Due Justice

Chapter 9

The decorating budget for this room alone must have exceeded the cost of a private college education.

After the meeting adjourned, Smyth said, “Mr. Worthington wants a few moments with you, Judge Carson, if you can stay.”

“I have a transportation dilemma. I caught a ride over. If I don’t leave now, I’ll have to walk.” Everyone knew walking around downtown Tampa after dark wasn’t a wise choice.

Smyth said, “We’ll get one of the firm’s cars to drive you to your garage. This way, please.”

I followed Smyth to O’Connell’s office.

Winding through the corridors, Smyth delivered a running tour. Each wide hallways was lined with original work by artists I’d admired in places like the Smithsonian and the Metropolitan Museum. Vases and antique pottery was displayed in alcoves under spotlights.

Smyth said, “The firm believes in investing in art. One of our partners is quite knowledgeable. He travels to New York galleries and auction houses. Our collection adds significantly to the firm’s net worth.” He sounded like a docent. Was the entire firm was populated by the law office equivalent of Stepford wives?

“That’s a rather unique practice isn’t it?”

“Unique for Tampa. Firms in major cities invest in art. Here we are.” He knocked on a large mahogany door, grasped the crystal doorknob and pushed simultaneously.

O’Connell stood to greet me and dismiss Smyth while my mouth hung open.

The opulence was awesome.

O’Connell’s personal office was on the south west corner of the building, the best view the building had to offer. He had floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking Harbour Island, Davis Island, Plant Key and the Bayshore. I could see our Minaret clearly in the distance. The floors were hardwood, with antique Iranian rugs under the desk, the coffee table and the conference table. Navy and Burgundy leather upholstery covered most of the room. On the credenza and several of the walls were pictures of O’Connell and Cilla at various milestones: their wedding, their children’s weddings, their 45th anniversary party and last year’s awards banquet where O’Connell was named Lawyer of the Year. The opposite wall was O’Connell with the governor, O’Connell with our Senators, O’Connell with our last four presidents.

“Wilhelmina, I’m so pleased you were able to stop in for a few moments. Can I get you a cup of coffee or a glass of wine?”  I told him I would take a glass of Merlot and watched him open the door that concealed a wet bar. The wine rack held a selection of red wines, about twenty bottles. The white wines were in the wine refrigerator visible below. As he opened the bottle, I told him how impressed I was with his offices.

He handed me a Baccarat balloon glass, about two thirds full of Stag’s Leap and motioned me onto a sofa. While he remained standing, we were eye to eye. “I didn’t realize you hadn’t been here before. We’ve had these offices about four years. One of the first firms to lease space in this building. It’s been a pleasure putting it together.”  We raised our glasses in a silent toast. To what?

“How much space do you have, O’Connell, and how many lawyers have you got?”  I might not be a practicing lawyer anymore, but I still know how success is counted in the business.

“We have four floors here, 42, 41, 40 and, just recently, 39. We added ten new lawyers last year, bringing our total to 85.”  The open pride was uncharacteristic, but unmistakable.

“I had no idea you had so many lawyers in your office. Twenty percent growth in one year must make you about the fastest growing firm in Tampa. What’s your secret?”