Punitive Damages Read online

  He continued on for another ten minutes or so with details about the internship program, hours, expectations, the kinds of work interns were allowed to do and what they shouldn’t. I tuned him out. Instead, I ran back the events of the night before in my head. I had a fantastic memory. It was part of what helped me do so well in law school. Once I’d read something or seen something, it was there, ready to be recalled in a moment. That same skill came in handy when I was sitting in some useless meeting. I could entertain myself with highly detailed recollections of far more entertaining encounters.

  What did I care about dealing with interns? I would talk to Cramer after the meeting was over and get out of it. I had more important things to do than babysit some law student who still thought the stuff they put in casebooks or treatises had any utility in the real world of law.

  But when I went to Cramer’s office later that morning, he was having none of it.

  “Look, Asher, you have to set an example. If you are going to rise in this firm, you need to be a leader and leaders take responsibility.”

  “I have taken responsibility. I have the biggest caseload of any of the junior partners and I brought in more money last year than half of them combined. Dragging along some law student is just going to slow me down.”

  “Asher, don’t make me ask twice.”

  “Fine,” I sighed. “I will do it. But try to make sure whoever I have to babysit has at least a minimal familiarity with the law.”

  “Well, she better know something. She’s my niece.”

  Great. Not only was I going to be saddled with a useless intern, but my boss’s niece. I couldn’t just ignore her, or yell at her, or send her off to do some mindless task to keep her busy. This was going to be worse than I thought.

  “She is coming in this afternoon, so clear out some time around three.”

  I couldn’t wait.

  Chapter 2 - Cora

  Evidence class ended, thankfully, without my having to review a case or argue anything at all. My tactic has been to over-volunteer whenever I am well prepared for a class, hoping that it will lessen the likelihood of being called upon when I am unprepared. So far, almost two years into my time at law school, it has worked. I waved goodbye to the professor and headed out the door.

  Gould School of Law at USC was great. I enjoyed the campus experience, tailgating for Trojan football games, the events, the steady pulse of tens of thousands of students packed into a two-square mile space in the middle of one of the most exciting cities in the world. It was a far cry from my undergraduate experience at Bowdoin in Maine.

  I had grown up in Pasadena, north of LA, and I wanted something different for college. So, I chose something about as far away as I could. But while the school itself was amazing, I couldn’t handle the cold winters, so I moved back to Southern California. I had zero regrets. The Friday April sunshine bathed the campus in golden light. The law school was right in the middle of the compact campus, so after exiting the building I was immediately swept up in the current of bodies heading to or from their last class of the week. I angled my way across the throng toward the center of campus, between Tommy Trojan and the statue of Traveler. My destination was a bar called Traditions, one of the few places to get a drink on the campus itself. It had become a Friday ritual for my friends and me.

  Tasha was with me in Evidence, but she had stayed behind to talk with the professor. I didn’t want to risk further discussion of cases I hadn’t read, so I had left her behind. Kyle and Emma, who had started dating like three days into our first year and had been joined at the hip ever since, were coming from a Negotiation seminar. Tasha and I had laughed behind their backs at how their penchant for long, arduous conversations with each other, planning out, discussing, and actively managing every aspect of their relationship had prepared them for that course. Emma and Kyle had already gotten a booth when I arrived.

  “Hey, Cora! Tasha get lost or something?”

  Kyle perceived himself to be far funnier than he really was. I twisted my face into a sarcastic grin and Emma responded with a look of sympathy. I guess dealing with bad jokes was one of the aspects of their relationship they had negotiated. I didn’t dignify Kyle’s comment with a reply and slid into the booth, signaling to the waiter and ordering a mojito. Even though it was still early spring, it was warm enough to justify a refreshing cocktail. By the time Tasha had walked in, I was halfway done with my drink.

  “Hey, Tasha, want to get together tonight to study?”

  “With you? The girl who didn’t even read the cases for today?”

  I gave her a winning smile.

  “Come on, that’s like the first time I haven’t been prepared for class.”

  “Yeah, this week.” She laughed. “Not that it seems to matter. You never seem to drop below the top three in the class.”

  We settled into our routine and let the stress of the week melt away.

  The weekend passed slowly. I hadn’t had an exciting weekend in, I can’t remember how long. The campus quieted down on the weekends. A lot of undergrads were from the area, so they went home to do laundry, hang out with friends, or hit the beach. I enjoyed it, the school was a lot prettier when you could actually see it. Even though my mom still lived nearby in Pasadena, I didn’t visit often. Tasha and I shared a house in the neighborhood of Eagle Rock, which was where a lot of professors and grad students lived. But I still made the trek to school on most weekends to study. It was harder to focus in my own house. If I sat myself in the library, I made sure that I got done whatever I needed to get done quickly so that I could leave. It usually worked.

  It also gave me an excuse not to go to Pasadena.

  I loved my mom, but ever since my dad left, she had been really hard to be around. I wanted to be supportive, to be a shoulder to cry on, but it was so draining. My mom was filled with energy, to the point of being frantic. Normally she kept a lid on things, but when it was just her and me, she could just unload a torrent of thoughts and emotions. It was hard to keep up. Not that I begrudged her some quirks, some emotional instability. The divorce had hit her hard.

  It is something of a cliché, the story where a middle-aged couple split up because a husband falls in love with a younger woman, but it doesn’t make it any easier when it is your cliché. There had been tension between the two of them a few years before he announced he was leaving, but I hadn’t thought anything of it. I had been graduating from college, then spending a couple of years abroad, working for a girls’ education non-profit in South Africa. I was pretty far into myself at the time and I guess I wasn’t really paying much attention to them.

  I still loved my dad, despite the pain he caused my mom. It’s hard to stop loving a parent. But I made a deal with myself soon after I found out. I was never going to get into a serious relationship with a lawyer.

  My dad was a plaintiff’s attorney, a very successful one. He spent more hours at the office than he did at home. I remember fondly the rare occasions when we would all do something together: a day on the beach in Malibu, sailing on Santa Monica Bay, football games at the Rose Bowl. But those events were few and far between. I guess I hadn’t seen it, but my parents had drifted apart long before they split up. My dad got a new place downtown with a paralegal from his office, and my mom kept the house in Pasadena.

  I am not certain how my image of my father influenced my decision to go to law school. Maybe I wanted to prove to myself that I was a better person. I wanted to use my law degree for good, not just to enrich myself. I was taking a seminar on international human rights and hoped to do something to help those in need.

  That’s why I was apprehensive about my internship interview at my uncle’s law firm. My mom’s brother was a criminal defense attorney at one of the best firms in LA. He had done a lot of high profile cases involving celebrities, but mainly focused on white collar defense. It was a great opportunity for me to get some real experience. They spent a lot of time in court and there was no substitute for an act
ual courtroom. The trial simulations in law school were focused on learning one specific thing at a time. In a real trial, even in the pretrial motions, you had to deal with all sorts of unexpected issues. It would be a chance to be involved in trial preparation, to try my hand at crafting real arguments for real cases.

  On the one hand, I firmly believed in the rights of the accused. I had read enough cases where evidence was planted or searches were conducted improperly to know that the police and the prosecutors could sometimes go overboard. There needed to be a check, a counterbalance to prevent innocent people from being victimized by overzealous law enforcement. But on the other hand, I had spent enough time working with non-profits to know that a lot of people suffer from criminal activity and that a lot of times the more powerful the perpetrator, the less likely there would be any justice for their victim.

  I knew that my uncle walked a fine line in his own conception of the morality of his profession. He was a believer in the system. He was convinced that the adversarial approach, where defense attorney advocated against prosecutor, would more often than not arrive at the correct conclusion. I wasn’t sure I had that kind of faith. Not that it mattered. He had offered me an internship for the summer and it was going to be a great resume builder for when I went looking for a real job.

  As if on cue, my cell phone rang. It was my uncle.

  “Hi, Cora, how is your weekend going?”

  “Hey, Uncle Edward. Just getting some studying in, how are you?”

  “I just wanted to check in and make sure you were ready for your interview tomorrow. It is just a formality, of course, but still, you want to make a good first impression.”

  I’m sure what he means by this is that he wants me to make him look good. I don’t know why the acumen of your relative has any bearing on how other people perceive you. I mean, I’m sure Einstein had a nephew that wasn’t too bright. But according to my mom, it was important to Uncle Edward that I reflect well on him.

  “I will be ready to go, promise.”

  “Good, good. I am going to set you up with one of my best litigators. Now he can be a bit abrasive, so don’t be put off. You can learn a lot from him.”

  A lawyer with a combative, unpleasant personality? What a shocker.

  “Don’t worry about me. I’ll see you on Monday?”

  “Be there at ten, ok?”

  We said goodbye. I packed up my books and headed out for a coffee break.

  Chapter 3 - Cora

  My uncle’s firm was located downtown, only a short drive from my house. I had been there often when I was younger, but hadn’t stepped foot inside since I had gone to college. Not that it was hard to find. It was in the same building, but it had expanded. They had the whole fortieth floor, now. After parking my car in the basement garage and offering a silent prayer that they would validate my ticket, I headed up to the lobby. I mean, come on, four dollars every ten minutes?

  The lobby was filled with dozens of gray-suited people. On the surface, I appeared to fit in. I had worn my mock trial outfit. A light gray suit, skirt ending just above the knee, jacket cut low and buttoned at my waist, and a cream-colored blouse that fitted tightly across my breasts. The purpose of the outfit was to look professional, but alluring at the same time. If it made any of my male opponents think of something other than their case, it gave me an edge. And there was nothing inappropriate about it, so nobody could complain that I was being intentionally distracting. It gave me confidence to dress up a bit.

  That confidence disappeared as soon as I stepped off the elevator on the fortieth floor.

  The offices of Cramer, Williams, and Bryant had been transformed since the last time I’d been there. It looked completely different. I remembered a modest space. You had to walk down a non-descript hallway to a bland door with the firm’s name on a little plaque outside. The furniture had been dated, the kind of generic office furniture that was both timeless and never in fashion.

  Uncle Edward had gotten a few high-profile clients in the past few years, and the publicity must have paid off. The elevator opened directly into the reception area. The table was exquisite. A massive slab of live-edge mahogany atop a brushed steel façade with the firm’s name punched out and back-lit. The walls were all glass, showing off the immense space that the office occupied and the extraordinary view – a panorama of the city. On a clear day, it probably extended to the ocean.

  The woman behind the table was equally striking. Honey-brown skin and green eyes, high-arched cheekbones, and full lips. It looked like my uncle was hiring models to work in reception. I suddenly felt as though all my effort in the mirror this morning was inadequate.

  “Hi,” I managed. “My name is Cora…”

  “Yes, Miss Maguire, you are expected. Please have a seat and someone will be out for you shortly.”

  I blinked away my surprise at her abruptness. She hadn’t even looked up at me and had barely finished speaking when she moved on to her next task, dismissing me instantly. I sat down on one of the tasteful, modernist couches and leafed through a copy of the ABA Journal, which was laying on the table amongst an array of general interest magazines like Newsweek and Time. I wondered to myself what would happen to office waiting rooms if the foretold print apocalypse ever came to pass. Would they have to put tablets with the Texture app installed?

  “Miss Maguire?”

  I looked up to see another fashion model daylighting as an employee at a law firm. Dressed impeccably and nearly six feet tall in her heels, she approached me with a long, confident stride. I stood up to shake her proffered hand. I wasn’t entirely uncomfortable with relying on my brains instead of my beauty, but normally I was able to utilize both. It was a combination that I was pretty effective at manipulating, taking advantage when people thought I wasn’t as smart or quick as they assumed based on my appearance. But here, I mean, even for LA these women were gorgeous.

  “I’m Evelyn, your uncle’s assistant. He’s ready for you now.”

  I followed her through the maze of glass-walled hallways. It was disconcerting, everything being open and visible. There was nowhere to hide. I walked quickly to keep up with Evelyn’s long legs. We arrived at a corner office with a modicum of privacy, frosted glass instead of the clear panes that gave everyone an open view into the other lawyers’ offices. I guess it was a perk of being a name partner. Evelyn pushed the door open and stepped through, holding it open for me. I walked in, nodding a thank you to her, and found my uncle sitting behind his desk. The desk was incongruous, a massive, ornate piece made of dark stained wood. It would have fit in an old, wood-paneled room with thick carpets and one of those little drink carts disguised as a globe. But my uncle was a bit of an odd character. I guessed that the contrast suited him.

  “Cora! It is so wonderful to see you.” He stood up and walked around the desk, enveloping me in a warm hug. “Thank you, Evelyn. And let Asher know that she’s here.” The long-legged assistant silently exited the room.

  “Thank you for the opportunity, Uncle Edward, I am really looking forward to getting started. I know I am going to learn a ton working here.”

  He smiled paternally.

  “Of course. I know that you aren’t planning on going into criminal law, but the kind of work we do is broadly applicable. And there is no substitute for trial experience. Even if criminal trials function a little differently from civil court, it still is good experience. Do you know what kind of law you want to practice when you graduate?”

  “Umm, something in public interest law, or international law, I think.”

  “Well, criminal defense might actually be more applicable than you think. I mean, we aren’t The Innocence Project, but we do help to protect people from getting bullied by the state.” He put his hand on my shoulder. “You are going to do great, I’m sure. Now, this is going to be challenging. Law school is nothing compared to actual practice, you know.”

  “That’s an understatement, Edward.” Another man’s voice butted in. I tur
ned to look at its owner. I hadn’t heard him open the door.

  Standing in the doorway was the most attractive man I had ever laid eyes on. His light-brown hair was intentionally, expertly tousled, giving him an air of nonchalance that was clearly cultivated. The loose, disheveled hair contrasted starkly with the exquisitely tailored suit. It fit him like it had been sewn on, accentuating his broad shoulders and torso like an inverted V. His jawline was sharp, defined, with high cheekbones below his eyes, which were gray-blue like a storm-tossed sea. He let the door close behind him and approached me, stalking forward like a leopard, casual but poised.

  “Cora, I would like you to meet Asher Dean. He is going to be your mentor for the summer.”

  Asher raised his hand to shake mine. He kept his eyes locked onto mine, like he was peering right into the center of my being. Absently, I took his hand. It was warm, dry. He gripped my hand gently, but firmly. A little shiver of excitement ran up my arm, like I was touching an electric current. The tingling danced around my chest and settled into butterflies in my stomach.

  I had been a little nervous when I arrived, the uncertainty and the inevitable worries about a new experience, but this was different. I didn’t know if I was going to be able to even get a single word out. My tongue felt like it had grown to double its usual size and my whole jaw felt tight and unresponsive.

  “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Cora. Edward said you are near the top of your class at USC.”

  “Yes, well, top ten percent,” I managed to stammer.

  “That’s great, good for you.” He turned to my uncle. As soon as his eyes broke away from mine, I felt a wave of relief. Tension I didn’t know I’d felt melted away.