Endangered (4 page)

The weight of the world was on Janae and she could feel her knees buckling under the pressure. She sat down on the top step of the staircase and cradled her head in her nervous palms. She felt alone.

“I am trying to correct what I believe is a systemic problem that is much bigger than your son's individual case. But in correcting that problem I can also help your son. I would not sacrifice him, not for a second.”

She shifted her body on the step, almost a half turn, until he came into view. She looked at him, square in the eyes.

“How can I know that you will protect him? How can I know that you will do right by him?”

He looked intently at her. “I will help your son. But there are so many other boys like him who need help, too. I can do both. Please come back into my office. I want to show you what I've spent years preparing for.”

The two walked side by side back to his office. Janae's pace slowed. She tapped his arm to get his attention. “By the way, you are killing me with your pronunciation of my name. It's Janae,” she said, and her right arm glided across the space between them as if she was drawing a bow over the strings of a violin. “It's softer.”

He chuckled. “Is that right?”

Chapter Six

CALVIN MOORE HAD BEEN AT THE LAW FIRM OF FOX, BIDDLE & ROTHSCHILD for a little over two years. He was intrigued by the fact that he had been summoned to his boss's office. As one of the younger associates at this mega-sized firm, he was accustomed to receiving assignments from more senior associates, but not one of the partners. He could count on the fingers of one hand the number of times he had been in Matthew Shapiro's office. And every single time, he had been a senior associate's tagalong. So this was a positive development. It was about time that he had a one-on-one with the boss.

The e-mail he received from Matthew was addressed only to him. The one-sentence email—
I need to see you in my office today at 2 pm
—offered no clues as to what he wanted.

Calvin thought about the possibility of being fired but easily dismissed it. He loved the law, and it showed in his exceptional work. For him the entire world revolved around the law, and he was most comfortable smack in the center of the action.

Good attorneys attain a level of artistry in their profession. They are as inspired as any musician or poet. And, Calvin had already been identified as a rising star at the firm. He had met every task, every hurdle set before him with brute determination. It didn't matter if it was jockeying for the choice assignments or rubbing elbows with more senior attorneys or clients. As much as the practice of law is art it is also sport. And he would not be outplayed. It wasn't enough to do the assignments—that was given. Rather, it was necessary to parlay every one of them into an opportunity to showcase what he called the four D's of success: drive, desire, dominance, and destiny.

Calvin had a plan. A five-year plan. That's how long it would be before he opened the doors to his own law firm. He envisioned his practice someday competing for the same clients as Fox, Biddle. He would accomplish what he set out to do the moment he signed his name to his Ivy League law school applications: create his own dynasty, not merely work for one.

He eyed the crystal desk clock that was a gift from his grandmother. His lips curled into a smile. Grandma Pearl was the single most influential person in his life. As big as her spirit was, she stood no more than five two and weighed at most a buck twenty.

She gave him the clock when he graduated from Pepperdine. She was proud that he was the first in their family to graduate from college. It would embarrass him to no end whenever she displayed him to her friends at church like a shiny new penny. With her it was always
Calvin, Calvin, Calvin
. She never noticed how they would roll their eyes and sometimes mumble loud enough to be heard by anyone trying to listen,
Not this story again.

She said she just knew the clock would go “real good in the fancy-shmancy office you'll have someday.” His current office met the requirement of fancy. It was located on one of the upper-level floors of the Comcast Center, the tallest building in the city. From his massive window, Calvin had an unobstructed view of William Penn atop City Hall. His office was filled with high-end furnishings. His favorite piece was the sleek cherry-wood desk that he sat at. But, it didn't belong to him. Grandma Pearl's clock was a daily reminder of his personal ambition. It was ten to two. He jotted a note on a Post-it to remind himself where he needed to pick up in the legal brief he was writing.

He grabbed his navy-colored designer suit jacket from behind the chair-back and put it on. On the back of his closed door hung a hand-carved wooden-framed mirror that he bought a few years back on his second trip to Ghana. He could see from his waist up. He straightened the yellow striped tie that wrapped around the collar of his crisp white shirt. He checked his Rolex watch; it read one fifty-four.

He tapped on the partner's door at one fifty-nine.

“Come in, Calvin,” came from the other side. The always-formal Matthew Shapiro was the fourth partner at the firm. His name didn't make it onto the building, and there was a very quiet running joke among the associates that he made every one of them pay for it with sweat and tears. According to office gossip, he was obsessed with time, grammar, and the law. He was always at the office, no matter how early you arrived or how late you left. They were convinced that the photos he had on his desk of his wife and kids were already in the frames when he bought them.

Calvin respected Matthew because he set the bar high, not just for the worker bees but for himself as well. The two of them shared the highest standards of excellence. Calvin observed Matthew. He studied how he greedily consumed the law in order to master it. Matthew thrived on the most challenging cases; and even with the more run-of-the-mill ones he took nothing for granted. Calvin admired that.

Calvin strode into Matthew's office with hopeful anticipation. A high-profile client could take his career to the next level, opening the doors to his own firm that much sooner.

Matthew's office was huge, and the light that flowed in from the panoramic window made Calvin feel like he was in the spotlight. Calvin smiled.

“Calvin, thanks for coming down to see me. I know you have a lot on your plate. How's that brief Cynthia McBride gave you to work on?”

“It's going well. In fact, the final draft will be on her desk by the close of business today.”

Matthew nodded subtly. “It's an important piece of the integration plan for our client's potential acquisition.”

“Well, I'm confident the brief will offer our client the perspective they need in order to proceed,” Calvin said.

“Very good,” Matthew replied.

Matthew stood up and motioned for them to move to the more informal region of his office. They sat at opposite ends of the dark L-shaped Italian leather sofa. Between them stood an exquisite coffee table that had a replica bust of Benjamin Franklin on it.

“Can I get you something to drink? I'm a little parched myself. I think I'll have water.”

“Water would be excellent.” He watched the short thin man in the fully buttoned-up three-piece suit walk several feet to the wall that had a painting of a vibrant red poppy. Calvin was sure it was a Georgia O'Keeffe original. He pressed on it and the wall moved forward, exposing a mini bar.

The firm spared no expense on the offices' architectural and interior design. His peers were accustomed to their luxurious surroundings. The partners and clients had ridiculous amounts of money, and the decor was reflective of what made them comfortable. A significant number of his colleagues, who had been groomed since childhood to pick up and carry the family mantle, had been driving Benzes since high school. It was a far cry from where Calvin came from.

“Calvin, I am pleased with your performance. You consistently produce outstanding work. You have a firm grasp on the law,” the partner intoned, and grinned approvingly. He sat back down on the sofa, off angle but toward Calvin. “I have a proposition for you.”

Calvin leaned in.

“The firm donates funds to several charitable organizations each year. Many of them are nonprofit legal organizations. I am on the boards of several of them. Unfortunately, there is one that I am particularly fond of that the firm is going to have to defund. We normally donate about a million to a million and a half each year to this organization.”

“That's a large investment. Why would we abruptly stop supporting them?”

“They are about to take on a case that we cannot have any part of because of the potential fallout from it. One or two of our key clients may take offense to any connection, however tenuous, we may have with this organization. The name of the organization is the Center for the Protection of Human Rights, or CPHR.”

“Sounds harmless enough.”

“Well, typically it is. They usually take up causes that we can all stand behind. They represented refugees from the Congo on seeking increased UN and U.S. involvement in combating the human rights violations there. I believe they've worked on global poverty issues and have fought against the use of excessive force at the U.S.- Mexico border. Good causes. Stuff I thought I would have a more active role in when I was bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, back in law school.”

Calvin was not passionate about practicing that area of law. “So, what benefit did the CPHR get in telling us upfront about this case? I take it they knew there was at least the possibility that the firm would cut ties?”

“Very perceptive of you. It's what you would call a heads-up. The executive director of the organization is my best friend. We went to Yale together. He introduced me to my wife. Our families still have dinner at least once a month.”

“Okay. So what's this case about?” Calvin asked.

“Well, I don't think I can do it any justice.”

Calvin wasn't buying it, not for a second. Matthew Shapiro was a formidable communicator.

Matthew pursed his thin lips. “Let's just say it involves some sensitive social issues.”

Calvin's eyes narrowed. “Is that code for race issues?”

Matthew's eyes fluttered sheepishly.

“Do you want me to do some pro bono work on it? Maybe do some research after hours, write a brief or two?”

“Actually, I had something else in mind. I want the firm to loan you out to the organization for a few months, maybe six. Your only assignment during that time would be this case. Roger Whitford—he's the director I told you about—would come up with your specific assignments. The two of you would make up the legal team on this case. I promise you, Calvin, you will learn more from Roger on this one case about being an exceptional attorney than you would in several years here as an associate.”

Matthew stood up and walked over to the massive window. He looked down on the city as he took in a long gulp of water. He removed a neatly folded handkerchief from the watch pocket of his vest and wiped the corners of his mouth with it. He refolded the hankie and returned it to its proper place.

“Of course this will only happen with your agreement. And your salary will still come from Fox, Biddle, so that's a nonissue.” Matthew swiped his bottom lip with his finger. “Or, let's say, your full salary plus a one-hundred-thousand-dollar bonus.”

Calvin felt a familiar discomfort that came with the feeling he was being played. Why should he disrupt his career for a case that clearly no one at the firm wanted publicly to have anything to do with? Matthew dangling a hundred G's did not impress Calvin.

Calvin took a swallow of water to steady his mind. He graduated at the top of his class, made law review, and gained a coveted spot as an associate at one of the top law firms not only in Philadelphia but in the country.
And this all boils down to me being black? Matthew wants me involved on this mystery case because of my race, not my talent?

“You are asking me to pimp myself out to an organization that you don't want any of our client base to know about for fear that they may cut ties with us over a cause that you personally support but publicly won't acknowledge. In other words—let me get this straight—you want me to risk my reputation in return for a one-time bonus of a hundred grand. And you already told me that there's a million to a million five out there somewhere with no place to go.”

Calvin leaned farther forward on the edge of his seat. “When I decided to come and work for Fox, Biddle that was my intention—private practice, not nonprofit.”

Matthew beamed at Calvin. “Ah, so shrewd, you don't miss a thing. I am so glad you work for us. Look, Calvin, you've proven yourself here. You have partnership potential, as far as I'm concerned. If you don't want to do it, that's your decision.”

Calvin doubted his words. A decision about his future had already been made the moment he had been summoned to the partner's office.

“But I'd like you to hear Roger out. I think it will provide you with many professional opportunities. And, it's not unprecedented for firms to lend out their associates. With this recession, many of the large firms are trying to hold on to their talent anyway they know how. Some are giving associates half their salary and having them gain some experience in the meantime working for nonprofits. The only difference here is that this is not about the recession, and you will get your full pay, and then some.”

“Why me?”

“Because you are the best young talent we have. And he is my best friend and I believe in his work. There is still a touch of wanting to save the world inside me.” He grinned. “Go see Roger. Here, I have one of his cards.” He thrust the card, pressed between the tips of his index and middle fingers, in Calvin's direction.

“Consider this a favor to me. You will not regret it, neither at this firm nor as an attorney.”