I stopped by Kevin Sunderberg’s office on my way out and dropped an armload of deal toys on his desk. He’s always wanted the little trophies representing the hundreds of thankless hours I worked helping clients buy and sell companies. He’s welcome to them. I’m done.
With a final glance over my shoulder, I step out onto East 53rd, wondering if anyone is going to come chasing after me to snatch back the pro bono file I’d lifted from my filing cabinet. It’s the only client file I grabbed on my way out. Chances are no one will miss it.
I’ve been working on this prisoners’ rights case here and there for a couple of months with little progress. Two phone interviews with an inmate at Rikers Island about the impingement of his constitutional rights and a crime he says he didn’t commit.
Why would a corporate associate attorney handle a prisoners’ rights case pro bono? Welcome to the wonderful world of giving back in the legal community. You don’t even have to be qualified to handle a case, just willing to give it a shot. Most associates try to dodge these assignments for all they’re worth, but I actually volunteered for this one. It’s the one project I worked on that didn’t directly pad someone else’s bottom line.
Maybe this is my penance. I can get some kind of justice for this guy, and it’ll give me something to do while I figure out my next step.
Ed, my driver, pulls up at the curb as I heft the box higher in my arms. He exits the car and comes around to the side to snatch it from my grip.
“Ms. Karas, you should have notified me in your text that I needed to retrieve something from your office.”
“No worries, Ed. I managed.”
There’s no way in hell I wanted him to see the looks that followed me as I made my walk of shame out of the office. Kevin Sunderberg had made sure to fake cough whore loud enough for everyone on the floor to hear it. Unoriginal prick.
“Home, then?”
“Yes. Thank you.” I slide inside the Mercedes, acknowledging silently that I have absolutely no idea what I’m going to do next.
My phone buzzes again. Crey.
I should answer. Should explain everything and tell him I’ve quit my job, but I don’t want to do it. He’s always been so proud of me, and right now, there’s nothing to be proud of. I’m a fuckup. Such a cliché.
The call goes to voice mail, and Ed’s phone rings.
“Yes, sir. One moment, sir.”
He looks in the rearview mirror and holds out the phone. Ed doesn’t need to say anything because I already know who it is. I want to take the phone and hang up, but even I’m not capable of being that childish. I can’t run from Creighton forever.
I hold Ed’s phone to my ear. “Hi.”
“What the fuck are you doing, Greer?” His voice is harsh in my ear, and my wince is automatic.
Yes, I’m a fuckup.
“Hello to you too, Crey.” I try to brazen my way out of it.
“When I call, I expect you to fucking answer.”
Bristling against the back of the leather seat, I inject attitude into my tone. “I don’t work for you, Crey, so don’t you dare talk to me like that.”
I hear something through the phone, the sound of him growling?
“Women. So fucking stubborn.”
“Say hello to Holly for me.”
“Stop with the bullshit, Greer. What the fuck were you thinking? Did you even think at all? And that ad . . . why the hell would you do that? I’ve got PR working their asses off, and we can’t stop the spread. At this point, the only people who haven’t seen it are in fucking North Korea and maybe China.”
“I know,” I say quietly as shame crashes down around me. I feel like a child again, being taken to task on the rug in front of my uncle’s desk.
“Jesus, Greer. Do you realize what’s happening to the stock of the companies?”
His words hit me like a fist to the gut. “Why would that matter?”
“Because your trust is a goddamn majority shareholder in a bunch of them. But no, you didn’t think about the kind of monetary impact your actions could have before you posted that asinine ad making you look like a—” He breaks off before he can deliver the final blow.
“Just say it, Crey. Like a whore? A slut? Jesus, this fucking double-standard stuff is bullshit. You posted something just as ridiculous and probably made money off it for being such a big man. But I do it, and I’m a whore. Bullshit. I call fucking bullshit.”
I wait several beats for him to reply. Creighton is gathering his words, and maybe his patience.
His voice is quiet when he finally speaks. “I’m sorry. I’m pissed. I’ve been saving up this fucking tirade for hours because you wouldn’t answer your phone, and I shouldn’t talk to you like that.”
I hold the phone out and stare at it. Is that really my brother? Apologizing? Holly’s had more of an effect on him than I realized. My defensiveness slips a few notches.
“I know; I shouldn’t have done it. I didn’t think about all the repercussions. I was hammered. Wasn’t thinking clearly.”
“I figured that one out. And now we’re in a shitstorm that I’ll get sorted out, but I need you to promise me this was a one-off and you’re not following up with something bigger and better.”
“Like a trip to Vegas and a wedding? No. My follow-up was handing in my resignation, and Ed is taking me home to become a hermit for the rest of my life.”
“Resignation?” Creighton’s shock comes through the phone line loud and clear. “Did they ask for it?”