Off the record. On the record. Depends who's asking.
He had a hanger in his office. The wooden kind. You know, the one with the brass hook. The tie was elegantly draped across it like a silk robe commissioned for a Roman emperor by artisans who have never once in their lives touched a paper jam.
Pull the fileBaby attorney. One year post-bar. Middle office. Printer right outside his door, right behind my desk. You can guess where this goes. It goes exactly where you think it goes.
Subscribe to read →Three months into my legal career, I was already working for the managing partner. Not because I had any business being there. Because the only person in that office who knew what was happening had just left.
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