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  SUPERSONIC

  life in the legal fast lane

  Anouschka Zagorski

  SUPERSONIC: Life in the Legal Fast Lane

  Published in 2018 by

  AG Books

  www.agbooks.co.uk

  AG Books is an imprint of

  Andrews UK Limited

  www.andrewsuk.com

  Text copyright © 2017 Anouschka Zagorski

  Registered with the Writers Guild of America

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means without the prior written permission of the publisher, nor be otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser. Any person who does so may be liable to criminal prosecution and civil claims for damages.

  All characters and events appearing in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

  For my daughters Anastasia and Isabella

  And for my soul sister Karmen

  “At his best, man is the noblest of all animals; separated from law and justice he is the worst.”

  Aristotle

  “No one saves us but ourselves.

  No one can and no one may.

  We ourselves must walk the path.”

  Buddha

  1. New Kid in Town

  My name is Chloé. Chloé Krakowski.

  I have never really liked my name. When I tell people my first name I have to spell it out, several times, very slowly. It’s hard to pronounce it correctly. English or Americans usually say clou-ay, similar to clown but without the ‘n’ at the end. Germans either pronounce the “Ch” as in the French word charmant, which it sounds far from. Or they ignore the accent on the ‘e’ at the end and say Klö or - worse - Klo, a German term for toilet. You will thus understand my weakness for French people. Of course they pronounce it correctly: Clo-ayhh. It sounds like a declaration of love, like a light April breeze touching the branch of a cherry tree on the Champs Elysée. Until they get to the last name. It’s a stumbling block. At least it’s hard to forget, once you have been able to remember it.

  * * *

  It’s Friday, 28 April 2006. Today, on my first day as senior associate lawyer in the Frankfurt office of Pratt & Wonkey, one of the world’s finest law firms, I had already heard various versions of my name from the people I had encountered so far. The nameplate on my office door had also been spelt wrong - it read Chloe Karbowski. When I had pointed this out to the receptionist, who had shown me to my new office, she placed a short phone call to the office manager who had sent a grumpy handyman to exchange the plate. Once he had gone I sighed deeply. This was a promising start. Or not.

  I sat at my new wooden desk and looked around my office. It was just large enough to hold a desk and two chairs. It had a locked window to the outside with a view of the surrounding towers of the Frankfurt financial district. Black book shelves covered both sidewalls up to the ceiling. Opposite the window, half of the inside glass wall consisted of a sliding door.

  I felt somewhat exposed, like sitting in a glass cage. Still, it was better than on the other side of the glass wall: Across the narrow passageway, secretaries were sitting at group desks in an open plan area without any chance for privacy. And they were all talking with each other at normal volume. I had left the sliding door open in order not to appear abrasive. However, their chatter was starting to get very animated.

  “And then he said he needs the entire document re-formatted by tonight.”

  “Nooo! You’re kidding!”

  “Can you imagine? As if I haven’t got better things to do!”

  “Well, if he hadn’t spent three hours at lunch yesterday he could have done it himself!”

  “Three hours? Again?”

  “I’m telling you, and I could smell his breath afterwards!”

  “Oh good morning, sir!” The chorus went when a partner or other senior lawyer passed by.

  “Sorry, I don’t have time for this now. I have to bind thirty copies of this pitch document.” This was directed at a junior lawyer. The ladies made sure to appear to be very busy.

  I, for one, intended to have better things to do than to listen to the gossiping coming from outside my office. I got up from my chair, gently closed the door so as not to draw their attention, returned to my desk and perused the piece of paper lying on top of a pile of documents. Maybe I simply didn’t have anything better to do after all.

  The said piece of paper was an email from a client at AB Bank containing short instructions to draft a letter to a corporate borrower waiving its default in its loan repayments. It was a simple little document that, often, the bank may even get its own in-house lawyer to do - unless it was a very large loan going into seven or eight figures. In that case the bank would instruct its outside counsel and the assignment would finally land on the desk of some legal trainee or junior lawyer. After over ten years in legal practice, I had not expected to have to draft such a document myself ever again. Earlier on, my new boss, Tracey Taylor, had handed it to me.

  “I thought that you could handle this for me - could I have a look at it in about twenty minutes? The client needs it this morning. Thanks.” And off she went again before I had the chance to ask any questions.

  Stop - my new boss?

  Oh. My. God. What the hell was I doing here? How on earth did I get here? And why had she given such a basic piece of work to me? I was confused. I had accepted this position, as Senior Associate in the Banking and Finance legal department of Pratt & Wonkey, to become her successor, that is her replacement Partner, as it was planned, after twelve months, for her to relocate to head office in London. To me at least that meant that I should follow her around and start taking over her work. One year earlier I had left my previous firm Solomons where I had been partner and local head of department. After taking some time out, I had been looking for a firm where I would be appreciated and work at the appropriate level of seniority. And now she asked me to draft a simple waiver letter, and she wanted to check my work. I hardly had any choice at this stage - I would have to make a few things clear later on.

  I had less than fifteen minutes left. I checked the pile of documents - the loan agreement to which the letter related had one hundred and eighty-six pages. Great. I had not switched on the PC yet, let alone attended the induction course on how to use the firm’s IT system. The course was to take place on the coming Monday, which would be my official first day. There would be no time for that now. I found the switches for the desktop and the monitor and turned them both on.

  Please type your user name and your password.

  I tried my full name without any accent or space. When that did not work, I tried ChloeKarbowski. You never know.

  Damn. How was I going to find that out quickly? I was just starting to wrack my brain when somebody slid the door open, startling me. I expected seeing an impatient Tracey. Instead it was the smiling face of Jerome Panzer. He had been introduced to me as Tracey’s assistant, and who was also now to work for me - a male secretary if you like. Not very tall, he was a little podgy and had kind teddy bear eyes.

  “Hi Ms. Krakowski. This is from IT - I put it on your desk yesterday but I noticed earlier that it had disappeared.” He handed me a piece of paper containing three lines of writing:

  Name: Chloé Krakowski

  User Name: KRAPW

  Password: 12345

  “Brilliant timing! I was just trying
to log on!”

  He grinned. “No problem. Just let me know if you need anything. The top button on the phone is my direct dial.”

  “Thank you so much!”

  Jerome retreated and was just about to slide the door shut.

  “Oh and Mr. Panzer?”

  “Yes?”

  “Please call me Chloé.”

  “Then you will have to call me Jerome.”

  “With pleasure.”

  I watched him closing the door and sighed with relief. Tracey had already told me that he was the best assistant Pratt & Wonkey was able to offer. Judging by his initiative I tended to agree with her. For now I had to share him with her but that would only be a matter of time. Time! I had less than ten minutes left. I logged on, found the word programme and quickly created a new document on the C drive while I checked the provisions of the loan agreement referred to in the client’s email.

  To: [The Borrower]

  From: [The Facility Agent]

  Date: []

  Re: €238,964,900 Credit Agreement dated 23 June 2005 (the Agreement)

  Dear Sirs,

  We refer to the Agreement. Capitalised terms used herein and not defined otherwise shall have the meaning as set out in the Agreement.

  Talking about reinventing the wheel. For sure Pratt & Wonkey’s know-how database had plenty of precedents for this kind of document and plenty of legal trainees to draft it. But I had not met any legal trainee yet and Tracey had assigned the task expressly to me. I typed as quickly as my special method (two hands five fingers) allowed. Done. I had no time left to find out how to use the printer. I opened outlook, created a new email message, typed Taylor into the addressee section, selected Taylor, Tracey: BK (FR) from the drop down menu and inserted the letter as a file from my desktop. It worked.

  Dear Tracey,

  as requested, please find attached the first draft of the waiver letter. Perhaps we can discuss when convenient for you. Kind regards, Chloé.

  I pressed ‘send’. It had taken me 23 minutes. I relaxed my shoulders, leaned back and breathed out. Not even a minute later the telephone rang. I checked the display. It read Taylor. I picked up.

  “Hello, Tracey?”

  “Hi. Could you come and see me please. Thanks.” She had hung up before I was able to reply.

  I got up and smoothed my black Chloé dress. Yes, Chloé, like my name.

  It was rather a coincidence but I did love the Chloé collection since Phoebe Philo had become the chief designer. Each season I treated myself to one or two special pieces, or rather outfits once you include the shoes, handbags etc. I felt I deserved it, I certainly worked hard enough and earnt enough money. Perhaps it was more than one or two pieces - but these handbags were just to die for. It all started with the Paddington handbag - the softest leather, gorgeous colours and the absolute ingenious detailing, such as the huge padlock. I had placed my beige Eastwest Paddington handbag behind my chair in the empty bookshelf (never, never on the floor!). It should be safe there, next to the framed photos of Marie and Noëlle. I ensured my girls were always with me, even if only in a photo. I looked down at my clover green Jimmy Choo pumps, which they had chosen for me that morning: “Mummy, wear these, they look like lucky charm shoes!” That would provoke the secretaries’ chatter again outside - I was not really dressed like a normal female lawyer. Maybe they would get used to it.

  I walked down the corridor with a straight back, passing by the secretaries and ignoring their suddenly animated whispering, which I had expected. I had turned two corners before I noticed that I’d walked in the wrong direction. I remembered from my brief tour the same morning that Tracey’s office was at the exact opposite side of the building. I quickly turned around and walked back. When I passed the secretaries again I thought I heard them suppressing a giggle. As I finally arrived at my destination I put on my nicest professional smile and knocked on the sliding glass door. Her office was thrice the size of mine, containing a small meeting table in addition to her desk from which she now looked up. She raised her upper lip and bared her large front teeth.

  “Hi. Please, have a seat. Thanks for your email. I have some comments on your draft. You might want to incorporate those and then send it to the client before lunchtime.” She handed me a printout of my draft waiver letter. It was full of red ink manuscript comments, deletions and arrows. I stared at it.

  “Yes, of course. Uhm, sure.”

  “Good. Another thing. The credit agreement needs to be amended. I have forwarded you the email from the client summarising the required changes. The client needs it by Monday morning, so if you send it to me by Saturday evening, I can review it beforehand.”

  I hesitated. My official starting date at P&W was May 1st which was the following Monday. I had only come into the office, at her suggestion, to get the initial administrative things done. The weekend was reserved for fun things with Noëlle and Marie.

  “Right. Of course I am happy to do the draft, Tracey. The thing is - I need to look after my daughters during the day, so I can only really work when they sleep. Would it be ok if I send you the draft on Sunday morning?”

  Tracey’s smile faded. Small red spots became visible on her neck.

  “I see. I find in these situations that one can organise childcare. At least that is what I do, and I would expect that you prioritise your work accordingly.”

  “Sure. And I usually do. Unfortunately I do not have childcare for this weekend, especially at such short notice. I will do my best and send you the draft Sunday morning at the latest.” I got up, my heart pounding fast. She stared at me silently and raised her eyebrows. Her ears started to redden. The spots on her neck had become darker.

  “I see.”

  “Thanks, Tracey.” I quickly left her office.

  * * *

  “You did the right thing,” Isabella said five minutes later on the telephone. “You have got to make your position clear right at the start. She is crazy! You haven’t even started yet and you’re supposed to work all weekend? Doesn’t she have kids of her own?”

  My best friend, Isabella, was a local concept storeowner in her mid-forties and married, without children, to a wealthy Saudi businessman. I had not been her customer long before we realised how our souls were connected and we became friends. Having lost my mother in my early twenties, I was also drawn to Isabella’s maternal ways. The fact that she had rung at the precise moment I had returned to my office was a typical instance of how connected we were. The blood in my head had still been pumping so loudly that I nearly did not pick up the receiver at first.

  “Yes, she does!” I replied. “And they are younger than Marie and Noëlle. That’s why I am so shocked - I would expect her to understand. I think she hates me already.”

  “Rubbish - she will get used to you not sucking up to her. And you are not supposed to be her minion, are you?”

  “Strictly speaking, yes. I am an associate and she is my supervising partner - in other words, my boss.”

  “But you were also a partner in your old firm.”

  “That does not change my status here at Pratt & Wonkey. Even if they pay me nearly as much as a junior partner, it does not make me one.”

  “You lawyers and your hierarchies. I don’t understand any of that. I just know you are a great lawyer and very good in your area of expertise and a super lady with great style. Obviously your new boss can’t appreciate that - she is probably jealous.”

  This made me laugh. “Aw. You speak like a true friend! But you’re right. I mustn’t let her get me down. I am just feeling a little insecure, I didn’t expect this kind of behaviour from her. She seemed nice when I met her for that lunch after my interview. In any event I do have to prove myself here and impress everyone. Talking of which - I am impressed you tracked me down.”

  “Well, wh
en you did not answer your mobile I did some research. I may not hold any academic qualifications but I’m clever,” she giggled. “Anyway, don’t worry dear, you will show them how brilliant you are!”

  “I hope you’re right.”

  After we hung up, I looked out of the window and got thinking. I really didn’t have any possibility of organising childcare for the weekend. My neighbour, Jana, already took care of the girls after school during the week and occasionally babysat them at night. I didn’t want to ask her to look after them all weekend as well. Hugo had gone to a weekend seminar, so he wasn’t an option either.

  Thinking of Hugo made me dreamy. The gorgeous, sexy Otorhinolaryngologist Dr. Hugo Walter - blue innocent eyes, boyish charm, much less boyish and not so innocent body...

  My thoughts were interrupted by a knock on the glass door. I reluctantly swivelled my chair around. A pretty young woman with long dark hair, wearing a navy trouser suit and a crisp white blouse, beamed at me.

  “Hi! You must be Chloé? I’m Jessica. I’m also in Tracey’s team.” She said this very quickly with a distinct North American accent. I got up and we shook hands.

  “Hi, Jessica. Nice to meet you!”

  “I thought you weren’t starting until Monday?”

  “That’s right, but Tracey suggested to come in a day earlier to set things up.”

  “Right! That makes sense. Listen, I was wondering whether you’d like to come for lunch with me and a couple of other colleagues?”

  “Oh, sure - I’d love to!”

  “Great! We’ll meet at the elevator in about fifteen minutes - see you then!”

  When she was gone I took the telephone receiver and pressed the speed dial for Jerome. He answered immediately. “Hello Ms. Krakowski, what can I do for you?”

  “For starters, you can call me Chloé. I thought we agreed on that.”

  He laughed. “I am sorry. Old habits die hard.”

  I chuckled. “Well, you should acquire a new habit.”