"So?"
"So, it'll make great copy, Mr. Hall. Can't you see the headlines - LONG-LOST GRANDSON RETURNS TO SAVE GRAMPS."
"Knock it off, Daniel," Goodman said.
But he continued. "The press will eat it up, don't you see, Mr. Hall? They'll expose you and talk about how crazy your family is."
"But we love the press, don't we, Mr. Rosen?" Adam asked coolly. "We're trial lawyers. Aren't we supposed to perform for the cameras? You've never - "
"A very good point," Goodman interrupted. "Daniel, perhaps you shouldn't advise this young man to ignore the press. We can tell stories about some of your stunts."
"Yes, please, Daniel, lecture the kid about everything else, but lay off the media crap," Wycoff said with a nasty grin. "You wrote the book."
For a brief moment, Rosen appeared to be embarrassed. Adam watched him closely.
"I rather like the scenario myself," Goodman said, twirling his bow tie and studying the bookshelves behind Rosen. "There's a lot to be said for it, actually. Could be great for us poor little pro bono folks. Think of it. This young lawyer down there fighting like crazy to save a rather famous death row killer. And he's our lawyer - Kravitz & Bane. Sure there'll be a ton of press, but what will it hurt?"
"It's a wonderful idea, if you ask me," Wycoff added just as his mini-phone buzzed somewhere deep in a pocket. He stuck it to his jaw and turned away from the meeting.
"What if he dies? Don't we look bad?" Rosen asked Goodman.
"He's supposed to die, okay? That's why he's on death row," Goodman explained.
Wycoff stopped his mumbling and slid the phone into a pocket. "I gotta go," he said, moving toward the door, nervous now, in a hurry. "Where are we?"
"I still don't like it," Rosen said.
"Daniel, Daniel, always a hard ass," Wycoff said as he stopped at the end of the table and leaned on it with both hands. "You know it's a good idea, you're just pissed because he didn't tell us up front."
"That's true. He deceived us, and now he's using us."
Adam took a deep breath and shook his head.
"Get a grip, Daniel. His interview was a year ago, in the past. It's gone, man. Forget about it. We have more pressing matters at hand. He's bright. He works very hard. Smooth on his feet. Meticulous research. We're lucky to have him. So his family's messed up. Surely we're not going to terminate every lawyer here with a dysfunctional family." Wycoff grinned at Adam. "Plus, all the secretaries think he's cute. I say we send him south for a few months, then get him back here as soon as possible. I need him. Gotta run." He disappeared and closed the door behind him.
The room was silent as Rosen scribbled on his pad, then gave it up and closed the file. Adam almost felt sorry for him. Here was this great warrior, the legendary Charlie Hustle of Chicago law, a great barrister who for thirty years swayed juries and terrified opponents and intimidated judges, now sitting here as a pencil pusher, trying desperately to agonize over the question of assigning a rookie to a pro bono project. Adam saw the humor, the irony, and the pity.
"I'll agree to it, Mr. Hall," Rosen said with much drama in his low voice, almost a whisper, as if terribly frustrated by all this. "But I promise you this: when the Cayhall matter is over, and you return to Chicago, I'll recommend your termination from Kravitz & Bane."
"Probably won't be necessary," Adam said quickly.
"You presented yourself to us under false pretenses," Rosen continued.
"I said I was sorry. Won't happen again."
"Plus, you're a smart ass."
"So are you, Mr. Rosen. Show me a trial lawyer who's not a smart ass."
"Real cute. Enjoy the Cayhall case, Mr. Hall, because it'll be your last bit of work for this firm."
"You want me to enjoy an execution?"
"Relax, Daniel," Goodman said softly. "Just relax. No one's getting fired around here."
Rosen pointed an angry finger at Goodman. "I swear I'll recommend his termination."
"Fine. All you can do is recommend, Daniel. I'll take it to the committee, and we'll just have a huge brawl. Okay?"
"I can't wait," Rosen snarled as he jumped to his feet. "I'll start lobbying now. I'll have my votes by the end of the week. Good day!" He stormed from the room and slammed the door.
They sat in silence next to each other, just staring across the table over the backs of the empty chairs to the rows of thick law books lined neatly on the wall, listening to the echo of the slamming door.
"Thanks," Adam finally said.
"He's not a bad guy, really," Goodman said.
"Charming. A real prince."
"I've known him a long time. He's suffering now, really frustrated and depressed. We're not sure what to do with him."
"What about retirement?"
"It's been considered, but no partner has ever been forced into retirement. For obvious reasons, it's a precedent we'd like to avoid."
"Is he serious about firing me?"
"Don't worry, Adam. It won't happen. I promise. You were wrong in not disclosing it, but it's a minor sin. And a perfectly understandable one. You're young, scared, naive, and you want to help. Don't worry about Rosen. I doubt if he'll be in this position three months from now."
"Deep down, I think he adores me."
"It's quite obvious."
Adam took a deep breath and walked around the table. Goodman uncapped his pen and began making notes. "There's not much time, Adam," he said.
"I know."
"When can you leave?"
"Tomorrow. I'll pack tonight. It's a ten-hour drive."
"The file weighs a hundred pounds. It's down in printing right now. I'll ship it tomorrow."
"Tell me about our office in Memphis."
"I talked to them about an hour ago. Managing partner is Baker Cooley, and he's expecting you. They'll have a small office and a secretary for you, and they'll help if they can.
They're not much when it comes to litigation."
"How many lawyers?"
"Twelve. It's a little boutique firm we swallowed ten years ago, and no one remembers exactly why. Good boys, though. Good lawyers. It's the remnants of an old firm that prospered with the cotton and grain traders down there, and I think that's the connection to Chicago. Anyway, it looks nice on the letterhead. Have you been to Memphis?"
"I was born there, remember?"
"Oh yes."
"I've been once. I visited my aunt there a few years ago."
"It's an old river town, pretty laid back. You'll enjoy it."
Adam sat across the table from Goodman. "How can I possibly enjoy the next few months?"
"Good point. You should go to the Row as quickly as possible."
"I'll be there the day after tomorrow."
"Good. I'll call the warden. His name is Phillip Naifeh, Lebanese oddly enough. There are quite a few of them in the Mississippi Delta. Anyway, he's an old friend, and I'll tell him you're coming."
"The warden is your friend?"
"Yes. We go back several years, to Maynard Tole, a nasty little boy who was my first casualty in this war. He was executed in 1986, I believe, and the warden and I became friends. He's opposed to the death penalty, if you can believe it."
"I don't believe it."
"He hates executions. You're about to learn something, Adam - the death penalty may be very popular in our country, but the people who are forced to impose it are not supporters. You're about to meet these people: the guards who get close to the inmates; the administrators who must plan for an efficient killing; the prison employees who rehearse for a month beforehand. It's a strange little corner of the world, and a very depressing one."