The Living Room (17 page)

“Did I tell you my sister in Wilmington read your book?”

“No, sir.”

“She thought it was a very credible first effort.”

Amy pressed her lips together in a tight smile.

“I’m glad she liked it.”

Mr. Phillips shifted in his chair. “I have to admit you surprised me when you accepted my offer to come back to work. I thought the legal profession had lost your skills forever.”

“The timing was right,” Amy replied. “And I’m grateful you called. It meant a lot that you were willing to bring me back with a raise and benefits even if it proves temporary.”

“Poor negotiation skills on my part,” the lawyer grunted. “I know better than to open with my best offer, but I was afraid we wouldn’t tempt you with anything less. At least it worked.”

“And I’m ready to get to it. Emily left me a detailed memo of your work in progress. Is there anything I need to know before I get started? I saw that you have twenty-seven items in the dictation queue.”

“Rule number one still applies.”

“Don’t miss any deadlines.”

“Correct. And number two?”

“Make your life as a lawyer easier, not harder.” Amy could still remember how wide-eyed she’d been when Mr. Phillips laid down his version of the Ten Commandments for secretaries. She pointed to the desk. “Do you still want me to sort the morning mail before—”

“Yes, yes,” Mr. Phillips interrupted. “I like to know if there are any fires that have to be put out first thing.”

“What about priority between your work and what I do for Chris Lance? I didn’t have anything from him in my queue, and Emily didn’t mention his work in her memo.”

“We’ll create a new rule for that. My work always takes precedence unless you clear it with me first. You know more about some aspects of practicing law than he does and can tell what’s critical and what can wait. I’ll serve as gatekeeper for his work.”

Amy wasn’t sure how working for the two lawyers was going to play out.

“We’ll sort out the kinks,” Mr. Phillips continued.

“Sounds like fun,” Amy spoke without thinking.

Mr. Phillips gave her a startled look.

“Sorry,” Amy said.

“You don’t have to tell me I’m a prima donna,” the senior partner said with what passed for a smile on his gruff face. “Just promise you won’t put me in one of your books and turn me into an ogre.”

Amy held up her right hand. “I promise.”

eleven

O
ne advantage of being busy was that time spent at the office passed quickly. Most of what Amy had to do involved matters started by Emily. She didn’t find any of the smoldering fires Mr. Phillips hated in the initial projects listed in the memo.

Midmorning Amy began the process of whittling down the backlog of dictation. Mr. Phillips was meticulous in his recording. He provided the spelling of obscure legal terms and inserted precise punctuation that conformed to the rules of grammar the senior partner had learned in high school. Amy usually followed his instructions; however, in the case of a mistake or difference of opinion, she always highlighted her change. Mr. Phillips had an uncanny ability to remember what he’d said and recognize any deviations. She took a break a few minutes past noon and went to the large kitchen at the rear of the house to eat lunch.

Several women were sitting at a round table eating. Each one of them, including Janelle, had a copy of
A
Great
and
Precious
Promise
open in front of them as if reading the book during lunch. The room was completely quiet. Amy stopped in the doorway.

“Okay,” she said. “What’s going on here?”

Betsy Gamble, a real-estate paralegal, looked up from the book with a startled expression on her face.

“Ladies!” she exclaimed. “It’s Amy Clarke, the author!”

Every woman put down her copy of the book and turned to stare. Amy rolled her eyes, and everyone in the room burst into laughter.

“Welcome back,” one woman called out.

“We’re proud of you,” Betsy added.

“Sit by me,” said Val Jenkins, a legal assistant whom Amy had helped train. “I saved you a place. We were worried Mr. Phillips had so much for you to do that you weren’t going to be able to stop for lunch.”

The gracious reception by the women touched Amy. Natalie had been right. They didn’t view her as a failure for coming back to work. She signed a few books and answered questions in between bites of salad. Amy noticed that two women weren’t present.

“Where are Cynthia and Nora?” she asked Betsy in a low voice.

“Not everyone wanted to be part of the fan club.” Betsy shrugged. “They made some excuse about needing to take an extra thirty minutes and eat out today. I think it’s their loss. Don’t let it bother you.”

Amy’s relationships with Cynthia and Nora had always been chilly. Surrounded by women who seemed genuinely glad to see her, it was easy for Amy to overlook their slight. The normal lunch break was only half an hour long, so they quickly finished. Amy thanked the group for their kindness.

“If you hadn’t come back, Val and I might have had to do double duty,” said Sally Compton, another legal assistant. “We’re grateful to you.”

“I’m still excited from meeting you this morning,” Janelle added.

Amy rinsed the plastic container for her salad in the sink and headed back to her office. When she turned the corner into her work area, she almost collided with a tall, sandy-haired young man with clear blue eyes. He stuck out his hand and touched her right shoulder to avoid running into her.

“Excuse me,” he said. “I’m Chris Lance.”

Amy introduced herself.

“I recognize you,” Chris replied.

“From the photo on the back of my book?”

“You’ve written a book?” the young lawyer asked with a puzzled look on his face.

“It’s a romance novel. Most of the female staff know about it. I thought you might have heard about it or seen a copy.”

“I’m not into books with a half-naked woman draped across a bare-chested man on the cover,” the lawyer replied with a smile. “But I know they sell or they wouldn’t be on the shelves. Congratulations.”

“It’s not that kind of romance novel,” Amy replied, feeling her face flush. “It’s inspirational. You know, with a Christian message.”

Amy could tell the lawyer didn’t completely grasp the precise nature of her writing genre. He held up a DVD in a plastic case.

“I saw you in the video taken when Sanford Dominick executed his last will and testament several years ago. You signed as the notary public. Do you remember doing it?”

“Oh, yes.” Amy paused. “Mr. Dominick was a character.”

“So I hear. Like someone you’d put in a book. Mr. Phillips has asked me to work on the administration of the estate and told me you could provide clerical support.”

“Filling out the forms to file with the clerk’s office?”

“I wish it was going to be that easy. At least one competing will has surfaced, and there are rumors flying around that there may be other heirs wanting a piece of the estate. One of Dominick’s daughters is alleging her father wouldn’t have left the majority of his estate to a much younger woman he met and married six months before the will was signed unless there was improper influence.”

“It was an unconventional will signing,” Amy admitted. “I can’t remember the details. Was his new wife in the video?”

“Bleached-blond hair and all. I know Mr. Phillips brought in a videographer to record the proceedings in hopes it would bolster the legitimacy of what was taking place, but I’m not sure that’s the way a jury will view it. It’s going to be hard for some folks to get past how the people in the room look, except you, Mr. Phillips, and the witnesses, of course.”

“The wife’s son from a previous marriage was there, too.”

“You can see him for a few seconds. He was the product of her second marriage. Was he some kind of bodybuilder?”

“I don’t know, but he was a big man.”

“I met Natasha, the wife, but I’ve only talked to her son on the phone.”

“The obituary in the newspaper said they were still married at the time of his death.”

“But it left out that they hadn’t been within five hundred miles of each other for over two years. She’s been staying in a condominium in south Florida, and Dominick was holed up with twenty-four-hour nursing care at the house he owns out in the country on the east side of town. There are at least two alleged illegitimate children who have their hands out wanting to be bought off. Bill McKay is the executor who’s going to have to sort it out.”

“The lawyer?”

“Yes. You may not remember, but Mr. Phillips asked him to serve as executor even though this firm prepared the will. I’m sure Mr. Phillips anticipated there might be a problem down the road and didn’t want us to be disqualified by a conflict of interest. There’s a lot more money to be made fighting for the will than serving as executor, and McKay will do whatever Mr. Phillips tells him. But this case is going to end up in front of a judge and jury.”

Bill McKay, an older man, was a sole practitioner. He had a business clientele and never went to court. He referred all litigation to Jones, Barrington, and Phillips.

“What a mess.”

“Which is why I need some help. I’ve worked with Mr. Phillips on two other estates that had problems, but nothing like this.”

Chris Lance was young, but he didn’t seem to lack confidence. He handed her the DVD.

“First thing for you to do is review the DVD and write a memo for the file about your independent recollections. That way your thoughts and impressions become work product for purposes of your deposition.”

“I’ll be deposed?”

“Yes, and I don’t know how many times. We should be able to consolidate all the claims, but something new can always pop up outside our control. We’re at the beginning stages.”

“The priority for my work will be subject to Mr. Phillips’s approval.”

“I understand where I fit in the firm hierarchy,” Chris replied with a grin. “But this is a big case, and if I’m right, it will only get bigger.”

“Is there a paper file?”

“In a cabinet outside my office. It’s on the second floor at the back next to the small conference room with the fireplace in it.”

“That used to be Bud Carrier’s office.”

“So I’ve been told. Did you ever work with him?”

“For a year or so before he took an in-house job with a bank in Cary.”

Chris pointed to the DVD that Amy had placed on her desk.

“Any idea when you will get a chance to watch the DVD and prepare a memo of your recollections?”

“I have a backlog of dictation from Mr. Phillips that will keep me busy for two or three days. And he will be passing along new work now that he has someone to type it. I’ll check with Mr. Phillips. If he agrees, would the middle of next week be soon enough?”

“Yeah.” Chris paused. “I was going to dictate something for you myself on a different matter with a lower priority. I’m fast on a keyboard, but Mr. Phillips wants me to get used to dictating more.”

“Send it along.”

Chris left, and Amy resumed her place in front of the computer screen. She’d worked with four different lawyers during her tenure with the firm and could adapt to different personalities and work styles. Fortunately, she’d never worked with one who yelled and threw files, and Chris Lance didn’t seem to come from that mold.

By 3:00 p.m., she’d placed several pieces of correspondence, a draft of a commercial lease, a revision of a buy-sell agreement for a local group of doctors, and some answers to interrogatories in a breach-of-contract lawsuit on Mr. Phillips’s desk. The file for each matter was
positioned beneath that item. She was revising interrogatory answers when Mr. Phillips returned to the office from a meeting.

“Did you do the letter to Frank Norris?” he asked, sticking his head through the open door between their offices.

“Yes, sir. It’s here.”

Mr. Phillips picked it up from the corner of Amy’s desk and read it.

“Did you change anything?”

“No, sir. If I do that I’ll mark it as a draft and show you what I’ve done.”

“Of course you will,” he said as he turned to the second page of the letter. “Emily wasn’t as careful about that as you are. This is ready to go.”

“Do you want it sent in the mail and as an e-mail attachment?”

“Yes, both.” Mr. Phillips signed the letter and handed it to Amy. “Did you meet Chris?”

“Yes, and he told me the Dominick estate is going to be litigated.”

“I knew that from day one,” Mr. Phillips grunted. “Whenever there is that much money lying around, people are going to try to grab some. There’s enough at stake to justify two lawyers working on it. Natasha may be flaky, but she pays the bills. The whole scenario is a recipe for a will contest.”

Having multiple wives, mistresses, and illegitimate children didn’t help, Amy thought.

“Chris wants me to watch the DVD of the signing and prepare a memo of my recollections. I told him I would have it done by the middle of next week.”