Chapter 5
Chase
Iburst through the front door of Morrison & Morrison Family Law at 9:11 a.m., out of breath, my shirt wrinkled, and my tie so askew it looked more like a noose than a necktie.
Ashley looked up from her desk, then popped her gum so loud it sounded like a gunshot.
“They’re in the conference room,” she said, her voice somewhere between sympathy and panic. “With the Johnsons. You were supposed to sit in on this meeting.”
“Shit.”
“Yeah.” Another aggressive gum pop. “Good luck.”
I’d been working at Morrison & Morrison for one year, one month, and three days, not that I was counting. Bob and Catherine Morrison had hired me straight out of Stetson Law, probably because I’d been desperate enough to accept the salary theyoffered and naïve enough to think “fast-paced environment” in the job posting meant “exciting” and not “we will work you until you forget what daylight looks like.”
The Morrisons had been married for twenty-five years and practicing law together for twenty of them. They finished each other’s sentences and shared an office with one of those weird conjoined desks that forced them to look at each other all day. They had also perfected the art of the unified front when it came to managing associates, which meant when one of them was disappointed, I got double the guilt trip.
I dropped my briefcase in my office, a converted sunroom that turned into a greenhouse every afternoon, and grabbed a legal pad and pen. My papers from this morning’s sidewalk disaster were still crumpled and out of order, but I’d deal with that later. Right now, I needed to look professional.
Deep breath.
I knocked on the conference room door and opened it without waiting for a response.
“Sorry I’m late,” I said, sliding into the empty chair. “Traffic on Dale Mabry was—”
“We started without you,” Catherine Morrison said, her voice crisp and professional and loaded with disappointment. She was in her fifties, impeccablydressed as always, with silver hair cut in a sharp bob and reading glasses that she somehow made her look intimidating. “The Johnsons were just telling us about the custody arrangement.”
“Right. Yes. The custody arrangement.” I flipped open my legal pad like I knew what the hell we were talking about. I didn’t. I hadn’t reviewed the Johnson file this morning because I’d been too busy racing around my apartment trying to find my shoes.
Bob gave me a look that I’d come to know well over the past year. It said,We’ll talk about this later, and it won’t be pleasant.
Bob was in his early sixties, built like a former football player gone soft, and had a voice that could boom across a courtroom or drop to a whisper that was somehow even more terrifying.
Right then, he was using the creepy whisper.
“Chase will be taking notes,” he said, gesturing to me without looking away from the clients.
I started writing.
The meeting lasted forty-five minutes. Mrs. Johnson cried twice. Mr. Johnson looked like he was aging in real time. I took six pages of notes, most of which were legible. When the Johnsons finally left, Catherine turned to me.
“My office. Five minutes.”
Bob didn’t say a word. He just gathered his filesand followed his wife out of the conference room.
Ashley appeared in the doorway as soon as they left, her gum cracking like bubble wrap. “You’re in trouble.”
“I know.”
“Like, big trouble.”
“I know.”
“Bob’s doing that thing where he gets quiet.”
“Ashley, you’re not helping.”
She cracked her gum again, so loud I flinched. “Just saying. Maybe lead with an apology?”
