Sons of Fortune

The door opened and a woman who Fletcher remembered as Mr. Alexander’s secretary addressed them. “Gentlemen, if you’ll come this way,” she said.

“Thank you, Mrs. Townsend,” said Fletcher, whose father had once told him never to forget a secretary’s name—after all, they spend more time with the boss than his wife ever does. The two candidates followed her out of the room, and Fletcher wondered if Logan could possibly be as nervous as he was. On either side of the long carpeted corridor the names of the partners were lettered in gold beside each oak-paneled door they passed. William Alexander’s was the last before the conference room.

Mrs. Townsend knocked gently on the door, opened it and stood to one side as twenty-five men and three women rose from their places and began to applaud.

“Please be seated,” said Bill Alexander, once the applause had died down. “May I be the first to congratulate you both on being offered the opportunity to join Alexander Dupont and Bell, but be warned, the next time you’ll hear such approbation from your colleagues will be when you’re invited to become a partner, and that won’t be for at least seven years. During the morning you will have meetings with different members of the executive committee who between them should be able to answer any of your questions. Fletcher, you have been assigned to Matthew Cunliffe, who heads up our criminal office, while you, Logan, will report directly to Graham Simpson in mergers and acquisitions. At twelve thirty, you will both return and join the partners for lunch.”

The midday meal turned out to be a friendly affair after the grueling process of interviews; the partners stopped behaving like Mr. Hyde and reverted to being Dr. Jekyll. Roles they played every day with clients and adversaries.

“They tell me that you are both going to be top of your respective classes,” said Bill Alexander, after the main course was served—there had been no first course or drink supplied, other than bottled water. “And I can only hope so, because I haven’t yet decided which offices to assign you to.”

“And should one of us flunk?” asked Fletcher nervously.

“Then you will spend your first year in the mail room, delivering briefs to other law firms,” Mr. Alexander paused. “On foot.” No one laughed, and Fletcher couldn’t be sure if he meant it. The senior partner was about to continue when there was a knock on the door and his secretary reappeared.

“There’s a call for you on line three, Mr. Alexander.”

“I said no interruptions, Mrs. Townsend.”

“It’s an emergency, sir.”

Bill Alexander picked up the boardroom phone; the scowl on his face turned to a smile as he listened intently. “I’ll let him know,” he said and put the phone down.

“Let me be the first to congratulate you, Fletcher,” said the senior partner. Fletcher was puzzled because he knew final grades wouldn’t be published for at least another week. “You’re the proud father of a little girl. Mother and daughter are doing just fine. I knew the moment I met that girl she was just the kind of woman we appreciate at Alexander Dupont and Bell.”

24

“Lucy.”

“But what about Ruth or Martha?”

“We can give her all three names,” said Fletcher, “which will make both our mothers happy, but we’ll call her Lucy.” He smiled as he gently placed his daughter back in her crib.

“And have you thought about where we’re going to live?” asked Annie. “I don’t want Lucy brought up in New York.”

“I agree,” said Fletcher, as he tickled his daughter under the chin, “I’ve been talking to Matt Cunliffe and he told me he faced the same problem when he joined the firm.”

“So what does Matt recommend?”

“He suggested three or four small towns in New Jersey that are less than an hour away by train from Penn Station. So I thought we might drive up there next Friday and spend a long weekend seeing if there’s any particular area we like.”

“I suppose we’ll have to rent a place to begin with,” said Annie, “until we’ve saved enough to buy something of our own.”

“It seems not, because the firm would prefer us to

purchase our own property.”

“It’s all very well for the firm to prefer something, but what if we simply can’t afford it?”

“That doesn’t seem to pose a problem either,” said Fletcher, “because Alexander Dupont and Bell will cover the cost with an interest-free loan.”

“That’s very generous of them,” said Annie, “but if I know Bill Alexander, there has to be an ulterior motive.”

“There sure is,” said Fletcher. “It ties you into the firm, and Alexander Dupont and Bell are very proud of having the smallest turnover of employees of any legal practice in New York. It’s becoming obvious to me that once they’ve gone to all the trouble of selecting you and training you in their ways, they then make damn sure they don’t lose you to a rival firm.”

“Sounds to me like a shotgun marriage,” said Annie. She paused. “Have you ever mentioned your political ambitions to Mr. Alexander?”

“No, I wouldn’t have passed first base if I had, and in any case, who knows how I’ll feel in two or three years’ time?”