The senior partner studied the resume for the hundredth time and again
found nothing he disliked about Mitchell Y. McDeere, at least not on
paper. He had the brains, the ambition, the good looks. And he was
hungry; with his background, he had to be. He was married, and that was
mandatory. had never hired an unmarried lawyer, and it frowned heavily
on divorce, as well as womanizing and drinking. Drug testing was in the
contract. He had a degree in accounting, passed the CPA exam the first
time he took it and wanted to be a tax lawyer, which of course was a
requirement with a tax firm. He was white, and had never hired a black.
They managed this by being secretive and clubbish and never soliciting
job applications. Other firms solicited, and hired blacks. This firm
recruited, and remained lily white. Plus, was in Memphis, of all
places, and the top blacks wanted New York or Washington or Chicago.
McDeere was a male, and there were no women in . That mistake had been
made in the mid-seventies when they recruited the number one grad from
Harvard, who happened to be a she and a wizard at taxation. She lasted
four turbulent years and was killed in a car wreck.
He looked good, on paper. He was their top choice. In fact, for this
year there were no other prospects. The list was very short. It was
McDeere or no one.
The managing partner, Royce McKnight, studied a dossier labeled
"Mitchell Y. McDeere-Harvard." An inch thick with small print and a few
photographs, it had been prepared by some ex-CIA agents in a private
intelligence outfit in Bethesda. They were clients of and each year did
the investigating for no fee. It was easy work, they said, checking out
unsuspecting law students. They learned, for instance, that he preferred
to leave the Northeast, that he was holding three job offers, two in New
York and one in Chicago, and that the highest offer was $76,000 and the
lowest was $68,000. He was in demand. He had been given the opportunity
to cheat on a securities exam during his second year. He declined, and
made the highest grade in the class. Two months ago he had been offered
cocaine at a law school party. He said no and left when everyone began
snorting. He drank an occasional beer, but drinking was expensive and he
had no money. He owed close to $23,000 in student loans. He was hungry.
Royce McKnight flipped through the dossier and smiled. McDeere was their
man.
Lamar Quin was thirty-two and not yet a partner. He had been brought
along to look young and act young and project a youthful image for
Bendini, Lambert & Locke, which in fact was a young firm, since most of
the partners retired in their late forties or early fifties with money
to burn. He would make partner in this firm. With a six-figure income
guaranteed for the rest of his life, Lamar could enjoy the twelve-
hundred-dollar tailored suits that hung so comfortably from his tall,
athletic frame. He strolled nonchalantly across the thousand-dollar-a-
day suite and poured another cup of decaf. He checked his watch. He
glanced at the two partners sitting at the small conference table near
the windows.
Precisely at two-thirty someone knocked on the door. La-mar looked at
the partners, who slid the resume and dossier into an open briefcase.
All three reached for their jackets. Lamar buttoned his top button and
opened the door.
"Mitchell McDeere?" he asked with a huge smile and a hand thrust
forward.
"Yes." They shook hands violently.



"Nice to meet you, Mitchell. I'm Lamar Quin."
"My pleasure. Please call me Mitch." He stepped inside and quickly
surveyed the spacious room.
"Sure, Mitch." Lamar grabbed his shoulder and led him across the suite,
where the partners introduced themselves. They were exceedingly warm and
cordial. They offered him coffee, then water. They sat around a shiny
mahogany conference table and exchanged pleasantries. McDeere unbuttoned
his coat and crossed his legs. He was now a seasoned veteran in the
search of employment, and he knew they wanted him. He relaxed. With
three job offers from three of the most prestigious firms in the
country, he did not need this interview, this firm. He could afford to
be a little overconfident now. He was there out of curiosity. And he
longed for warmer weather.
Oliver Lambert, the senior partner, leaned forward on his elbows and
took control of the preliminary chitchat. He was glib and engaging with