died less than six weeks after her last surgery. Caroline lived just three days past Jeff’s sixth birthday. Katie liked to think that Caroline held on long enough to celebrate his birthday and say goodbye. It somehow felt better to think that there was some method to all of the madness.

Jeff took Caroline’s death extremely hard. At the funeral, he was the picture of grief, this little boy dressed in a dark gray suit. He cried the whole time. Folks kept telling him that it would be all right but what did they know? How do you convince a six year old who has just lost his mother that anything would ever be all right? It was heartbreaking.

Jim had been the opposite. Katie never saw him cry a single tear. It was like he’d purged himself of all feeling. He stared ahead stoically throughout the service. He thanked everyone for coming and replied, almost automatically, “Why yes, it was a lovely service” to all who shook his hand.

It had indeed been a memorable funeral service, the most evocative that Katie had ever seen, not that she had been to very many. The church was filled top to bottom with pink tulips, Caroline’s favorite. The music was flawless, the eulogy moving. It had been the perfect suburban funeral, everyone had said so.

Jim took just two weeks off from the office to be with Jeff. When he returned, he threw himself into his work. Since that time, he hadn’t missed a day, including holidays. He worked nonstop. He never really talked about Caroline after he returned. It was almost like it never happened.

I shouldn’t have said anything, she thought. It’s not my business.

She leaned back in her chair.

What a day it had been.

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Chapter Two |

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Yellow Pages

January 30, 2008 – 7:42 pm

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“I’ll grant you it’s not our run of the mill estates case. The detective responding to the call for the suicide found the Hershbergers’ information on the night stand and notified them of the decedent’s passing. The police needed a positive ID on the body because it had, uh, been there awhile. So, the Hershbergers came down and made the ID. They’re friends of the decedent. Apparently there is no real family to speak of.”

“Sad,” Katie said softly. “And us? How’d they pick us?” she asked.

“I don’t know, Yellow Pages? I didn’t ask, it didn’t seem very appropriate at the time, they were pretty upset about the whole thing. Anyhow, judging from the house and the cars, it looks like it will be a decent size estate. I figure you can have a go at it on your own. After all, you’re almost a real lawyer now and everything,” he joked.

“Almost,” she replied cheerfully. “Just about a month left to go.” She tried not to think about the bar exam but it was pretty much always on her mind these days – and everyone else seemed to be thinking of it. Her mom routinely called to ask if she was getting nervous about it, which she usually wasn’t – until her mom asked.

Jim looked at his watch. “Wow, look at the time. I have to run. I need to pick up Jeff from soccer practice. It should be over by now.”

“I guess so. It’s dark out already,” Katie answered glancing out of the window.

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Chapter Two |

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Noah’s Ark

January 13, 2008 – 5:04 pm

(To read from the beginning, click here)

Katie stood for a minute in the hallway staring at Ed’s card. She flipped it over and thought back to their conversation. The whole thing had been kind of strange.

She heard a thump from next door.

“I think I’m done for today,” John shouted as he exited the bedroom.

“Did you find anything?” she asked, noting the dusty front of his shirt.

“No, but we’ll come back tomorrow when there’s more light. The sky’s a bit gray out. I think it’s a storm coming up.”

Katie smiled at the local expression.

“Sure, good idea about tomorrow,” she replied. “Can I walk you back to the office?”

“Nope. I think we’re going to head home. We’re parked here at the house. We’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Oh, okay,” Katie answered. “See you tomorrow.”

She watched John and Rachel climb into a late model white van. It was surprisingly utilitarian; it looked more like a construction van than transportation for seniors. It didn’t seem to fit the demure couple.

But then who am I to say? she thought. I don’t even have a car.

She glanced up at the sky that was turning more gray by the minute.

I imagine it’s about 6:00 p.m. by now, she thought, adding, I really do need to get a watch.

But then, she always thought that and never really meant it. She glanced again at her hands.

And, I need to stop biting my nails. She actually meant that, but she never really did it.

With that, she walked back across the parking lot to her office. The light was, of course, still on. Jim would be there for at least another hour. He was obsessive compulsive when it came to his practice. It was contagious. Since she’d started at the firm, Katie had pretty much ploughed in nonstop, too. It was a different world from her law school days. She had expected law school to be really difficult and extremely time-consuming. But, like college, Katie felt the need to spend little time outside of class studying. But even so, she felt the need to socialize, and always ended up feeling she had no time. Every Thursday evening, her law school classmates went out to blow off some steam.

Typically, Katie decided where they’d go; her cohort sometimes jokingly referred to her as “Julie, the cruise director.” And it was a good thing. Left to their own devices, many of her classmates would opt for the cheesy, dance club atmosphere on Delaware Avenue with “theme bars” like Aztec and Egypt. Lots of smoke and lights, overly sweetened fruity drinks and techno music. It was not her scene. She preferred the Center City bars where she could have a real drink, preferably without fruit or an umbrella, and simply sit and chat. Generally, that meant heading for some place like McGillins Ale House or the Black Sheep Pub, or occasionally the New Wave, when she was in a dive mood. Katie was often in a dive mood. She could go for hours, often shutting the place down with friends.

But that all changed after graduation.

None of her law school friends wanted to go out anymore and just have fun as a group. It was all very couple-y. Even Elena had relegated evenings spent to watching TV indoors with Michael.

Ugh. Why is it that, at some point, we all end up like Noah’s Ark? Paired up by twos with no room left over for the singles? It’s so damn depressing.

She let herself into the office.

“Just me,” she called towards Jim’s office headed down the hall. She pushed open the door to the office. It was so bland, her office, so ridiculously colorless. White walls with no art and no diplomas. A big oak lawyerly desk with a leatherette chair - not real leather like Jim’s. What saved her from going stark raving mad was the window. She did have a nice sized window. Granted, the view was mostly of the parking lot out back - but it was a view. She sat down in her chair and whirled around to stare out of the window. The empty house across the way seemed to stare back at her.

“Creepy,” she muttered.

“What?” It was Jim, standing at the door.

“Nothing,” she said. “I was, uh, talking to myself.”

“Long day?” he asked with a chuckle.

“Oh yeah,” she answered. “What was that all about anyway?”

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Chapter Two |

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Meeting the Detective

January 8, 2008 – 11:04 pm

(To read from the beginning, click here)

And with that, Jim turned and walked away. Katie watched him cross the parking lot and then turned to the Hershbergers to discuss how to proceed. But John was already a step ahead of her. He was carefully climbing over the police tape on the porch. Rachel watched him nervously, wringing her hands.
“Um, John? Um, Mr. Hershberger? What are you doing? Don’t you think we should wait for the police?” Katie said, climbing over the police tape after him.

“No,” he shouted over his shoulder as he walked through the front door, which was unlocked. “They’ve already said that it’s okay.”

“They have?” she called. “Who’s they?”

John didn’t answer. Katie couldn’t tell if he didn’t hear her or just didn’t care to reply. He continued inside and walked down the hallway and disappeared into a room on the right, with Katie following just behind. It was dark in the hallway and she searched for a light switch on the wall. Finding none along the way, she carefully continued down the hallway, squinting as she walked.

God, she thought. What is that smell? She’d never smelled anything like it before. It was overpoweringly sweet, almost like someone had poured thick molasses in the middle of the room - but not quite. It wasn’t good sweet. It was rotten sweet.

Her fingers, running along the wood panel in the hallway, finally came across a switch. She flicked it on. Nothing.

Great, she thought.

She heard John in the room to the right making quite a bit of noise. Was he moving furniture?

“Mr. Hershberger?” she asked, walking in but not seeing him.

Suddenly the bed moved towards her. She quickly stepped back.

“Mr. Hershberger?” she again asked, this time calling louder.

The bed moved again, up a little and then back down.

“Under here,” came a muffled voice from beneath the bed.

“What are you doing?” asked Katie, bending down to try and figure out what he was doing.

“Looking for money,” John answered, his voice slightly muffled.

“Money?” Katie asked.

“Yep, money. When the police found Lenny, they also found a pile of cash beside the bed. Made sense. Lenny hated banks, didn’t trust anybody. I just want to make sure that nothing gets left behind in the house before we lock up the place. You know, in case anyone breaks in.”

In Haddonfield? Haddonfield had to be one of the most squeaky clean communities in the area. Nothing ever happened here.

“Right,” said Katie, hesitating. “But the bed?”

“Yeah,” said John. “This was Lenny’s bed, I thought maybe he would have left something under here.” He paused. “But it sure does stink under here. That smell is something you won’t soon forget, huh?”

The smell? Now it made sense. That’s where they get the ‘sweet smell of death.’ Suddenly Katie felt sick.

“I’ll, uh, wait for you outside, I think,” she said.

“Suit yourself,” John replied, hard at work doing… something.

She backed away, anxious to make a quick exit down the hallway.

“Everything okay?” a voice boomed.

Katie screamed and whirled around, falling slightly before catching herself against the wall.

Standing in front of her was a man who appeared to be in his 30s, casually dressed in jeans and a white oxford shirt, the sleeves rolled up almost to his elbows. He had short dark hair with occasional flecks of gray, which complemented his eyes. Katie thought they were gray but they could have been blue. Oh God, I’m staring.

“Who… ah… who are you?” Katie asked weakly, catching her balance.

“Woodward, Detective Ed Woodward,” he barked, briefly flashing a badge at her. “Haddonfield Police Department.”

His manner struck Katie as funny and she stifled a giggle by biting her lip. How dramatic. It was all so very Dragnet.

“Everything okay?” he asked again.

“Oh yeah,” she said, straightening up. “I’m, um, the attorney here with the Hershbergers. We’re just locking up. My boss said it was okay.”

“Sure thing,” he replied. He stared at her for a moment. She stared back, suddenly feeling a little shy.

The detective continued, “Does the attorney here with the Hershbergers have a name?”

“Katherine,” she replied, extending her hand. “Well, Katie. Katie Brown. I’m with the Law Offices of Jim Heffernan.” She paused. “Just across the way,” she said, motioning with her head.

There was an awkward silence and she pulled her hand back.

“So what’s the deal with this guy?” she asked brightly. “You know anything?”

“They say it was a suicide,” replied the detective. “He was found in his bed holding his wife’s ashes.”

Katie wrinkled her nose.

“Very dramatic,” she said.

“Yeah. Very.”

“Is there something else?” Katie asked.

“What do you mean?” Ed replied, his eyes narrowing a little.

“The suicide,” she replied. “You said, ‘they say it was a suicide’ almost as if you don’t believe that it was. Is there something else?”

“Let’s just say it’s under investigation,” he said carefully.

“Okay,” she replied slowly. “Under investigation. Meaning what exactly?”

He didn’t answer. A beeping noise interrupted the brief silence. Detective Woodward pulled a pager from a case on his belt.

“I have to go. They need me back at the station. But if you need anything further here, give me a call,” he said, handing her a slightly bent business card.

She looked at the card and smiled.

I just might do that, she thought, but said only, “Thanks.”

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The House

January 4, 2008 – 9:06 am

(To read from the beginning, click here)

The old Victorian house behind the office had always fascinated Katie. It was one of many “painted ladies” in the Haddonfield area with its ornate detailing and lively paint scheme. But unlike other houses in the area, it appeared to be unoccupied.

Katie could see the house clearly from her office window and had often wondered if anyone could possibly live there. The school bus that seemed to be perpetually full of screaming children never stopped there. She never saw any trucks make a delivery or anyone puttering about in the yard. That in itself was puzzling - the yard was overgrown with old rosebushes and honeysuckle vines. It was pretty in a wild, English garden sort of way. But no one in Haddonfield had English gardens. They were all proper Victorian gardens straight out of the Philadelphia Flower Show. Beautifully dressed women in floppy hats and overpriced garden gloves spent hours in their yards pruning the bushes, and preening about in front of each other. But not at this house. It was here that Jim and the Hershbergers stopped.

“Here we are,” he announced.

“Here?” Katie asked, still confused. None of the four of them had spoken a word since they left the office.

“Yes, here.”

Jim didn’t make house calls. It wasn’t his thing. Katie had always figured he liked the sense of power doing things on his own terms - in his own office with his own cushy chairs. That’s why this whole scenario seemed particularly bizarre.
As they walked up towards the front door, it turned even more bizarre: there were several yards of police tape around the perimeter of the porch. Just police tape. There weren’t any police cars, no flashing lights, nothing like she’d seen on “Law and Order” at home.
“The decedent, uh, apparently committed suicide,” said Jim quietly.
The Hershbergers looked away as if the notion was too awful to contemplate.
“John’s phone number was on a note by the bed, so the police notified him immediately. There appears to be no next of kin available.”
Okay, Katie thought, that explains how John got involved. But it didn’t explain why they were actually at the house. Lawyers never made these kinds of visits. She stared at Jim, waiting for more information, something that would make some sense, explain why they were here.
“John identified the body for the authorities earlier today but he’s concerned about the home remaining open with no one to watch after it. There is a tenant upstairs…” his voice droned off.
“Actually, the tenant was the one who first notified the police,” Jim finished quickly. “The smell. Apparently the body had been in the house for awhile…” his voice trailed off.
Oh gross, thought Katie. But what…?
“The police have suggested that counsel be present while John and Rachel look around a bit and then lock up the house. After all, it is technically a crime scene, of sorts, while they finalize the reports and so. So if you could, uh, stick around…” he said, his voicing trailing up.
Katie could see the flicker of amusement in Jim’s eyes. He thinks this is funny. She bit her lip.
“Sure,” she said. “All in a day’s work, huh?”
Jim gave her a quick smile.
“Great,” he said. “I’ll see you at the office a little later.”
“Yeah,” said Katie. “I’ll see you later.”

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The Hershbergers

December 30, 2007 – 12:16 pm

(To read from the beginning, click here)

The beep of the phone brought her back to the reality of her Monday morning in New Jersey. If she wanted to keep her job, she needed to actually get some work done.
“Yes?” said Katie into the speakerphone.
“Katie, it’s Shirley.”
Katie rolled her eyes. Of course it was Shirley. Who else would be paging her in an office from no more than thirty feet away?
The office was small. Katie liked to think of it as cozy - small for law firms seemed to have a negative connotation. But there was no getting around the fact that it lacked the “wow” factor of a Center City law office in one of the highrises downtown. There were no glass paneled conference rooms, in fact, there wasn’t a conference room at all. Set on the first floor of a traditional brick building, the office that had so impressed and awed her during her interview had no atrium open to a skylight, no separate floor for reception and no sweeping panoramic views. There were just three offices: one for Jim, one for Katie and one that a part-time attorney from North Jersey used from time to time. The reception area consisted of a small desk space with partitions for privacy set back from the waiting area. Simple and professional, and not overwhelming. Katie liked it, though she often wished that Shirley was a little more removed from the main office space. She felt like she was constantly being monitored.
“Jim wants to see you in his office,” Shirley said.
“Okay,” Katie replied.
“Bring a pen.” Shirley added.
Katie made a face at the phone. This day was definitely not starting off as she planned. She grabbed a pen off of her desk, along with a legal pad of yellow paper and walked towards the door. Striding across the hallway, she knocked briefly on Jim’s door and went in without waiting for an answer.
“You needed to see me?” she asked.
Before he could answer, two faces peered around the backs of overstuffed leather chairs: a sweet looking elderly couple with somber expressions.
“Katie,” Jim said, “Let me introduce you to the Hershbergers.”
(To read from the beginning, click here)

John Hershberger appeared to be in his seventies. He was a slight man with thin gray hair and wire-rimmed glasses. He was dressed plainly in a cheap cotton dress shirt which had seen better days and worn navy pants. His wife, Rachel, was taller than he was, but just barely. She, too, was dressed rather plainly in a ginger and green checked dress and white orthopedic shoes, her hair pulled back into a tight bun. She clutched a large cheap black handbag with both hands.

They both stared at Katie intently, not saying a word.

“Um, how do you do?” asked Katie, walking over with her hand extended. “It’s nice to meet you.”

John and Rachel just nodded and turned back around in their seats without shaking hands.

Katie looked at Jim quizzically, her head cocked to one side. He smiled a small, tight smile.

“John and Rachel are here to see us about an estate,” said Jim.

”Oh, I’m sorry to hear that,” Katie offered the Hershbergers, who were still staring at Jim. It was awkward, but then the first meeting for an estate administration was always a little touchy: you never quite knew how the clients would react to discussing the loss. Sometimes the clients were relieved, other times, distraught, sometimes clearly gripped by avarice. You had to be prepared for almost anything. Katie started to pull up a chair.

“No, no,” said Jim quickly, rising up from his chair. “Don’t sit down. We’re going for a walk.”

“A walk?” Katie asked, puzzled. Jim didn’t walk anywhere unless he was on a golf course, and that was only when the carts were all rented.
John and Rachel slowly got up out of the big leather chairs, with Rachel clutching John’s arm for support.

“We’re going across the street,” answered Jim.

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Chapter One |

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The Interview

December 26, 2007 – 10:19 am

(To read from the beginning, click here)

As she sat in the waiting room, trying hard not to scratch from the wool tickling her skin in the heat, she felt a little overwhelmed. Magazines like Fortune and Forbes were arranged in perfect fans on the coffee table beside her. She could hear the drip of the coffee machine and fought the urge to help herself. She could use a cup of coffee but worried that she would spill on her white Jones New York shell – the one nice piece of professional clothing that she personally owned. Instead, she fidgeted with the sleeves of the suit jacket, pulling them over her hands, hiding her fingers and silently vowing once again to stop biting her nails.

Jim’s surprise at her appearance was obvious. It showed on his face as Shirley, his secretary, led Katie into the office. His eyebrow rose almost mockingly as he offered her a seat. Katie, conscious of her diminutive stature, eased into one of the cushy leather chairs fearing that she might altogether disappear into it, her feet barely touching the floor. She clasped her hands together in an effort to stop fidgeting. She couldn’t remember ever being this nervous. She had always been the self-confident one. But staring up at Jim, she suddenly felt four years old.

Jim, on the other hand, looked every bit his age. His hair had grayed and begun to thin, leaving tufts around his ears. Years of playing golf without any protection from the sun had resulted in fine crinkles around his eyes. He was wearing a long-sleeved blue and white pinstriped oxford shirt with a paisley tie kept tight with a small gold tie clasp in the shape of the scales of justice. It was exactly how Katie pictured a successful lawyer.

He picked up a leather portfolio, shuffled some papers and was silent for a moment.

“I see you went to Temple University,” he said, staring at what must have been her resume.

“Yes sir,” she replied, trying to sound more confident than she felt.

Jim smiled.

“And I can tell that you’re from the South from your accent. My wife grew up there, outside of Greensboro, North Carolina.”

“Oh,” Katie said excitedly, “That’s where my grandmother is from. I’m from the other part of the state, though, in Hampstead, on the coast. It’s about an hour north of Myrtle Beach…” Her voice trailed off as she noticed that Jim didn’t seem to be paying attention.

Damn it, Katie. Stop being so chatty, she scolded herself silently.

Jim looked up abruptly.

“What section of the Code governs transfers with a retained interest?” he asked.

“I beg your pardon?” Katie replied, confused.

“What section of the Code governs transfers with a retained interest?” he repeated impatiently.

“Um, I’m afraid that I don’t know,” answered Katie.

“What section of the Code deals with the marital deduction?”

“Um…” Katie began.

“Generation Skipping Transfer Tax?” he queried.

Katie let out a long sigh. What was with this guy? True, she wanted the job, but a test on Internal Revenue Code sections?

“I don’t know the numbers,” she said quietly.

Jim looked up, annoyed.

“I don’t know the numbers,” she repeated, speaking up a bit. “I don’t work that way. I don’t memorize Code sections or case law. I don’t know all of the Constitutional amendments in order. I don’t.” She paused. “But I know estates. I know everything there is to know about completing a federal estate tax return. I’ve read everything that I can get my hands on with respect to estate administration. I used to clerk at the IRS, I know their procedures inside and out. I’m good at what I do. I just need a chance to prove it. If you need someone who can recite numbers for you, I’m definitely not what you’re looking for. But if you’re looking for someone who really knows what she’s doing, then I’m your…” She struggled against saying “girl” and instead finished emphatically with “ideal candidate.”

There, she thought. “I’ve said my piece. He’ll either throw me out or give me a chance.

Jim considered her her with an amused look on his face.

“You’re hired,” he said. “You start tomorrow.”

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Taking the Plunge

December 24, 2007 – 8:09 am

(To read from the beginning, click here)

Practicing law in a big city like Philadelphia is so not what her friends back home were doing. Girls from rural North Carolina became wives or teachers, not lawyers. And they certainly didn’t practice law “Up North“ - in the big city.

She wrinkled her nose.

Okay, so suburban South Jersey wasn’t exactly Philadelphia, but she didn’t want to practice in a big Center City firm anyway. That’s why she jumped at the chance to work for Jim when she saw the ad in the newspaper:

Small boutique tax firm seeks law clerk.
Knowledge of Tax Code a must.
Estates experience preferred.

Katie remembered thinking that it was perfect, maybe too perfect. A small firm in a small town was exactly what she was looking for - and she had both tax and estates experience. Last semester, she had interned at the Internal Revenue Service in the estates department. At the IRS, she researched tax issues and assisted in audits; she even won an audit, something that she was very proud of. It seemed like the position was created for her.

Jim had been looking for someone a little different: older and male, like himself. On paper, Katie was perfect. In person, though, she was clearly not what he was expecting.

She was young, for one. Jim had gone to law school after working a number of jobs in sales (though Katie couldn’t picture it) and hadn’t started working as an attorney until he was almost 30 years old. Katie, on the other hand, started college early, graduating at the age of 20. Now, about to graduate from law school, she was just 23. Her only real work experience had been a stint at the weekly newspaper in her hometown - a summer job - and a part-time gig at Urban Outfitters while she was still at law school to pay the bills.

She felt like a little girl playing dress-up at the interview, wearing a borrowed navy wool suit that was two sizes too big. Katie didn’t yet own a real suit of her own and couldn’t afford to spend any money on one until she had a job that paid more than minimum wage. Her classmate, Lynda, had offered her a suit, and Katie had accepted, having no other alternatives. It wasn’t her size, or her style, but it was a suit. It would have to do.

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In the beginning

December 23, 2007 – 6:45 pm

Aristotle said that work is what we repeatedly do. If true, that’s utterly depressing, Katie thought, as she watched the message light flicker on her phone. Lately, all I’ve done is check voice mail and return calls. It’s not at all how I pictured being a lawyer.

“You have three new messages,” the voice intoned over the phone.

Great, thought Katie. She stared at the phone for a minute, then pushed at the number one with a pencil.

“First message. Monday. 5:11 a.m.” the machine chirped.

Nobody calls that early.

“Katie, it’s Jim. I was thinking about the Smith estate this morning. I need you to finish up that tax return and get it out to Peggy this morning. I know the deadline isn’t until the end of the week but we need to get it finished up.”

“I put that on your desk already,” Katie muttered under her breath. “Last week,” she added crossly.

“Beep. Next message. Monday. 5:38 a.m. Katie, it’s Jim again. I see where you left that return on my desk. I’m going to look it over, make some changes and put it in your box.”

“Great,” Katie muttered, searching halfheartedly through a stack of papers on her desk.

“Beep. Next message. Monday 8:43 a.m. Hey, Kate. It’s Elena. Sorry I forgot to call on Sunday. It was kind of nutty here. It was our three month anniversary so we were out. I know I said I’d call, but you understand. Anyhow, I’m late for class, so call me later. Beep.”

Sure, Katie thought. I mean, your three-month anniversary of seeing someone who is still seeing someone else is such a big deal.

She rolled her eyes.

I’m so glad that’s not me, she thought, all desperate and needy. I’d rather be independent.

Katie sighed.

Or is independent just another word for lonely? she thought wryly.

She sighed again, tapping the pencil mindlessly on the desk.

“End of messages.” the phone chirped.

She hit the speakerphone key with her pencil, disconnecting the phone, and shuffled the papers on her desk.

God, I wish I’d grabbed a cup of coffee this morning, she thought, barely stifling a yawn. This working fulltime while studying for the bar exam was really taking its toll.

Only one more month, she reminded herself, and then you’ll be a lawyer.

“A lawyer,” she repeated out loud.

My friends at home won’t know what to think.

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Chapter One |

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