The young lawyer saw the managing partner striding mercilessly down the narrow hallway toward him. If he had known that the managing tyrant, as he was known among the associates, was coming to see him, he would have arranged to be somewhere else. As it was, he was sandbagged in his ten foot by ten foot office, with glass walls so the powers that be could make sure he was working. Of course, in retaliation, he had perfected the art of looking like he was working on legal files when he was actually working on his novel, the only thing that really mattered to him.
The managing partner imperiously pushed the glass door open and barged in as if he owned the place – which, technically, he did, though it was rude not to knock. There was no greeting, no small talk.
– I’ve been reviewing your billables.
The young lawyer said nothing.
– I said, I’ve been reviewing your billables.
The young lawyer still said nothing.
– Do you think we’re running a charity here? Everyone as to contribute.
– I contribute.
– Not enough. We only hired you because of your father. That got your foot in the door, but it doesn’t give you a free ride. Your billables are lower than every other associate in the firm. What do you have to say about that?
The young lawyer narrowed his eyes momentarily, as if he was thinking about the question. Then he smiled.
– That’s a lovely tie you’re wearing, Ted.
The managing partner recoiled at the young lawyer’s impertinence.
– Is it silk or polyester? It’s hard to tell the real thing from the cheap knock-offs these days. But then, with all the business you get from my father’s companies, I’m sure you and all the other partners can afford silk. Am I right?
The managing partner flinched and pulled at his collar, as if his tie had suddenly been pulled tighter, but he kept his voice calm and under control, increasing the threat level by not yelling.
– No one is indispensable. Not even you.
The young lawyer leaned back in his chair and eyed the older man critically.
– In a way, Ted, I am indispensable, so let’s make a deal.
– I don’t negotiate …
– Sure you do. I distinctly remember you teaching me that everything is negotiable. So here’s my counteroffer: you stop harassing me to fit into your straightjacket idea of a subservient associate and I won’t tell my dad to pull his business. What do you say? It’s a good deal for you.
– You arrogant little prick. Clear your desk and get the fuck out of here.
– Not a good move, Ted.
The young lawyer paused, then continued.
– How are you going to explain to your partners that you lost the firm’s biggest client? That’s tens of millions of dollars, Ted, no longer dropping like manna from heaven into the billables of every partner and associate here.
– I’ll manage.
– No, you won’t. The firm will crater.
– Your father and I go back a long ways.
– Do you really want to bet your friendship against the fact that I’m his first-born son and heir. That would not be a good bet.
The managing partner’s face paled as he realized the hard-eyed young man behind the desk was speaking the truth.
After pausing a moment to let the threat sink in, the young lawyer tossed out a lifeline.
– Look, I have a suggestion that’ll work for both of us. The firm gets to keep all those precious billings and I get to keep doing what I want. All you have to do is give me a share of your origination credit for the work that comes from my father’s companies.
– That’s my money.
– For now.
The managing partner pulled at his collar again. He could feel the noose tightening.
– We don’t give origination to associates.
– Ted, that’s just a rule. You can change it. Just change it, Ted. It’ll be worth it, I guarantee it.
– The management committee won’t agree.
– C’mon, Ted. It’s your origination credit, so you can do what you want with it. Just tell them that I’m the reason the firm still has my father’s business, so you feel I should get some of the credit for it. Just enough to boost my billings to where you can’t fire me.
– What do you get out of it?
– Now you’re talking. This is good. We’re negotiating. All I get is to keep doing what I’m doing. I’ll keep working on the legal files I’m interested in and spend the rest of my time doing stuff that is none of your business. Oh, and I won’t embarrass the firm. What do you say, Ted? Do we have a deal?
– I have to discuss it with the management committee.
– No you don’t. You’re the managing partner. It’s your credit. Just take the deal, Ted.
The managing partner emitted a strangled growl, the despairing growl of a wolverine that realizes it has been trapped.
– I’ll take that as a yes. We’re done here.
The managing partner turned to leave, then turned back.
– You know, you’re just like your father, he said bleakly.
– Am I? That’s a compliment, right? Close the door behind you and don’t be a stranger.
© 2026 Paul McLaughlin
This was another fun one to write.
I’m finding that the pace of this course is somewhat daunting. It’s not easy to come up with a new story idea, do a draft and polish it every three days. I have therefore decided to write shorter pieces so I have time to craft them to the point where my perfectionistic ego is willing to let others see them.
As always, comments are welcome.