Chapter 11
Chase
It was 9 a.m. on a Saturday morning. I was sitting in the Morrison & Morrison conference room wearing a suit and tie while the rest of Tampa was still in bed.
Or at the beach.
Or doing literally anything that didn’t involve reviewing asset distribution spreadsheets with a divorcing couple who couldn’t agree on who got the vintage wine collection.
“Mr. Sullivan has prepared a proposed division,” Catherine Morrison said, nodding at me with the kind of professional warmth that meantdon’t screw this up. “Chase?”
I pulled out the spreadsheet I’d spent four hours on last night after leaving Barbacks. I hadn’t walked in the door to my apartment until 12:30. Still, I worked until 3 a.m. because sleep was optional for recently minted attorneys.
I stood and distributed copies to everyone at the table. “I’ve divided the assets into three categories: marital property, separate property, and contested items. Starting with the wine collection . . .”
I walked them through all of it.
The wine. The art. The time-share in Clearwater that neither of them wanted but both refused to let go of out of principle. The boat. The vintage car collection. The wedding china that Mrs. Henderson swore was a family heirloom but Mr. Henderson had receipts proving they’d bought at Pottery Barn a year after their wedding.
I was running on coffee and the memory of a solid night’s sleep, but I was good at this. By the time the meeting wrapped, both Hendersons were nodding. They weren’t happy—nobody was happy in a divorce—but they appeared satisfied, like they’d each gotten a fair shake.
“This is acceptable,” Mrs. Henderson said, which from her was a glowing endorsement.
Mr. Henderson nodded. That was all we’d get out of him.
Catherine walked them out while Bob stayed behind.
“Good work today,” he said, which was the highest compliment I’d ever received from him.
“Thanks.”
“Really, Chase. That was excellent. Those two have been at each other for months.” He gathered his papers, then paused. “You finished the Morrison deposition prep?”
“Almost. I need another few hours—”
“And the Patterson brief?”
“Still working on it.”
“The Kowalski mediation documents?”
“Those are . . . in progress.”
Bob’s expression soured. “Chase, those are all due Monday.”
“I know.”
“Can you get them done?”
“Yes.” I would have to pull another all-nighter, maybe two. “I’ll make it happen.”
“Good.” He headed for the door, then stopped. “You did excellent work today. We’re lucky to have you.”
Then he left.
I sat there in the empty conference room, staring at the spreadsheet in front of me, Bob’s compliment still echoing in my ears right alongside the reminder of everything I still had to do.
You did excellent work. Now do more work.
