They slide into the thick of it: my billables are strong, my writing is “sharp and persuasive,” my client reviews “excellent,on par with expectations for first-year associates.” I nod, every muscle frozen.
Then the other shoe drops: “We do, however, have to address the recent trial loss.” For a second, my vision blurs.
I nod. My mouth has gone dry. I nod again, and it feels as if I’m agreeing to be punched.
The partner speaking leans forward, fingers interlocked, and says, “It was an unfortunate outcome. With the case being so large, news of the loss has spread, and it’s a bad look for the firm. You understand why that concerns us.”
I do. I understand perfectly. I also understand that what “concerns us” is the optics, not the outcome. That the firm’s reputation matters far more to them than any one client’s pain. But I keep my face neutral, hands folded, waiting for them to show their real teeth.
“We expected more from you,” the partner says. “You were given a high-visibility matter and full autonomy. Some of us feel that the outcome suggested a lack of knowledge. Or maybe a failure to anticipate defense tactics.”
Heat crawls up my neck. I keep my eyes pinned on my notes in front of me. I want to say I did anticipate them. I want to say I did everything I could, but I don’t.
They go in for the kill, voices soft but still just as lethal.
“The firm’s reputation is built on results, Avery. Not effort. Not intention. If we allow new attorneys to take the lead on top-tier litigation cases, there has to be proof of return on investment.”
The words ‘return on investment’ stick in my brain. I try to keep my face neutral, but I feel James’s gaze finally flick to me.
I brace myself for James to pile on, to let the berating continue, but he says, “That’s enough.”
The room actually goes silent. One partner in particular, James’s father, stutters for a beat.
James doesn’t move, doesn’t change expression.
“Avery’s performance in that trial was exemplary. The defense had a persuasive expert witness, and the law wasn’t on our side to begin with. You want to dock her for that? You dock me.” He turns to meet my eyes for a fraction of a second before turning back to the partners. “If you have a problem, take it up with me after this meeting.”
The partners stare at James, each calculating whether to escalate or retreat. His father’s jaw ticks. He leans back in his chair, pinches the bridge of his nose, then addresses James. The next words come out low, almost private.
“We’ll discuss this later,” he says, eyes boring into James, then me, then the glass wall where a gaggle of staff has begun to assemble, as if they could smell blood in the water.
Looking past my reflection in the glass, I realize the entire floor has gone still, everyone watching this meeting unfold. My face floods with embarrassment.
James’s father’s gaze snaps from him to me, and in the flicker of that moment I see what he’s thinking. Not just that James is stepping out of line, not just that his own son is willing to go to war for an associate, but the suspicion that there is something else.
He drums his fingers once, twice, against the table, then levels a stare at me so direct it feels like a threat.
The partners have noticed the attention too, though none of them acknowledge it directly. Instead, they close their folders in a near-simultaneous flutter and leave the conference room quickly.
All except James’s father.
“Jameson, your office. Now. I think the prying eyes have seen enough already,” he says, nodding to the paralegals still watching.
They scramble back to their work as Jameson and his father move toward the conference room door.
“You too, Avery. This concerns you, after all,” he adds.
My heart plummets, and I stand, following the two men out.
James sits behind his desk and folds his arms, his face unreadable. “Let’s hear it,” he says, his voice low.
“I don’t know what has gotten into you or what is going on. And I don’t want to know. I could terminate you both if I knew you had an inappropriate relationship. Whatever this is, it ends now.” His gaze slides from his son to me, and then back again.
My pulse drums in my ears. It feels as though all the air has been sucked out of the room.
James doesn’t blink. “You’re out of line,” he says, the words so calm they could freeze water.
His father’s mouth curls. “Jamie, I have never seen you behave that way.” He turns to me. “Avery, I want you to hear this directly. If there is ever a question of impropriety, if you and my son are in any way…entangled, I will act. Do you understand?”
