“Well…I’m used to setting my own hours, taking lots of vacation time—”
“So am I. Apollo is a worker-friendly corporation. Myself, I love deep-sea fishing. If I could, I’d spend my entire life doing just that. Apollo gives me far more opportunities than anywhere else would. In fact, I’m leaving for Miami for a fishing trip day after tomorrow.”
Ben eyed Christina. She was saying nothing, but something was definitely going through-her mind. “Look, I want to be totally up-front with you. I worked for a large law firm once, and it was a complete bust.”
Hamel brushed Ben’s concerns away with a flip of his hand. “We know all about that, Ben, and we couldn’t care less. Frankly, a sizable portion of our staff, myself included, came from Raven, Tucker & Tubb or other large law factories. They seem to suck up the new talent like a black hole. A few years later, though, the lawyers all start asking ‘Is this what my life is about? Sixteen-hour days, constant billing pressure, invisible and interchangeable clients?’ They start looking for something more—a client they can care about, a job that leaves time for family, friends, and personal interests. That’s when they come to Apollo.”
“I don’t doubt that I’d make more money at Apollo,” Ben said, “and probably with less trouble. But money isn’t my paramount interest. I became a lawyer because I wanted to do some good in the world.”
“Then by all means,” Hamel replied, “come to Apollo. We take our role as a corporate citizen seriously. We’re active participants in charity drives and several community service programs. We believe we have an obligation to use the Consortium’s resources for the common good. And we don’t merely hang back and do the politically expedient. We take an active leadership role.”
Hamel gazed into Ben’s eyes. “You can be part of that leadership, Ben. You can chart the course.”
Ben didn’t know what to say. He could barely contemplate the offer, much less its ramifications. “I have some outstanding obligations,” he finally managed. “I have a solo office on the North Side.”
“I know,” Hamel said. “And don’t feel obligated to wrap it all up overnight. Give us a trial run, see what develops. You can always go back to your private practice if that’s what you decide. Frankly, with the salary we’ll be paying you, you’ll easily be able to pay the rent to maintain that office.”
“I have a legal assistant on my payroll,” Ben said, tilting his head toward Christina. “I would want her to come with me.”
“Done,” Hamel said flatly. “We’ll make her part of our in-house staff of legal assistants and assign her to you. We’ll start her at ten percent above our usual starting salary, which, I might add, will be a significant increase from her current, ah, irregular salary. Will that about cover your responsibilities, Ben?”
“No. There’s more than just that. I have unpaid debts…office supplies…”
Hamel grinned. “Ah—the photocopier company. I know about that, too.”
“Well, then you know how difficult it would be—”
“How much do you owe, Ben?”
Ben suddenly felt rather hot under the collar. “I don’t know exactly…Two thousand, something like that?”
Christina nodded in agreement.
Hamel withdrew a checkbook from his suit jacket, filled out a check, and handed it to Ben. “Would that about cover if, Ben? Consider it a signing bonus.”
Ben stared at the check made out for five thousand dollars. “That would definitely cover it. And my other outstanding debts as well.”
Christina pressed in between them. “How do you know so much about Ben and his business, anyway?”
“Don’t get the wrong idea, Ms. McCall—we’re not the FBI. Still, you must realize that a corporation the size of Apollo would hardly make an offer of this magnitude without investigating the offeree.”
“Sounds Big Brotherish to me.”
“Not at all. It’s just smart business. You don’t buy a used car without trying to find out where it’s been. Ben, we’re acquainted with your past employment at the D.A.’s office, and your current relationship with Clayton Langdell and his animal rights organization. We’re aware of your successful representation of Ms. McCall a few months ago. In short, we’re familiar with the total package and we are very favorably impressed.”
“Really,” Ben said. “How impressed?”
Hamel flipped over one of his business cards, wrote a number on the back, and passed it to Ben.
Ben took the card. He tried to mask his reaction, but it was impossible. The number after the dollar sign had six digits. Before the decimal.
“Not bad, eh?” Hamel said. “And no, to answer your next question, we don’t make offers like this to anyone. Just to you.”
Ben coughed. “I…I don’t know what to say. I’ll have to think about it.”
Hamel slapped his thighs, then stood. “I understand. Take all the time you want. And when you decide to accept, call me at the number on that card. I’ll send some boys over immediately to collect your files and anything else you’ll require.”
“So soon?”
“Why wait?” He nudged Ben in the ribs. “Might as well start bringing home those big bucks as soon as possible.” He hoisted his briefcase. “Enjoyed meeting you both. I’ll be waiting for your call, Ben.”
3
“YOU’RE NOT SERIOUSLY CONSIDERING his offer, are you?”
Ben and Christina sat at opposite ends of a table in the back of Louie D’s, beside the grill and beneath the Renoir prints and Native American art. Ben was in the process of finishing his cheeseburger—the best in downtown Tulsa as far as he was concerned.
“How can I not seriously consider it? It’s a very serious offer.”
“Yeah—six digits serious.”
“That’s not the only advantage, but it’s a definite selling point.”
“I thought money wasn’t so all-fired important to you.”
“It isn’t, but I’ve got to live. Think about it—I’ll make more money in two months than I made all last year.”
Christina frowned. “Do you know anything about this job you’re so eager for us to latch on to?”
Ben hedged. There was no point in trying to bluff Christina. She always had the inside skivvy.
“No, of course you don’t. Well, before you bid adieu to private life, let me provide a few hard facts. First, if you imagine you won’t have to keep time records, you’re wrong. They say it’s for internal management, but really it’s the same old same-old. The big bosses are checking up on you, ensuring that you’re sufficiently profitable. It’ll be just like the late unlamented days at Raven, Tucker & Tubb.”
“I doubt it, unless my old boss steps down from the bench and goes corporate. And I can live with filling out time sheets.”
“Do you realize who your boss at Apollo will be?”
Ben shook his head.
“Robert Crichton, one of the biggest, most sexist SOBs who ever lived. From what my friends tell me, he’s the five-hundred-pound gorilla of Apollo Legal. Rules the department like a tinhorn demagogue. Total creepola.”
“I’ve dealt with second-rate bosses before.”
“You remember Emily Gozonka, don’t you? She was a lawyer at Apollo—till they dumped her. She told me sexual harassment was everywhere—practically de rigueur. She had to put up with all kinds of crap-nicknames like ‘Legs,’ indiscreet fondling, comments about her bra size, being accused of having PMS every time she dared to disagree. You get the picture. She didn’t play along, so they canned her. How, you ask? They gave her an assignment to work with the legal department’s hatchet man, Harry Carter, another creep who’s at least fifty—but acts fifteen. Drives a Camaro, dates teenage girls—the whole works. That’s how they fire people like Emily; they give them an impossible assignment from Harry, and Harry rants and raves about what a horrible job they’ve done, thereby creating a record for the file to justify the firing. If the woman decides to file a lawsuit later on, they’ve got a perfect paper trail to back them up.”