First Chair
The door flew open, and there she stood, right hand gripping the frame. She licked the sweetness from her lips, unsure if it was sugar or the taste of victory. Unfazed by the frigid air, Claire dashed out the door of the café and skidded through two inches of white powder. Airy flakes clung to her fur-lined boots. The newly fallen snow offered gaiety, rather than annoyance, to her walk to Blackman & Bradford law firm. She was invigorated by the respect and deference she’d received from other partners. Mostly the deference. Her eyes gleamed, and her walk looked more like a skip.
Claire paused at the corner and pulled her smartphone from her coat pocket. She tapped the screen several times. She swiped to the left to check her calendar and grinned at the blank pages. Returning the phone to her pocket, Claire strolled down Chestnut Street, breathing in the cold air and warm comfort of familiarity. The greater Philadelphia area had groomed Claire for almost forty years, and her legal career was blossoming with commensurate recognition for her hard work.
Claire flipped the hood of her coat over her head as she admired the storefront of Black Threads Boutique. While she leaned in closer to examine the deconstructed jeans cinched onto the faceless mannequin, the brass bell jingled against the glass door as it swung open.
“Damn girl, it’s freezing out here,” chirped the slight redhead propping a sale sign against the front window.
“I’m warm-blooded. I don’t even feel it.”
“Don’t give me that. You’ve been shopping here for years. I know what sweaters you own. Get your butt in here where it’s warm. You need to check out the laser-cut dress that just arrived. The purple will ignite you, and I only have a handful of sizes.”
“Maybe later. I’m running a bit late.”
Claire chuckled and resumed her pace. Turning the corner, she stopped to stare at the commanding building ahead. Her shoulders dropped as she walked past the glass-block waterfall adorning the entrance of Blackman & Bradford. She paused again at the foot of the gold-embossed entrance mat. Before continuing through the revolving door, Claire took several deep breaths, straightened the collar on her wool coat, and stomped the snow from her boots. She then reached forward and pushed.
The receptionist’s boisterous greeting startled Claire but brought a smile to her face. Madalyn perched behind the front desk wearing a skintight leopard-print turtleneck and an excited grin.
“Good morning, Ms. Hewitt. The quarterly meeting? It was at Southside Café this morning, was it not?”
“Six o’clock sharp.”
“Your face says it all. You killed it.”
“I dominated.”
“I knew you would. Girl power,” snickered Madalyn.
“I guess.” Claire smiled at Madalyn’s casual familiarity as she continued to the elevator and stepped inside.
When the elevator bounced to a stop on the twelfth floor, Claire leapt into the hallway with the energy she carried from the café. She smiled at the morning activity and exchanged mutual pleasantries with other attorneys. She then grabbed a hot cup of coffee from the break room and hummed her way down the hall. Balancing both her briefcase and her coffee, she unlocked her office door and entered. A corrugated box with a bright yellow Post-it Note had been left on her desk. Claire walked to the note.
Satori—First Chair.
“Oh God.” A slow smile creased Claire’s face as she set her briefcase by her feet. She reached inside the box, grabbed the top folder, and flew to her office door. With both hands grabbing the frame, she peered out. Her head whipped back and forth. When Morgan emerged from the break room, Claire’s left hand flapped in the air. Morgan nodded and headed Claire’s way.
“Do you know about this?” asked Claire, grabbing Morgan and pulling her inside.
“About what?”
“The Satori case.”
Morgan shook her head.
“Everyone knows about it,” said Claire. “A dead teenage girl. Doctor-inflicted? Maybe. Drug-induced? Definitely. And God knows how many counts of criminal wrongdoing by one of the largest pharmaceutical companies in the nation. This has class-action written all over it.”
Morgan grabbed the folder from Claire’s hand. Clifford and Margo Satori vs. Novo Analgesic Systems, Inc. She licked the index finger of her right hand and swiped pages as she skimmed the contents.
“I do remember hearing about this,” said Morgan. “Lord, woman. They gave you the Satoris.”
“Against Novo Analgesic Systems. This will make my career.”
“Speaks volumes about the trust Walter and David have in you.” Morgan dropped the folder onto Claire’s desk. “There’s no one bigger than Clifford Satori. All of Philadelphia listens to what he says and watches what he does.”
“I know. And it’s about time they let me in. I’ve earned this case.”
“You know there’ll be naysayers who lose their shit over you representing the Satoris.”
“Screw them. Walter Blackman wouldn’t risk losing a class-action, and he assigned this case to me.” Claire reached inside the box for more material.
“Clever choice of words. That’s how they’ll say you landed the assignment. How else would a woman get a case this big?” Morgan ran her fingers through her hair. “Tits and ass.”
“Who cares?” A contagious grin brightened Claire’s face. “Let their jealousies eat ’em alive while I take my tits and ass into that courtroom and bring NAS to their knees.”
