Three weeks. Three long, painful, miserable weeks, and that trial was over.
Technically, it was now four weeks later, and mid-May. But after the frustrating bullshit of that trial, I needed a day to write up some good old CMA documents, and then I took another two days to just… veg. Recharge my batteries. Get some fluff therapy in, much to Gorou’s feigned chagrin.
And some retail therapy for good measure, much to Gorou’s actual chagrin. At least until he got over his indignation and actually tried the heated blanket and self-heating dog bed I got for him.
But even so, I did not want to put on work clothes. Instead, I scheduled a video conference with my two junior attorneys, made sure the stand mic was set up properly, and sat down for a Monday morning meeting while still wearing my pajamas.
Once the program booted up, I saw that both Julio and Fatima were present and waiting on me to start. I glanced at the clock; two minutes early. Brownie points for them, then… and, well, no reason to delay.
Tap, click, green light showed the webcam was on, and I was live.
Both of them were clearly in their offices at the firm, and Julio was either two coffees deep or double-fisting them. Fatima, meanwhile, had a massive glass thermos of some type of tea just barely visible on camera, and a bit of lint was stuck on her hijab, which she noticed at about the same time I did and hurriedly plucked it off.
“Welcome back to busywork city,” Julio greeted, voice sounding as tired as the two coffees suggested. “Trial go okay?”
Did the trial go okay… ugh. I leaned back in my chair, looked up at the ceiling, and sighed.
“Fatima, you know how the firm has a rule where any all-male client group’s team needs at least one male on the roster?”
“I don’t like where this is going,” she said, and the rustle of fabric that her microphone picked up told me she was fidgeting.
“Yeah, no, I don’t either,” I added. “Turns out we need to expand the rule to include where the client group has one or two token women, or they have to answer to all men above them. Jesus Mary mother of goddamn Christ on a crutch but these rich, old, white farts just do, not, fucking, listen! Just, ever!”
“Oh, no,” Julio murmured. “What’d they do?”
“Client’s CLO overrode the one voice of reason on their own in-house legal team and made me put a witness on the stand that I told them, again and again, forward backwards upside-down and sideways, to not put on the stand under any circumstances, whatsoever!” I reached up to scratch at the base of my left ear, but damn it, whatever Gorou did when he got in the mood to groom me, I just couldn’t replicate it. “Like come on, if the seasoned trial attorney tells you not to put the product design team’s former lead up on the stand, and it’s a product liability case, what do you think is going to happen once the person you promoted to try and keep quiet is under oath and on cross-examination, huh?”
“How many times did you warn them?”
“A dozen times in writing over the last nine months,” I told Fatima. “Twenty-three times in recorded voice notes, another three times in conference just before trial, and nine times during the trial itself. But because it wasn’t penis-to-penis communication, they fucking ignored it, because clearly all I am is a pair of tits on legs, right?”
“… note to self: reiterate her suggestions and then credit her afterward.” Right after Julio said that, I heard a pen click, and I looked back at the screen to see he was currently leaning back and writing on a legal pad.
“Julio, you are precious, never change.”
“Oh don’t worry, my abuela would never forgive me if I did.”
“Anywho…” I leaned forward in my chair and picked up a pen, ready to write in my notebook. “Read me back in on things, you two. Police, fire, building super. How’d the sit-downs go?”
“Police was basically useless,” Julio said, his huff telling me all I needed to know about how that went. “Only useful thing we got outta him was a recording that I hope we ain’t gonna have to use, and if it’s all the same to you, I don’t wanna repeat what he said. Heard it all enough times as a public defender, and it gets worse each time.”
I didn’t even need to hear the recording to know what happened: the cops were racist, as expected.
“Let’s be real, none of us expected anything better than that, but we have to do it anyways,” I said. “Get all our ducks in a row and all. How about the others?”
“Well, both the fire chief and DCFD’s arson investigator had a few things we still need to follow up on,” Fatima said as she picked up where Julio left off. “We know why they couldn’t get past the third floor now: the stairs gave out, and when the firefighters tried to set up a hook-and-ladder to get higher, the building facade crumbled and left the walls behind them too unstable to hook onto. Not to mention the heat of the fire was loosening window units and making them fall down, which also shouldn’t have happened.”
“Did any of the stuff Destiny got from her neighbors help speak to or corroborate this at all?” I asked, pulling my tail into my lap to give my free hand something to do while I thought.
“The stuff about the window units at the very least,” Fatima confirmed. “What about your half, Julio?”
“Nothing about the walls in my pile, but I got some stuff about the roofs and insulation, maybe about the wiring. Question, is it okay to ask a neighbor of mine about this stuff? He’s an electrician, so I figure he’d know better than I would.”
“Um… yesn’t?” I ventured. “I mean, you can talk in hypotheticals, sure, but I’m going to suggest you err on the side of caution. That being said, the electrician and electrical engineer our firm usually goes to for expert reports are both stupidly expensive, so if you can get a head start for free? Shit, I say go for it.”
“On that note, can I bring this back around to the witnesses?”
“Shoot, sorry, Fatima,” Julio said with a grimace. “Didn’t mean to take over like that.”
“It was a relevant tangent, but try not to make a habit of it,” I interjected. “You were saying, Fatima?”
“Right, so that note about the wiring is important; the arson investigator isn’t sure the exact cause of the fire, but he was able to tell us where it started.”
“Breaker room?”
“Breaker room.”
“Damn it,” I grumbled. “Okay, that, uh… that’s gonna make things take longer. Before I forget, let me guess, the building super was uncooperative.”
“Like pulling teeth,” Julio grumbled. “If I didn’t know better, I’d say the pendejo was reading from a script.”
Likely because he’d already memorized his script, but I wasn’t going to tell Julio that. He was still new-ish to larger litigation, so I wasn’t surprised at his annoyance. It may not have been a deposition officially, but it was similar enough that of course the not-deponent would’ve been prepped for one, especially with how this case was already starting to shake out.
“Okay, given this, I’m going to need you both to change your plans a little bit,” I said, drawing both of their attention. “Between the both of you, how many more pages of documents do you have to go through?”
“I’ve still got about half of them left?” Julio hedged, staring somewhere off camera.
“A quarter,” Fatima said.
“Okay, Fatima, draw up any affidavits you need, then grab the rest of Julio’s and start chewing through those too, and once they’re all prepped, get together with the client and grab whichever paralegal you can that’s free and licensed as a notary to get all those signed. Julio, once Fatima relieves you of duty, reach out to your neighbor, get his preliminary take from a couple hypotheticals, then reach out to the engineer and electrician; Fatima, this is not a slight against you, but they’re both the same kind of asshole I just spent three weeks suffering. Especially the engineer. They’ve caused me enough issues already; I’m not subjecting you to that.”
Given how Fatima’s expression had steadily been growing mutinous as I essentially handed all the choice, delectable tasks to Julio while leaving her l the busywork, I felt it was important that I make it explicit why I was dividing up the labor that way.
“... just so I don’t go in there unprepared, how bad are we talking?” Julio asked. Even with the low fidelity of a webcam, I was still able to read his expression, which looked like he’d smelled something foul and was barely resisting the urge to comment on it.
“Well, last time I needed the engineer to testify, he called me a Loonie when he thought I was out of earshot.” Both of their eyes went wide, and Fatima brought both hands over her mouth. “Oh, and on the way out, he said he’d see me next Tuesday.”
That was to say, he went ahead and called me a cunt, but tried to be cute about it.
Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.
“Why do we still go to him!?” Fatima asked, yelling loud enough that her microphone picked up some feedback. I winced, ears folding down as I flinched away from the screen, and Julio grimaced. “S-sorry,” she added, voice sheepish.
“It’s fine,” I waved it off. “And it’s — look, the guy’s an ass. But he’s also got thirty years of experience, and if we toss him out of our rolodex, all of our competitors will be ready and waiting to scoop him up.”
Fatima sighed, but nodded. Julio grumbled and laid his head on crossed arms, grumbling something under his breath in Spanish that his microphone couldn’t quite pick up.
“Anyways, you’ve got your marching orders. Fatima, affs; Julio, experts, start with the electrician and hope he’s all we need. Full disclosure, I’m still trying to set up Barricade’s sit-down. Unfortunately, I have a few more things I need to do before leaving my last trial in the rear view mirror, so I’ll probably need until Thursday to get everything in order.”
“That long?” Julio asked. “Client want to appeal or what?”
“God, I wish it was that simple,” I groaned, running my fingers through my tail’s fur to keep myself from gesticulating. “But, no. Long story short, the client company’s CEO is trying to make sure he doesn’t go belly-up after the next shareholder meeting. And since the only plan the man seems to understand is ‘pass the buck’, odds are I’m about to catch a malpractice suit so he can save face.”
“Um… I mean no offense with this, but will you still be able to work this case if you’re defending yourself from a malpractice suit?”
“None taken,” I told Fatima. “Honestly, I’m not worried. Everything’s in writing, I didn’t do shit without written permission, so while I’d rather not have to deal with this? At least it’s an easy 12(b)(6).”
“Then why would they even sue you?” Julio asked, incredulous.
“Because I am just a lowly woman, and he is the CEO of a Korean chaebol’s North American subsidiary.”
Fatima had this look of instant understanding at that. Julio, meanwhile, appeared somewhat poleaxed.
“... that’s fucked up,” he said. Fatima giggled and turned away from the camera, shoulders shaking and a hand over her mouth.
“Welcome to being a woman in corporate America,” I said, airily waving a hand as a sort of ‘what can you do’. “Anyways, that’s all I’ve got. Any questions?”
Both of them shook their heads.
“In that case, back to work, everyone, and keep me posted!”
With that, I disconnected from the video conference, closed my eyes, and leaned back with a sigh.
Despite having said that I would be giving both of them full disclosure, I hadn’t. Not really. It wasn’t just that I was being sued for what we in the business called “ineffective assistance of counsel”, or more colloquially, “being a shit attorney”. There was also part of the why, the grounds that were being used to justify the lawsuit.
The client’s CEO was arguing that I should have been using my powers to help them. And, well, realistically?... if I were anybody else, this would’ve been complete and utter bullshit. But, just my luck, I was the most physically obvious Moonshot in the country, and the reasonable assumption on seeing me was that my ears were not for show.
The worst part? They were right.
Lawyers whisper to each other and their clients all the time during a trial. Small clarifications, questions, last-minute changes to strategy, suggestions, the occasional bit of shit-talking, all of that flew back and forth between the people seated at counsel’s table. And most of the time, opposing counsel couldn’t hear that whispering, because most of the time, it was too quiet for someone to hear from across the aisle.
But not me. Oh, I could hear every single word, including the stuff I really wasn’t supposed to. Hell, you want to know the only reason my very presence in a courtroom didn’t void the attorney-client privilege for conversations at counsel’s table? The Federal Moonshot Bureau actually did something somewhat good.
Yes, really. The Fumblers got something right. Why? Because I may have been the most visible example, but I was far from the only Moonshot who could overhear whispers with ease, and if we weren’t allowed in a courtroom, it would cause problems with the Fifth Amendment. So the Federal Moonshot Bureau got their lobbyists going, whispered a few honeyed words into the correct ears, and gave us Moonshot a relatively easy solution to the problem, even if it was one we had to explicitly ask the NMR for.
Thanks to the FMB’s ‘easy solution’, the malpractice suit against me didn’t hold water. The problem was that I still needed a helping hand if I wanted it to go away in a week as opposed to having this hang over my head for three to four months.
And that meant I had to reach out to the one person I would really rather not have. But, hey. At least I was able to kill two birds with one stone. I just had to actually lean forward in my chair and… do it.
I tabbed over to my work email, and clicked to start a new one. I typed in the recipient, set Alice as the CC (just in case), filled in the subject, pressed tab, and—
… stalled out.
I didn’t want to write this email. Heck, it wasn’t even the body of the message that was bothering me, it was who I needed to send it to that had stopped me cold. But I needed to write it. But I didn’t want to write it.
But I needed to write it.
But I didn’t want to.
“Gorou!” I yelled, knowing he’d hear me from down in the living room. “I need cuddles!”
I heard the sound of Gorou’s TV show stop.
“No cuddles until you write the email!” Gorou yelled back. A moment later, the volume returned.
“But Gorou!” I whined.
“No, Naomi!”
… he didn’t even pause his TV show that time.
I groaned, loud and miserable and blah. Damn it, why couldn’t Gorou indulge my procrastination impulse just this once? Why did he have to gate cuddles behind sending this email?
Intellectually, I knew that this was the better thing for him to do, and showed that he cared more than any indulgence he could’ve allowed would have. But I didn’t want to do this. But if I wanted my fox-fur cuddles, I needed to.
Damn it…
I closed my eyes, took a deep breath, and counted to ten. Okay, Naomi. Just write the email. Just… grin and bear it.
I dragged my hands over to the keyboard, and started typing.
From: Naomi Ziegler, Esq.
To: Megan Barnes, Staff Judge Advocate
CC: Alice Tanaka-Schotz, Esq.
Subject: Barricade Depo & Requesting Sound-Off Brief
Megan;
Per the subject line, I am sending this email for two separate purposes, but figured it would be easier to just send the one and not flood your inbox.
First: it took some convincing, but my client has agreed not to file suit against Barricade or the NMR in any way. However, in order for our case to proceed, we need affidavits from the various first responders on the scene. My co-counsels have already sat down with DCFD, DCPD, and the arson investigator, but as you requested to personally be present for Barricade’s eventual sit-down, I wanted to wait until my schedule was more or less free to accommodate yours and his.
To that end, if you could suggest some possible times within the next 2-3 weeks for that not-a-deposition to take place, I will arrange everything else for your convenience.
Second: as I mentioned above, I was not free for the past little bit, and the events occupying my time have spawned this issue. I recently concluded a trial in DC District Court, and have received notice that my former client intends to file suit against me, alleging Ineffective Assistance of Counsel. Specifically, they allege that, as I am Moonshot, I erred by not using my powers as part of my zealous representation… stripping away the bullshit, they’re suing me for not taking advantage of having overheard whispered conversations between opposing counsel and their client.
Speaking realistically, they have no case, and it’s an easy 12(b)(6). But, because my better hearing is due to my ears, and because my ears came free with my powers, then just in case I draw one of those judges, I request the NMR file a Sound-Off brief to make sure a sudden dose of legislating from the bench doesn’t make both our jobs harder for stupid reasons.
I appreciate your haste and assistance in this matter, and hope to hear back soon.
Sincerely,
Naomi Ziegler, Esq., FKA Foxfire
Supervising Attorney, Litigation & Moonshot Affairs
Bierman Viskie & Schotz, LLC
AKA your sister-in-law
(P.S — this isn’t for Eli, it’s been 17 years since he treated me like a human being and that’s not likely to change anytime soon, this is for you, because I’d rather at least try to make this working relationship not be utterly insufferable on both our ends and I figure an olive branch was warranted. Anyway, my brother probably never said anything because once he hit high school he got all self-conscious about it, but back when we were still on speaking terms, he was a fiend for Lego. His birthday should be coming up in 2 weeks, get him a big, elaborate Lego set, I guarantee he will be happier than a pig in mud. If he asks where you got the idea, blame our little sister Mira.)
I left my cursor hovering over that last bit, wondering whether I should delete it. Honestly, I wasn’t sure where it even came from. Or why I felt the need to include it. Maybe it was just that… that I was still hurt, even all these years later. That I still held onto a smidgeon of hope, that maybe my family would get their collective heads out of their asses about me.
I deleted it. Then I undid the delete. Then redid it. Then undid it again.
Maybe I needed to flip a coin. Maybe that would help me decide.
I closed my eyes, counted to three, and clicked ‘Send’.
“Gorou!”
“Did you write the email!?”
I stood up from my desk chair, flickered downstairs in a flash of purple flame, and flounced face-down on the couch, arms reaching towards the corner Gorou had tucked himself into. He skittered away from my hand and onto the arm of the couch when I reached towards him, and gave me a pensive twitch of his ears.
“Well?”
“I sent it.”
“Good.” The silver fox hopped down from the arm and sprawled across my back, then rubbed his nose at the base of my left ear. “I’m proud of you.”
“Thanks for making me do that,” I said, nudging him with my tail until he grabbed it with two of his own.
“Anytime. Could you press play?”
I was all too happy to oblige. I needed to tune the world out for a bit, anyway, and Gorou’s questionable taste in television was all too perfect for that.
“My taste in television is impeccable, thank you very much.”
“Wha— did I say that out loud?” I asked.
“Naomi, your ears are so expressive you didn’t have to.”
I blushed, whined, and buried my face into the couch cushion to try and hide the blush. Gorou just laughed, first at me, then at his TV show.
Then he started grooming the fur on my ears, which felt so damn good that it lulled me to sleep for a nice midmorning nap.