As Mitch entered 110 Broad for the last time, he paused and drifted to his right where the designer benches sat empty, always empty, and the expensive and baffling paintings hung in plain view, ignored by all. He sat down and watched, just like his old pal Lamar Quin, as hundreds of young professionals raced upward with their phones stuck to their ears. The crowd was not as thick because the hour was late, almost 9:30 A.M., an unheard-of hour for arrivals in Big Law.
For the past week, Mitch had been going in later and leaving earlier, if he went in at all.
He finally made it to his office, where he checked on his storage boxes, then left without a word to his secretary. He might call her later.
Jack was expecting him at 9:45.
“Please thank Barry again,” Mitch said. “For his incredible hospitality. We might go back in August.”
“Well, I’ll be there, Mitch. I’m leaving July thirtieth.”
“I’m leaving now, Jack. I’m walking out, resigning, quitting, whatever you want to call it. I can’t work here. I saw Mavis Chisenhall yesterday in the cafeteria and she almost broke her neck trying to get away. Too ashamed to speak to me. I can’t work in a place where people avoid me.”
“Come on, Mitch. You’re a hero right now, the man of the hour.”
“Doesn’t feel that way.”
“It’s true. Everyone knows what the management committee did, or didn’t do, and the entire firm is upset.”
“Scully lost its spine, Jack, if it ever had one.”
“Don’t do it, Mitch. Let some time pass. Everybody will get over it.”
“That’s easy for you to say. You’re leaving.”
“True. I just hate to see you go somewhere else, Mitch.”
“I’m outta here, Jack. So is Luca. I talked to him yesterday and he’s resigning. Giovanna too. She’s moving back to Rome and will take over his office.”
“Please, Mitch, don’t overreact.”
“And I’m keeping Lannak. They’re fed up with Scully.”
“Poaching clients already?”
“Call it whatever. You’ve done your share. I can think of a few you’ve snagged. That’s the game in Big Law.”
Mitch stood and said, “There are four boxes of my office junk on my desk. Could you have them delivered to my apartment?”
“Of course. You’re really leaving?”
“I’m gone, Jack. Let’s part as friends.”
Jack stood and they shook hands.
“I’d love to see you and Abby and the boys in August. Barry’s counting on it.”
“We’ll be there.”
Author’s Note
The law firm of Scully & Pershing was founded in 2009 when I needed it to add flavor and authenticity to The Associate, that year’s legal thriller. Big law firms are big targets for writers of fiction, and I’ve had my share of fun at their expense. Five years later, I retained Scully again in Gray Mountain.
It was the perfect place to put Mitch fifteen years after The Firm imploded in Memphis. Now, he’s leaving again and I’m not sure where he’ll turn up next.
I was once a lawyer in a small town, far removed from the world of Big Law. And since I’ve always tried to avoid big firms, I have no idea how they function. Typically, I did what I usually do when trying to avoid research. I called a friend.
John Levy is one of the senior partners of Sidley & Austin, a mammoth Chicago firm with offices around the world. He invited me to stop by for lunch and toss questions at him and some of his colleagues. I had a delightful time talking books and law with Chris Abbinante, Robert Lewis, Pran Jha, Dave Gordon, Paul Choi, Teresa Wilton Harmon, and, of course, Mr. Levy himself. John is one of the finest lawyers I’ve had the pleasure of knowing.
If asked to, I would swear on a Bible that Scully is not based on Sidley.
Thanks also to other friends: Glad Jones, Gene McDade, and Suzanne Herz.
A special thanks to the readers who have enjoyed The Firm over the years and been kind enough to write and ask: Will we ever see Mitch and Abby again?