CHAPTER ONE
Did I always want to be alawyer?—Yes.
Did I regret my profession?—Only 25 percentof the time.
Today was one ofthose days.
It was Thursday, and I’d clocked hours above and beyond a regular working week. Law was anything but a nine-to-five job, and rarely did I have time for lunch, unless it was a business lunch, then I took full advantage. There had to besomeperks.
The reality of my daily routine was a far cry from the dramatised portrayals on television. When I watched Reese Witherspoon boss the courtroom inLegally Blonde, I didn’t see how hard it could be. I’ve never solved a case by using my knowledge of a permanent wave hairstyle, but I don’t deny the knowledge has been relevant before.
I naively figured all I had to do was gain the relevant legal knowledge—basically, don’t waste my years at university—and make sure I thoroughly study the case at hand, and somehow all the expansive law terms and key witness testimonies would fall into my lap, making the courtroom part a piece of cake.
Howwrong I was.
I turned thirty this year; with that came a whole new decade, a whole new breadth of knowledge to learn, and wrinkles—yep, those were appearing in hordes like a small army trying to break down the walls of my face. I found myself clicking on the anti-aging article that popped up on my phone and examining face creams for SPF and collagen. There were a variance of remedies and tips, but every article stated I should protect my skin from the sun and get lots of sleep. The first I could hypothetically achieve; the second was an impossibility.
I reached for my briefcase and shoved the majority of the contents of my desk inside. I glanced at the clock; it was 5 p.m. already? How didthat happen?
“Crap.”
I checked my plane ticket on my phone for the fifth time that day. My flight to Japan would depart in less than three hours. I’d barged into the office at 7 a.m. balancing my scalding hot chai latte in one hand and my ponderous briefcase in the other, with the intention of skipping through the clearly labelled exit door two or three hours later. I’ve discovered in my adult life, my expectations are often too high, unrealistic, or altogether forlorn, but I tried, and that had to count for something.
Early mornings at West & Barnes were my most productive time of day. The office wasn’t officially open for business. The faint sound of the coffee machine and my fingers tapping against the laptop keys was heavenly. Rarely did I have early calls; there were no scheduled appointments, and best of all, no Grace from legal questioning why I thought it was appropriate to take a client to lunch at Bob Bob Ricard’s. Their steak served with Siberian sturgeon caviar sealed the deal. You had to speculate to accumulate; Grace did not agree.
After ten hours of work, I still had correspondence to reply to, new information to read regarding upcoming court cases, and messages from attorneys or their paralegals seeking updates on pending cases to respond to. Luckily, the flight to Japan would take twelve hours, giving me plenty of time to continue working—if I ever got onthe flight.
Paula stormed into the office just as I forced the metal clasp on my briefcase into place, the familiar clipping sound usually signified the end of a long day, but today was far from over.
“Oh good, you’re still here.” Her fiery red hair matched the colour of her skin; she was visibly out of breath.
“Are you okay?”I chuckled.
“Yes, have you seen the article?”
“The one aboutanti-aging?”
She rolled her eyes. “I’ll take that as a no.” Paula pulled her phone from her pocket and begantyping away.
“The Guardianreleased an article about the Mason/Russo trial; someone sent me the link. Hold on... Here.” Paula removed her thick framed glasses from her hair and placed them delicately on the end of her nose. “It says, ‘Defence Barrister Holly Garland is sharp and thinks on her feet. She brutally unmasked the defence’s witness, Rebecca Gilden, for the liar she is. The trial of Lance Mason and Natalia Russo concluded after two weeks in court. The jury deliberated for thirteen hours before unanimously finding Lance Mason guilty of second-degree murder. It was a fierce encounter between the two women, but Garland came out on top’.”
The words escaped Paula’s mouth in one long breathless spiel.
“That sounds great.” I reached for my phone, shoving it in my pocket along with my house keys and a packet of chewing gum—theessentials.
“Is that it?”
“What do you want me to say?”I shrugged.
“At least be a little enthusiastic. Daniel Shard is a detestable and extremely unpleasant man with absolutely nothing good to say about women. He once said, and I quote, ‘Being a lawyer is a male profession’.”
“That was two decades ago.” Daniel Shard was very much an asshole, the biggest, most controversially derogative asshole, but I liked to wind Paula up anyway because she used to date him inhigh school.
“Regardless, he’s still a chauvinistic pig who basically said you’re like the queen of thecourtroom.”
“Did he use the word queen? I’m not sure he did.” Any enthusiasm towards the article diminished sharply after hearing it. The applause didn’t appeal the same anymore.
“Oh, piss off.” Paula dramatically slapped her phone case shut and shoved it deep within her trouser pocket. “You used to love this sort of thing. What’s happened to you?”
