The Associate

"I don’t know. Why are you so interested?"

"Because I don’t want to work on it."

"Why not?"

"Because I think Trylon is a rogue defense contractor with a rotten history of making cheap products, screwing the government and the taxpayers, dumping dirty weapons around the world, killing innocent people, promoting war, and propping up nasty little dictators, all in an effort to increase the bottom line and have something to show the shareholders."

"Anything else?"

"Lots."

"You don’t like Trylon?"

"No."

"The company is an extremely valuable client."

"Good. Let someone else work for them."

"Associates are not allowed to choose who they work for."

"I know. I’m just sharing my opinion."

"Well, keep it to yourself, okay. That kind of language will get you a lousy reputation."

"Don’t worry. I’ll do the work that’s assigned to me. But as a favor, as my supervising partner, I’m asking that you keep me busy elsewhere."

"I’ll see what I can do, but Mr. Rush makes the final decisions."

The second wine was a pinot noir from South Africa, and it, too, caused Doug’s eyes to roll around. Their entrees  –  braised pork shoulder and aged prime rib of beef  –  were not far behind, and they got serious about eating.

"You know your rate now goes to four hundred an hour," Doug said, chewing.

"Are you still at eight hundred?"

"Yes."

Kyle was not sure he had the spine to bill a client, regardless of how large the corporation might be, $400 for an hour of his inexperienced legal work. Not that he had a choice.

"On the subject of billing," Doug said. "For the month of October, I need you to estimate my hours on the Ontario Bank case. I got busy and lost track."

Kyle managed to keep chewing a small bite of braised pork, but he almost choked. Did he say "Estimate my hours"? He certainly did, and this was something new. There had been nothing at orientation, nothing in the handbook, nothing anywhere about "estimating" hours. Just the opposite. They had been trained to treat billing as the most important aspect of their practice. Pick up a file, look at the clock. Make a phone call, record the time. Sit through a meeting, count the minutes. Every hour had to be accounted for, and the billing was done on the spot. It was never to be delayed, and it had to be precise.

"How does one estimate hours?" Kyle asked carefully.

"Look at the file. Check the hours you billed on it. Look at my work, then estimate my time for the month of October. It’s no big deal."

At $800 an hour it was indeed a big deal.

"And don’t underestimate," Doug said, swirling his wine in the goblet.

Of course not. If we’re going to guess here, let’s be damned sure we land on the high side. "Is this a common practice?" Kyle asked.

Doug snorted in disbelief and swallowed a hunk of beef. Don’t be stupid, boy. It happens all the time. "And since we’re now talking about Ontario Bank," he said, meat visible between his teeth, "bill ’em for this lunch."

"I was planning on getting the check," Kyle said, a lame effort at humor.

"Of course not. I’ll put it on a credit card and bill the bank. I’m talking about our time. Two hours for you, now at four hundred, and two for me. The bank had record earnings last year."

That was nice to hear. They would need healthy earnings to continue their relationship with Scully & Pershing. Twenty-four hundred dollars for lunch, and that did not include food, wine, or tip.

"And now that you’ve passed the bar," Doug said as he took another bite, "you are entitled to use the black cars and bill clients for dinner. The rule goes like this: If you work until eight o’clock at night, then call a car. I’ll give you the number and code, and be sure the client gets billed for the car. And if you choose, you can go to a restaurant, spend no more than a hundred bucks on yourself, and also bill the client."

"You gotta be kidding."

"Why?"

"Because I’m at the office almost every night until eight, and if somebody else is buying dinner, then I’ll be damned sure I stay until eight."

"Attaboy."

"Seems kinda rich, doesn’t it?"

"What?"

"Billing the client for expensive dinners and lunches and cars."

A swirl of the pinot, a thoughtful stare at the red liquid, a long pull. "Kyle, my boy, look at it this way. Our biggest client is BXL, the seventh-largest company in the world, sales last year of $200 billion. Very smart businessmen who have a budget for everything. They live by budgets. They are fanatics about budgets. Last year their budget for legal fees was one percent of their total sales, or about $2 billion. We didn’t get all of that, because they use twenty different law firms around the world, but we got our share. Guess what happens if they don’t spend the amount they budget, if their legal fees fall short? Their in-house lawyers monitor our billings, and if our numbers are low, they call up and raise hell. What are we, the lawyers, doing wrong?

Aren’t we properly protecting them? The point is, they expect to spend the money. If we don’t take it, then it screws up their budgets, they get worried, and maybe they start looking around for another firm, one that will work harder at billing them. You follow?"

Yes, Kyle followed. It was beginning to make sense. Expensive meals were necessary not only to keep the hungry lawyers going but also to properly balance their clients’ financial statements. Now it seemed almost prudent.

"Yes," Kyle said, and for the first time the wine warmed his brain and made him relax.

Doug spread his arms and looked around. "And look at where we are, Kyle. Wall Street. The absolute pinnacle of success in America. We’re here, we’re on top, we’re smart and tough and talented, and we make a boatload of money to prove it. We are entitled, Kyle, and don’t forget it. Our clients pay us because they need us and we offer the best legal advice money can buy. Never forget that."

John McAvoy had lunch every day at the same table at an old cafe on Queen Street in York, and from the time Kyle was ten years old and hanging around the office, he loved having lunch with his father. The cafe’s special was a vegetable plate that varied each day and cost little, with homemade rolls and iced tea, no sugar. The cafe attracted lawyers, bankers, and judges, but there were also mechanics and bricklayers. The gossip roared and the bantering was nonstop. The lawyers always joked, "Who’s paying for lunch?" and boasted of wealthy clients who they’d stick with a $3.99 check.

Kyle doubted that his father ever gave a passing thought to billing a client for lunch.

Doug insisted on dessert. Two hours after entering the restaurant, they pushed themselves out the door and into the black car. Both nodded off during the fifteen-minute ride back to the office.

Chapter 25

For the first time in the nine-month life of the operation, Kyle contacted Bennie and suggested they meet. All prior meetings had been prompted by the handler, not the asset. Kyle gave no reason for wanting to meet, but then none was necessary. It was assumed that Kyle finally had something valuable to pass along. It was almost 6:00 p.m. on Friday, and Kyle was working in the main library on the thirty-ninth floor. By e-mail, Bennie suggested the hotel 60 Thompson in SoHo, and Kyle agreed. Kyle always agreed because he was not allowed to disagree or suggest another meeting place. It didn’t matter; he had no intention of showing up, not that Friday night. Joey wasn’t in town yet.