Free The Washington Lawyer by Allan Topol

engineered for New York State, shots of acquisitions for IBM, GE, Intel, and a stock offering for Aero Industries. They also showed his award from the president of Harvard for his fundraising. So now Martin might also be leaving. But the baby the two of them had spawned was powerful. It would thrive without its founders.
    Martin never looked forward to these management committee meetings. Running an organization by committee is a plague. For years, with Fred’s acquiescence, he’d operated the firm as a benevolent dictatorship. He could have strangled that group of young partners who, ten years ago, demanded a management committee elected by all partners. He felt like King John at Runnymede. He had to acquiesce or the firm would disintegrate. But, he’d nonetheless maintained the real power by operating as chairman.
    Entering the conference room he checked his watch. Five to six. He looked around. Three were already here. On one side was Meg Worth, head of the firm’s wills and estates practice. Good old Meg, stocky and solid in both appearance and outlook. She had pale blue eyes, rimless glasses, and a Dutch bob. In her mid-forties, she was always calm, always searching for the compromise.
    Martin liked that she was a voice of reason. Next to Meg, was Tom Wilder, IP litigator and quintessential nerd. At fifty, he was a tall string bean with thinning black hair over a narrow face. His navy suit was rumpled. It probably had never been cleaned or pressed. Constantly tugging on his earlobe, he needed a shave, even at ten in the morning, but he was a technical genius. Recipient of a PhD from Cal Tech in near-record time, he tossed it all away and enrolled at Harvard Law. And what amazed Martin was that Tom could not only understand complex technical issues, but managed to explain them to a lay judge.
    Across the table, was Michael Perry, Fred’s choice as his successor to head up the firm’s transactional practice. Short, with carrot red hair and intense gray eyes, he walked with a cane due to a congenital hip problem that couldn’t be rectified by numerous operations. He never lost sight of the bottom line, which made him such an effective negotiator, giving on the less important issues and digging in on what counts.
    And next to Michael, the empty chair. Waiting for Jenson.
    No big surprise, Martin thought. The guy must have a hidden camera somewhere in here so he can always be the last.
    Finally, Jensen strode in. “Can we get started?” he said. “I have an important dinner meeting with a client.”
    â€œWe were waiting for you,” Martin replied.
    Jenson looked at his Rolex. “It’s exactly six now.”
    Meg laughed.
    â€œI’m glad our little exchanges amuse you,” Martin said.
    The others laughed as well.
    Great camaraderie, Martin thought. “Okay. Down to business.”
    He saw their eyes turn toward him. They must have all read yesterday’s Times . They had to know what was coming, why he’d assembled them on such short notice. “A couple of hours ago, I met with Arthur Larkin. He wants to place me on a short list for chief justice. I told him yes. The others are Mary Corbett, from the Second Circuit, and Lance Butler, from the Fifth. He’ll be leaking our names to the Post for tomorrow’s paper.”
    For a moment, there was silence. Martin realized they were each thinking about how his leaving would affect them and the firm. His view was that his being chief justice would add luster to the firm. In that respect, it would be good for business and might even offset the loss of their largest rainmaker.
    At last Tom said, “Congratulations. It’s a tremendous accomplishment for you and for the firm.”
    Meg and Michael called out. “Here, here.”
    Jenson nodded without saying a word. Remaining silent, Jenson took out a cigar, rolled up the cellophane wrapper into a ball and tossed it to the far end of the table,