Barry Eisler: Fault line

It wasn't an answer, or at least not a definite one. “Hilzoy is mine?” Alex said. “I'm the originating attorney?”

“It seems fair.”

“Is that a yes?”

Osborne sighed. He swung his boots off the desk and leaned forward as though he was ready to get back to whatever Alex had interrupted. “Yes, it's a yes.”

Alex permitted himself a small smile. The hard part was over. Now for the really hard part.

“There's just one thing,” Alex said.

Osborne raised his eyebrows, his expression doubtful.

“Hilzoy… went through a nasty divorce last year. He doesn't have any money.”

“Oh, for Christ's sake, Alex.”

“No, listen. He can't afford our fees. But if we incorporate him, take a piece of the company-”

“Do you know how hard it is to get the partnership committee to go for that kind of speculative crap?”

“Sure, but they take your recommendations, don't they?”

This was a gambit Alex had learned in years of negotiating for clients. When the other side pleaded that it wasn't their decision, that they had to check with the board or the management committee or Aunt Bertha or whoever, you engaged their ego, and then their desire to be consistent.

Osborne was too experienced to fall for it. “Not always, no.”

“Well, this time they should. This technology has promise. I've examined it personally, and you know I know better than most. I'll do all the work myself. Not instead of everything I'm already doing. In addition to it.”

“Come on, Alex, you're already on track to bill over three thousand hours this year. You can't-”

“Yes I can. You know I can. So what we ‘re talking about is a percentage of something for the firm-something that could be big-in exchange for effectively no investment. The partnership committee won't listen to you when you propose that?”

Not if, when. Osborne didn't respond, and Alex hoped he hadn't pushed it too hard. Osborne was probably wondering, Why is he willing to sacrifice so much for something so speculative? Is this thing going to be bigger than he's letting on?

Alex tried again. “The committee listens to you, right?”

Osborne smiled a little, maybe in grudging admiration of how well Alex had played his hand. “Sometimes,” he said.

“Then you'll recommend it?”

Osborne rubbed his chin and looked at Alex as though he was concerned for nothing but Alex's welfare. “If you really want me to. But you know, Alex, this is the first matter you've ever originated”First one you've ever let me originate, you mean- “and if it doesn't pan out, you're not going to look good. It'll show bad judgment.”

Bad judgment. At Sullivan, Greenwald it was the ultimate, all-purpose opprobrium. Anything that went wrong, even if it wasn't the attorney's fault, could be attributed to bad judgment. Because if the attorney had good judgment, he would have seen it coming no matter what. The bad thing wouldn't have happened on his watch.

Alex didn't respond, and Osborne went on. “All I'm saying is, for a risk like this, you want a margin for error, a cushion to fall back on.”

Alex was disgusted with the way Osborne presented all this as though he were Alex's best friend. He knew he was supposed to say, You're right, David. You take the origination. Thanks for protecting me, man. You're the best.

Instead he said, “I thought you were my cushion.”

Osborne blinked. “Well, I am.”

Alex shrugged as though that decided it. “I couldn't ask for better protection than that.”

Osborne made a sound, half laugh, half grunt.

Alex took a step toward the door. “I'll fill out the new client form and a new matter form, run a conflicts check.”

This was it. If Osborne was going to try to overrule him, he'd have to say so now. If he didn't, every day that passed would create new facts on the ground that would be harder and harder for Osborne to get around.

“If we're not taking any fees,” Osborne said, “I still have to take this to the committee.”

“I know. But I feel confident they'll listen to you.” Alex looked at Osborne squarely. “This is important to me, David.”

Unspoken, but clearly understood, was, So important that if you screw me, I'll be working at Weil, Gotshal next week, and you can find someone else to make you sound as smart with your clients as I do.

A beat went by. Osborne said, “I don't want you working on this by yourself.”

Alex hadn't been expecting that and didn't know what it meant. Had he just won? Had Osborne caved? “What do you mean?” he asked.

Osborne snorted. “Come on, hotshot. How are you going to ride this to where you want it to take you if you don't have any associates working under you?”

Alex hadn't thought about that. Mostly he worked alone. He liked it that way.

“Look, it's a little early-”

“Also,” Osborne said, “how are we going to justify a big piece of this guy's company if we've only got one lawyer on it? We want him to know he's being treated right.”

Alex didn't know whether to laugh or what. Osborne was practically telling him to pad his time. But if this was what it took for Osborne to feel he'd won a little victory in the midst of the way Alex had played him, fine.

“I see what you mean,” Alex said.

“Use the Arab girl, the good-looking one. What's her name?”

Alex felt a little color creep into his cheeks and hoped Osborne didn't notice. “Sarah. Sarah Hosseini. She's not Arab. She's Iranian. Persian.”

“Whatever.”

“Why her?”

“You've worked with her before, right?”

“Once or twice.”

Osborne looked at him. “Three times, actually.”

Christ, Osborne was no tech whiz, but when it came to who was billing for what, he was all over it.

Alex scratched his cheek, hoping the gesture seemed nonchalant. “Yeah, I guess so.”

“You said in your review she's ‘unusually confident and capable for a first-year.’”

The truth was, the description was an understatement. “That sounds right.”

“She's smart?”

Alex shrugged. “She has a degree in information security and forensics from Caltech.” He knew Osborne might sense a mild put-down in this, but was annoyed enough not to care.

“Well, she's not busy enough. Use her. Build a team. Do you have a problem with that?”

Why was he pushing it this way? Would the extra lawyer give Osborne a greater claim, maybe to supervise the work, start taking it over, something like that?

Or was he just having fun, teasing Alex, forcing him to work with Sarah because he knew “No,” Alex said, cutting off the thought. “There's no problem.”

Osborne had pitched the partnership committee as promised about taking on Hilzoy, and the committee had okayed the arrangement. Osborne told him there had been opposition, but Alex suspected that was bullshit. For all he knew, Osborne might not have needed to pitch it at all. Maybe the committee loved this kind of shit-sure, get the associate to bill even more hours, while we keep the profits if his work turns into anything. Maybe Osborne had just positioned it as some Herculean task so Alex would feel in his debt afterward.

It didn't matter. Alex didn't owe anybody. He'd gotten this far by himself. His parents were gone, his sister was gone, his sole remaining family was his prick of an older brother, Ben, who had caused everything and then run away to the army after their father had

… after he had died. Alex hadn't talked to Ben since their mother's funeral, eight years earlier. Even then, with nothing left but the two of them, Ben wouldn't say where he was or what he was doing. He just showed up for the ceremony and left, leaving all the details to Alex, just as he'd left Alex alone to care for their mother during the last year and a half of her life. After he'd finished the probate-again, all by himself-Alex had sent Ben an e-mail explaining his share of the estate, which was pretty big, as their father had done well and there were only the two beneficiaries. Ben hadn't even thanked him, just told him to send the paperwork to an address at Fort Bragg, North Carolina, saying he'd sign it when he could. For all Alex knew, right now Ben was in Iraq or Afghanistan. Sometimes Alex wondered whether he was even still alive. He didn't care. Either way he was never going to talk to him again.