Free In Firm Pursuit by Pamela Samuels-Young

He despised the idea of prostituting himself by wining and dining people he didn’t know or care to. It violated his sense of ethics. Good lawyers did not have to beg for work. Clients came to them.
    He also loathed the fact that Jim O’Reilly was running the firm. Porter considered himself far brighter and a much better administrator. On top of that, he consistently billed more hours than any other partner in the firm. But when you happened to be the grandson of the firm’sfounding partner and an egomaniac to boot, some things simply fell into your lap whether you deserved them or not. Unfortunately for Porter, the managing partner title was not the only thing O’Reilly had stolen from him.
    Porter tossed the report into his trash receptacle and glanced at his watch again. It was time to leave. He grabbed his briefcase and headed for the door.
    As was his custom, Porter arrived exactly fifteen minutes early and was shown into an empty conference room. Porter hated wasting time. In his world, time literally was money. He pulled out a copy of the Daily Appellate Report and started browsing the day’s new court decisions.
    When the door to the conference room opened eleven minutes after the hour, three men with grim expressions stepped inside. Porter recognized Bob Bailey, Micronics’s General Counsel, and Rich Ferris, the VP of HR, but not the third man.
    â€œGood afternoon, Joe,” Bailey said. “Thanks for coming by on such short notice.”
    Porter extended his hand and gave him a curt smile. “I prefer Joseph.”
    â€œForgive me,” the General Counsel replied awkwardly.
    Porter greeted Ferris and the other man, who was introduced as Nathaniel Hall, Micronics’s Chief Financial Officer. The three executives sat on one side of the eight-foot table, leaving Porter alone on the other.
    Bailey did not waste time with small talk. “We wanted to speak with you about the Randle case,” he began. “We’re concerned about the fact that Ms. Henderson has not gotten it settled. We—”
    â€œI’m confident that we can get it resolved,” Porter interrupted. “Though perhaps not as quickly as you might like.” He hated groveling. He wanted to tell all three of them to back off and let O’Reilly & Finney do the job Micronics was paying them to do.
    Ferris, the HR exec, gripped the edge of the table with both hands. “It needs to be settled now. Before they learn about Ms. Carruthers’s death.”
    Their high level of anxiety about getting rid of the case signaled to Porter that Micronics probably had something to hide. Something significant. CFOs did not attend meetings involving employment cases. Neither did general counsels.
    This was not the first time the company’s executives had sat before him sweating bullets over the possibility of having their dirty laundry exposed. After Enron and Sarbanes-Oxley, every top executive in America wanted to avoid even the appearance of an impropriety that might land them in jail.
    â€œHamilton Ellis is the lead attorney on the case now. He’s a pretty savvy lawyer. We can’t just snap our fingers and settle the case,” Porter said. “But I’ll be sure to communicate the urgency of your wishes to Ms. Henderson.”
    â€œWe’ve had enough communications,” the General Counsel replied. “We need resolution.”
    Ferris nodded. “You may not be aware of it, but Randle’s attorney has been trying to stir up some media attention,” Ferris said. Hall, the CFO, had yet to open his mouth.
    It was not Porter’s job to put a muzzle on opposing counsel. “I don’t watch much TV,” Porter replied unapologetically.
    â€œEven if you did,” the General Counsel said, “you probably wouldn’t have seen Mr. Jenkins’s performance a few nights ago. He was on some public affairs talk show on one of the local cable