Free Supreme Ambitions by David Lat

the judge’s queries, followed by Amit and James in a rough tie, followed by the hapless Larry.
    At the end of the meeting, Judge Stinson collected her papers and stood up, resplendent in a cerulean suit that looked like Chanel (or my idea of Chanel, since I didn’t own one myself).
    â€œExcellent work, everyone,” she said. “Audrey, it’s wonderful to have you on board.”

7
    A few weeks later, on a Wednesday in September, a cab dropped off my co-clerks and me in front of the James R. Browning United States Courthouse. We were in San Francisco for the annual Ninth Circuit law clerk orientation.
    The cab ride to the courthouse wasn’t long; we could have walked. And we would have, if the doorman at the Union Square Hilton hadn’t grimaced when we asked him for directions to Seventh and Mission. He suggested we take a cab. Before the four of us could discuss, Amit had already hopped into one—taking the front passenger seat, of course. As we drove past boarded-up buildings, payday-loan providers, and Chinese takeout places featuring photos of their dishes above the counter, I could see why the doorman counseled against walking.
    The Browning Courthouse looked like a courthouse should: just as magnificent as the Ninth Circuit’s courthouse in Pasadena, but less inviting and more imposing. Even through the thick morning fog, apparently unusual for this time of year, we could make out balustrades, cornices, and pediments—hallmarks of Beaux-Arts design that I remembered vaguely from an architecture class I took in college. It made sense to me that this majestic building, clad in white granite and brick, was the official headquarters of the Ninth Circuit. It made less sense to see the structure surrounded by seediness, sticking out like a wealthy widow who had wandered into a strip club.
    â€œDid you know,” Amit said, reading something off his iPhone, perhaps a Wikipedia entry, “that the courthouse’s design was inspired by Italian Renaissance palazzos? That skilled artisans had to be brought in from Italy to do some of the work? That when it opened for service as a federal government building in 1905, it was praised as ‘the post office that’s a palace’?”
    â€œI did not know all that,” James said, shooting me a sly smile. “But it sounds about right. It’s a beautiful building.”
    â€œI dunno,” Larry said. “It looks kinda … old. And some of these old buildings are totally crap on the inside.”
    But what we encountered on the other side of two gigantic bronze doors was anything but “crap.” After passing dutifully through the metal detector and security checkpoint, we found ourselves in a vast entry hall whose air felt cold due to all the marble it contained—panels of classic white marble trimmed in green marble, a double-barrel-vaulted ceiling with marble mosaics, and more mosaic tile on the floor. Each end of the hall featured a rotunda with a stained-glass dome ringed with eagles that appeared to be made of more marble mosaic tile.
    Standing in the majestic foyer of the James R. Browning Courthouse, I shivered—partly from the marble-cooled air, and partly from the glory of it all. I hadn’t had this feeling when I first entered the Richard Chambers Courthouse in Pasadena, but that building, while no less beautiful, exuded an intimate, residential feel. The Browning Courthouse sent a different message, emphasizing the power and impersonality of the law. Marveling at the marble, I thought to myself: this is a temple to the law, my boss is one of the law’s high priestesses, and I am one of her acolytes.
    We made our way to the library atrium, the main site for the orientation sessions. Each clerk received an orientation packet that contained the Code of Conduct for Judicial Employees, a pamphlet called “Ethics for Federal Judicial Law Clerks,” and different handouts on