Her office isn’t very far. I could call and set an appointment, but that risks being rejected. Instead, I’m going to just walk in and beg her to take my case.
I remind myself of the merits of said case over and over on the walk to her office and through the front door.
“Hello,” the receptionist greets me.
“I’m sorry. I don’t have an appointment. My name is Marci Peterson, and until about a half hour ago, I was a partner at White Baker Cousins. I was just terminated, and I’d like to speak with Fiona, if she has a moment.”
She smiles and points me to a modern, lime green couch that looks painfully uncomfortable. “Please have a seat, and I’ll check.” She disappears down the hall.
“No fucking way,” I hear Fiona from down the corridor, and the Irish spitfire comes racing out of her office. In a moment, she stands before me, clad in a red leather skirt. “I had to see it myself. Did Shannon understand you correctly? Your firm just fired you?”
I stand, and all of a sudden I want to cry. I nod and hand her the letter and check Greg gave me.
“Come on, let’s go back to my office.” She puts her arm around me. “No need to get upset. I can’t wait to make your old firm suffer.”
Once we sit down, Fiona pulls a bottle of Irish whiskey from her desk and pours us both two fingers. It’s not even lunchtime, but I need it. She reads what I’ve handed her. I haven’t actually read it. “They’re so screwed.”
“I have a non-compete.”
She nods. “They mentioned that. What is this about billing errors?”
“If there are errors, they weren’t made by me. I have copies of all my clients’ hours, and I know what I did with every hour—and many more that weren’t billed. As of last Friday, I’ve billed over four million dollars this year.”
“Holy shit, girl. What is your hourly rate?”
“Eight fifty for office work and two grand for depos and court. I work over a hundred hours a week and most weekends. I’ve been in court or depositions for over two thousand hours this year, and they’ve paid me roughly a half-million plus. That includes the bonus check they gave me after they had collections of more than two-point-five million last quarter.”
Fiona sits back and whistles. “Wow, that’s a lot. You’re their rainmaker. What happened?”
I shake my head. “The managing partner told me last night that I would only be getting three-hundred K for my third-quarter bonus. I confronted him about one of the partners who hasn’t been around much and still is getting two-fifty. But he has a ‘family to support’.” I use air quotes.
“Did he really say that?”
I nod. “I don’t think he expected me to push back and was a little flat-footed. The firm has fifteen female associates and ten males. I was the only female partner. I asked them to reconsider, given that the entire firm knows how hard I work, and suggested he think about the message that would send the female associates.”
Fiona has been frantically taking notes. She nods and proceeds to ask a lot of questions. I share more about Lance King and why he’s getting only a little less than me.
“Do they not realize what decade we’re in?” Fiona shakes her head.
After I’ve answered questions for nearly an hour, Fiona sits back. “I think we have two courses of action. We can wait to see what they do. Or, I can send over a little letter announcing that I’m your counsel and they should direct all correspondence with you to me, and we start with a ten-million-dollar demand letter.”
I know what I want to do. “I also want my clients to be able to choose to come with me. If they prefer to remain with the firm, that’s fine, but I want a letter sent to each of my clients announcing my departure and saying they can follow me if they’d like.”
Fiona nods. “I like that. We can come down a bit in money for the agreement.”
I nod. “Would it be too greedy if I wanted to be able to take an associate and my legal secretary?”
Fiona grins and winks at me. “I bet that happens naturally.”
She lifts her glass in a toast and chugs the last of her Irish whiskey. I finish the last of mine with a slow burn.
“If they balk at any of this, I promise a public relations blitz that will have the firm closing their doors—permanently.”
“Then let’s do it.” I sit forward. “What do you need from me?”
“I’d like a five-thousand-dollar retainer.” Fiona makes a few clicks on her computer, and the laser printer spits out an agreement.
“That’s it?” I would have guessed at least ten times that.
“I’m giving you my best-friend discount. We share mutual clients, and I think it is long past time that we become friends. Plus, I have a few things to throw your way once you start your own firm.”
“You do?”
“Yes, some of my clients have been swimming above their height and are looking at FBI involvement for insider trading.”
I grin. “One of my specialties.”
“Believe it or not, that’s why I thought you were here at first.” She shakes her head. “These guys have too much money, little peckers, and zero common sense.”
“I’m not sure when I can open a new office. WBC has threatened to report me to the bar association if I fight this.”
Fiona rolls her eyes. “They don’t know you have Walker Clifton in your back pocket?”
“How do you know that?”
“I might have done some research on him for his exploratory committee—looking for flaws in their candidate.”
“Was I a flaw?”
Fiona smiles. “You? No. And while I’m guessing you’ve asked him for favors, it was never for anything more than getting the FBI to back off, which is politically smart for him since your clients are his friends, and they write checks.”
“If White Baker Cousins goes after me, I may ask the one favor from him he can’t grant. Those guys are part of his club—”
“The Union Club is a bunch of pussy men who think they own the world, but with all the money in Silicon Valley, their power is shrinking. Walker gets that.”
“Did your opposition research tell you we actually hate each other?”
Fiona’s eyes grow big.
It didn’t. That may be something I can use to my advantage.
“Enjoy your afternoon,” she tells me. “Go get a massage; do something frivolous. You deserve it. I’ll have someone from my team hand-deliver the letter to Greg, and I’ll let you know how it goes.”
Relief floods through me. Everything that was in the toilet now smells sweet as rain. “Thank you.”
I walk out and take a rideshare over to my favorite French patisserie. As I ride, I look through my messages.
Raven Stewart: WTF? Can you meet for drinks tonight?
Jessica Mueller: The firm announced you were terminated today but wouldn’t elaborate. What happened?
Trinity Watson: If you’re breaking off to your own firm, please take me with you.
Jade Jones: Rumor has it you’re hanging your own shingle, can I apply?