smiled and frowned at the same time.
“Two things, Mitch. First, my wife and I want you and Abby to have dinner with us Saturday. We dine out quite often, and we enjoy having our friends with us. I am somewhat of a chef myself, and I appreciate fine food and drink. We usually reserve a large table at one of our favorite restaurants in town, invite our friends and spend the evening with a nine-course meal and the rarest of wines. Will you and Abby be free on Saturday?”
“Of course.”
“Kendall Mahan, Wally Hudson, Lamar Quin and their wives will also be there.”
“We’d be delighted.”
“Good. My favorite place in Memphis is Justine’s. It’s an old French restaurant with exquisite cuisine and an impressive wine list. Say seven Saturday?”
“We’ll be there.”
“Second, there’s something we need to discuss. I’m sure you’re aware of it, but it’s worth mentioning. It’s very important to us. I know they taught you at Harvard that there exists a confidential relationship between yourself, as a lawyer, and your client. It’s a privileged relationship and you can never be forced to divulge anything a client tells you. It’s strictly confidential. It’s a violation of our ethics if we discuss our client’s business. Now, this applies to every lawyer, but at this firm we take this professional relationship very seriously. We don’t discuss a client’s business with anyone. Not other lawyers. Not spouses. Sometimes, not even each other. As a rule, we don’t talk at home, and our wives have learned not to ask. The less you say, the better off you are. Mr. Bendini was a great believer in secrecy, and he taught us well. You will never hear a member of this firm mention even so much as a client’s name outside this building. That’s how serious we are.”
Where’s he going with this? Mitch asked himself. Any second-year law student could give this speech. “I understand that, Mr. Lambert, and you don’t have to worry about me.”
“ ‘Loose tongues lose lawsuits.’ That was Mr. Bendini’s motto, and he applied it to everything. We simply do not discuss our client’s business with anyone, and that includes our wives. We’re very quiet, very secretive, and we like it that way. You’ll meet other lawyers around town and sooner or later they’ll ask something about our firm, or about a client. We don’t talk, understand?”
“Of course, Mr. Lambert.”
“Good. We’re very proud of you, Mitch. You’ll make a great lawyer. And a very rich lawyer. See you Saturday.”
Mrs. Ida had a message for Mitch. Mr. Tolar needed him at once. He thanked her and raced down the stairs, down the hallway, past his office, to the big one in the corner. There were now three secretaries digging and whispering to each other while the boss yelled into the telephone. Mitch found a safe spot in a chair by the door and watched the circus. The women pulled files and notebooks and mumbled in strange tongues among themselves. Occasionally Avery would snap his fingers and point here and there and they would jump like scared rabbits.
After a few minutes he slammed the phone down, again without saying goodbye. He glared at Mitch.
“Sonny Capps again. The Chinese want seventy-five million and he’s agreed to pay it. There will be forty-one limited partners instead of twenty-five. We have twenty days, or the deal is off.”
Two of the secretaries walked over to Mitch and handed him thick expandable files.
“Can you handle it?” Avery asked, almost with a sneer. The secretaries looked at him.
Mitch grabbed the files and headed for the door. “Of course I can handle it. Is that all?”
“It’s enough. I don’t want you to work on anything but that file between now and Saturday, understand?”
“Yes, boss.”
In his office he removed the bar review materials, all fifteen notebooks, and piled them in a corner. The Capps file was arranged neatly across the desk. He breathed deeply and began reading.
“Two things, Mitch. First, my wife and I want you and Abby to have dinner with us Saturday. We dine out quite often, and we enjoy having our friends with us. I am somewhat of a chef myself, and I appreciate fine food and drink. We usually reserve a large table at one of our favorite restaurants in town, invite our friends and spend the evening with a nine-course meal and the rarest of wines. Will you and Abby be free on Saturday?”
“Of course.”
“Kendall Mahan, Wally Hudson, Lamar Quin and their wives will also be there.”
“We’d be delighted.”
“Good. My favorite place in Memphis is Justine’s. It’s an old French restaurant with exquisite cuisine and an impressive wine list. Say seven Saturday?”
“We’ll be there.”
“Second, there’s something we need to discuss. I’m sure you’re aware of it, but it’s worth mentioning. It’s very important to us. I know they taught you at Harvard that there exists a confidential relationship between yourself, as a lawyer, and your client. It’s a privileged relationship and you can never be forced to divulge anything a client tells you. It’s strictly confidential. It’s a violation of our ethics if we discuss our client’s business. Now, this applies to every lawyer, but at this firm we take this professional relationship very seriously. We don’t discuss a client’s business with anyone. Not other lawyers. Not spouses. Sometimes, not even each other. As a rule, we don’t talk at home, and our wives have learned not to ask. The less you say, the better off you are. Mr. Bendini was a great believer in secrecy, and he taught us well. You will never hear a member of this firm mention even so much as a client’s name outside this building. That’s how serious we are.”
Where’s he going with this? Mitch asked himself. Any second-year law student could give this speech. “I understand that, Mr. Lambert, and you don’t have to worry about me.”
“ ‘Loose tongues lose lawsuits.’ That was Mr. Bendini’s motto, and he applied it to everything. We simply do not discuss our client’s business with anyone, and that includes our wives. We’re very quiet, very secretive, and we like it that way. You’ll meet other lawyers around town and sooner or later they’ll ask something about our firm, or about a client. We don’t talk, understand?”
“Of course, Mr. Lambert.”
“Good. We’re very proud of you, Mitch. You’ll make a great lawyer. And a very rich lawyer. See you Saturday.”
Mrs. Ida had a message for Mitch. Mr. Tolar needed him at once. He thanked her and raced down the stairs, down the hallway, past his office, to the big one in the corner. There were now three secretaries digging and whispering to each other while the boss yelled into the telephone. Mitch found a safe spot in a chair by the door and watched the circus. The women pulled files and notebooks and mumbled in strange tongues among themselves. Occasionally Avery would snap his fingers and point here and there and they would jump like scared rabbits.
After a few minutes he slammed the phone down, again without saying goodbye. He glared at Mitch.
“Sonny Capps again. The Chinese want seventy-five million and he’s agreed to pay it. There will be forty-one limited partners instead of twenty-five. We have twenty days, or the deal is off.”
Two of the secretaries walked over to Mitch and handed him thick expandable files.
“Can you handle it?” Avery asked, almost with a sneer. The secretaries looked at him.
Mitch grabbed the files and headed for the door. “Of course I can handle it. Is that all?”
“It’s enough. I don’t want you to work on anything but that file between now and Saturday, understand?”
“Yes, boss.”
In his office he removed the bar review materials, all fifteen notebooks, and piled them in a corner. The Capps file was arranged neatly across the desk. He breathed deeply and began reading.
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