Confessions of a Litigation God

“I have some inner-office mail for you, Mr. Connover,” I hear from my doorway. It was one of several young interns we employ that do menial tasks, one of which is to ferry documents back and forth among the attorneys in the firm.

I hold my hand out to him, taking the stack and not saying a word. He quietly leaves as I flip through the stuff, seeing nothing that looks urgent.

That is until I see an envelope that says, “Matthew Connover” on the front.

The hair stands up on the back of my neck because I know… feel it in my bones, that whatever is inside is not good. In fact, I’m thinking it’s very, very bad.

Opening it up, I pull out a single sheet of paper with typewritten words on it. Smoothing it out on my desk, I read it.

Dear Matt:

Please accept this as my letter of resignation. While I have enjoyed my time here at Connover & Crown and have learned many things, I feel it is time for me to broaden my horizons elsewhere.

I will be glad to give you two weeks’ notice, however, if you prefer that I leave immediately, I would certainly understand.

Thank you for the opportunity to work for you, and I wish you and your firm all the best.

Sincerely,

McKayla Dawson

My stomach bottoms out, my blood turning icy. My chest painfully constricts as I realize… Mac is truly going to be walking out of my life for good. Before… just thirty seconds ago actually… I knew that she was still down the hallway, and I think part of me maybe even assumed that we’d get to the point that we could talk to each other again.

Never did I think that she’d leave. That I wouldn’t see her every day.

A panicky feeling settles over me as I realize that everything with Mac has just spun so quickly out of control. I’m always the person that has a firm grip on things, but now I feel like everything in my life is just turning to shit.

I stare at her resignation letter, wondering what to do. I had hoped by transferring her elsewhere, that would put enough distance between us so that she would feel comfortable staying on here. I’m thinking perhaps I misjudged Mac.

Standing up from my desk, I grab the letter and stuff it back in the envelope. This won’t do at all, I think as I head toward her office.

She’s got her back turned to me, diligently typing on her computer, but when I step in her office, she hears me and turns around.

I throw the envelope with her resignation on her desk. “What the hell is this?”

“Come on, Matt. You know what it is. ” Her voice is soft with not a hint of anger or malice. She seems a bit sad, a bit detached, but completely resolute.

“You’re resigning?” I ask for clarification, because f**k… I still can’t believe what she’s doing.

“Yes. I’ll give you two weeks’ notice or, if you want me to leave immediately, I’ll do that. I’m taking the Jackson case with me though, so please don’t think about fighting me on that. My clients won’t stay here if I’m not involved. ”

“I don’t give a f**k if you take that case,” I tell her as I wave my hand in exasperation. “I just can’t believe you’d quit. I mean… I moved you out of my section so you wouldn’t have to deal with me. I thought it would give you want you wanted. ”

Mac tilts her head and looks at me curiously. She’s trying to figure me out… figure my game. I feel like I’m about ready to explode with frustration and helplessness, but I’m not about to let her know that. I try to school my features into a visage of calm and can only hope she doesn’t see the turmoil raging inside of me.

“I’m sorry,” she says with an apologetic smile, her tone aloof and professional. “I appreciate you trying to make my work environment easier. It’s just… it’s just too hard for me to be here. Too many memories. ”

She pauses, her eyes going a bit dreamy, and then she says with a tiny smile of remembrance. “Some right in this office. ”

I can’t help but smile in memory too, thinking of that first week she worked here and I took her on her desk. Or the time I took her against her wall. I don’t think I’ll ever be able to step foot in this office again and not remember those times.

I look at her hard, searching deep for some type of lifeline she may be throwing out to me. I’m hoping her eyes will tell me something… maybe give me a reason I can beg her to say. All I see in return is a woman whose mind is made up, and I don’t think is going to spend a moment looking back over her shoulder at what she’s leaving behind.

That thought is dismally depressing, and I feel absolutely lost.

“There’s nothing I can do to change your mind?” I throw out, not giving a f**k if my tone is too pleading.

She seems to be considering something, but it doesn’t last more than a second. She gives a slight shake to her head. “I’m sorry. This is for the best. ”

I played football in high school, played some inter-mural in college. I’m pretty f**king competitive, and I hate losing. I hate that feeling, when the clock ticks to zero and you’re out of time to make a final, big play, and you realize that you’ve lost the game… that feeling that your stomach is bottoming out and you’re mired in anger and frustration and yeah… even sadness.

That’s what I feel right now. Game is over, and it’s time to pack up and go home.

“All right then,” I say quietly as I pick the envelope back up. “I’ll accept your resignation, and I’ll take the two weeks’ notice. That’s very professional of you to offer that. Since you’ll only be here two more weeks, obviously I won’t be transferring you over to Bill. You can help me wind up some stuff. ”