The Washington Lawyer (7 page)

The office had space only for an L-shaped desk and chair with a small table behind it for a computer as well as a coffee pot. There were two wooden chairs for guests.

Martin didn't expect an opening greeting. Arthur never bothered with those. He sat down in his desk chair and pointed Andrew to one of the others. The eyes of the perpetually wired New Yorker were darting around the room. Then they zeroed in on Martin.

“Last Thursday, Chief Justice West came to see the president. The doctors give him a month to live. Two at most. He's ready to step down as soon as we select a replacement.” Arthur paused. “It's too bad, but that's his situation.”

Martin held his breath, eager to hear what was next.

“This'll be Braddock's first Supreme Court appointment. He wants to change the way the game's played.” Arthur was shooting the words out in rapid fire. “He hates the idea that the nominee's views on issues like abortion have become a litmus test. Braddock wants to go back to the way it used to be, before all this bullshit started. When the president found the best lawyer or jurist in the country. Somebody honorable with integrity and high moral standards—a Holmes, Brandeis, or Cardoza.”

Arthur stopped, letting his words sink in. “Personally, I think he's naive and idealizing the past. I've told him that, but he's the boss.”

“I'm all for it. I applaud the effort.”

“I figured you would.”

Arthur pivoted in his chair and reached for a mug. “Can I get you a cup?”

This guy does not need caffeine, Martin thought.

“Sure.”

Arthur poured two cups and placed one in front of Martin. The cherry wood desk top, Martin noticed, was already stained with the outlines of numerous other cups.

Arthur paused to sip his coffee, making Martin wait. “I want to put you on the short list for chief justice.”

Well, here it was. He felt thrilled. “I'd be honored.”

Arthur tapped his fingers on the desk. “You answered so quickly. Have you thought about it?”

“Yes. Ever since I clerked for Hall.”

“Good. Let's talk about the selection process. One thing you have going for you is that you're a very fine tennis player. ” Arthur flashed a smile. His effort at levity, Martin thought.

“Being serious, I have enormous respect for you as a lawyer. You have one of the country's great legal minds. I know that from our New York litigation. And you were brilliant last year persuading the court to require a recount in the Ohio senatorial election.”

“Coming from you, those are real compliments.”

“I mean them. And I'm amazed that you've argued in the Supreme Court forty-eight times and won thirty-nine of them. Phenomenal, given that so many of those arguments were against the United States, and they usually win. So in terms of legal ability, we don't have an issue. For Braddock, personal character will be the other decisive factor. We'll have to turn the FBI inquisitors loose. Your whole life goes under a microscope. Can you deal with that?”

Arthur was looking right at Martin, who thought about Jasper's call last evening, and the action Martin had taken. Still, he didn't flinch. “I have nothing to hide.”

“Do you really believe that?” Arthur sounded skeptical and slumped back in his chair. He locked his hands in front of his chest and closed his eyes. It was a tactic Martin remembered Arthur using at depositions. Lulling a witness into over confidence. Then pouncing.

“I do. No personal issues that would be embarrassing.”

Arthur's right eye was twitching. That only began, Martin noticed, when Arthur became White House Counsel. Proof, Martin thought, that the Washington pressure cooker topped the stress level in New York. Here, even at tennis, Arthur kept that beeper hooked up to his shorts. “The president has to be able to reach me twenty-four and seven.” At first Martin had thought Arthur wanted to show off his importance. Later he realized it went with the job.

Arthur shot forward and leaned over the desk. “Don't crap around with me. Everybody has something. Tell me the worst now. I don't want to be surprised later on. What about the judge you gave a bottle of scotch to as a Christmas present before he decided a case your way?”

Martin thought again about Jasper's call last night and his call to Gorton. That was precisely what Arthur had in mind. If it ever became public, it would destroy his chances of becoming chief justice. And Arthur would be furious at him for not mentioning it now. But how could he? He'd be eliminated immediately. He had to take a chance it wouldn't come out.

“Sorry to disappoint. You can lay out my whole life.”

“They all say that in the beginning.”

“This time it's true.”

Arthur snarled. “Could there be one virgin in the realm?” His tone was cynical. We may be tennis buddies, Martin thought, but for Arthur this was all business.

“I don't know about the virgin part.”

“How about one truly virtuous man?”

“You could put it that way.”

“If something comes out, President Braddock won't swing with you. We got killed two years ago over the Marian Lawlor appointment to DOD. Sticking with her for a long fucking miserable week after we received info about her ties to Winston Defense Industries. That'll never happen again. We'll cut and run. Throw you to the wolves at the hint of trouble. I mean something of substance that tarnishes you, not smoke that somebody blows your way. We'll hand you a shovel and tell you to dig your own grave. We'll be so far away that you won't even remember what we look like. Those are the ground rules. You better understand them.”

Arthur's words didn't surprise Martin. As governor of New York, Braddock had acquired the nickname of Pragmatic Philip. Some said he was dull. He refused to take chances, playing it safe. He had emerged as his party's candidate as a compromise between two ideologues and was elected in large part by his promise to end the bitterness in America. “Let's have a period of calm.” Preferring charismatic leaders who tried to lead with a bold vision, Martin had never been a big fan of Braddock's, but he didn't share his views with Arthur.

“Now let's talk about specific areas.”

Arthur picked up a pen and pulled over a pad. Martin saw extensive notes on the first page.

Arthur glanced down at the pad. “You must have had some complaints filed against you with bar committees. Let's start with those.”

Martin tried to think. “About twenty years ago I took a death penalty case, on appeal, pro bono for Roosevelt Taylor. It was down in Texas. I gave it a good shot, but lost two to one in the court of appeals. The Supreme Court refused to take the case. Taylor filed a complaint with the bar accusing me of malpractice.”

Arthur smiled. “No good deed goes unpunished. So what happened?”

“They tossed it out.”

“I don't care about shit like that. Anything real?”

Martin shook his head.

“What about clients you represented that would be embarrassing?”

Martin thought about it for a minute and said, “Nothing.”

“Which foreign governments do you represent?”

“France, China, Brazil, and Australia. All longtime clients. I don't see any problems there. I'm a Washington lawyer.”

“What about health issues? Anything that would affect your ability to do the job?”

“Hey, you can't be serious. You've seen me running around a tennis court for hours. I'm still going strong when you're ready to collapse.”

“Okay, let's move on. People in this town usually get in trouble because of sex, money, or power. Let's talk about those.”

Martin gripped the arms of his chair. He'd have to submit to this—grin and bear it. He took the initiative. “My sex life has been boring. I've been married once. We still are after thirty-five years. I've been monogamous.”

“Really?”

“Yes.”

“No affairs?”

“No.”

“Not even with one of those women on the tennis team at Kenwood who are always chatting you up? ‘Oh hi, Andrew,'” he cooed.

“No.”

“Somebody you met at a bar or on a business trip?”

“Nope.”

“How about prostitutes?”

“Never.”

“Gay relationships?”

Martin scowled. “C'mon.”

“I had to ask.”

“The answer's no, but you should drop that one from your repertoire.” Martin's voice was sharp.

Arthur raised his hand. “Okay, don't get pissed. What about money?”

“Tell your FBI people to see Walter Cox at PWC in town. He does my taxes. Has all the records, including ten years of tax returns. I'll tell him to open up the books.”

“What'll we find?”

“I filed and paid every year.”

“Good for you. What else?”

Martin sighed. “I had one bad investment a couple of years ago in Florida realty. There wasn't much money involved.”

Arthur winced. “I got burned myself big time with a dot com during the go-go nineties. We should stick to law practice.” Arthur ran his hand through his hair. “Ever had any disputes with the IRS?”

“They disallowed $10,000 of the deduction I claimed on the Florida realty matter. No big deal. That's it.”

“Will you be able to take a huge pay cut and live on the salary of the chief justice?”

“Absolutely. I've saved a lot from what I've made at the firm. I want to serve my country.”

“And you want the power that goes with the position.”

“Of course.”

“Now let's return to the skeletons in your closet, the things you'd like not to read about in the newspaper, all the way back from putting chewing gum under your desk in fifth grade and feeling up Juliet, the girl with the big tits, in the seventh. Now's the time to put it all on the table.”

Martin thought once more about Jasper's call and calmly replied, “I already told you there isn't anything.”

Arthur sighed deeply, finishing his coffee and refilling the cup.

Wanting to shift the discussion away from himself, Martin asked, “Who else is on the short list?”

“Mary Corbett on the Second Circuit and Lance Butler from the Fifth Circuit.”

Both formidable, Martin thought. Well respected federal appellate judges.

“It'll be one of you,” Arthur continued, “unless all three go up in smoke. Anything to say about the other two?”

“They're both good people.”

“I agree.”

“What's your timetable?”

“All three of your names will be leaked to the
Washington Post
to run in tomorrow's paper. The president expects to announce his choice within two weeks. The next step will be an FBI investigation followed by an interview with the president. Okay, we're done. Keep your cell phone on whenever possible.”

Walking along the corridor from Arthur's office, Martin felt like leaping into the air for joy and shouting “yes!” How far he'd come, he thought. The son of a steelworker in Beaver Falls, Pennsylvania, laid off when the mill slowed down and forced to scrounge for work in construction. He had a mother with polio and a sister killed by a gang in high school. These were unhappy times. Then with the help of a guidance counselor, he won the scholarship to Yale established for a resident of Western Pennsylvania. Things soaring after that—Oxford on a Rhodes and Yale Law with scholarships, loans, and part-time jobs. And now maybe he'll become chief justice of the United States.

Get a grip, he warned himself. He was still nowhere near being nominated. Butler and Corbett were tough competitors. The Senator Jasper incident with Vanessa was a huge cloud on the horizon. And Martin couldn't let that interfere with his chances.

Though he hadn't been offered the job, Martin realized he had to alert the other members of the law firm's management committee before they read about him being on the short list in the press. He took out his cell phone and called his secretary. “Schedule an emergency meeting of the management committee this afternoon at six.”

* * *

Martin walked down the polished wooden floor with its oriental runners to the Fred Glass conference room. He liked management committee meetings to take place there as a way of remembering Fred's instrumental role in starting the firm.

With his own departure now possible, Martin recalled dedicating the conference room two years ago. It was a month after Fred's death. Martin had asked Betty, Fred's widow, and their two children and six grandchildren to bring pictures of Fred to hang on the walls along with legal memorabilia of his accomplishments. They brought photos of a gigantic financing he engineered for New York State, shots of acquisitions for IBM, GE, Intel, and a stock offering for Aero Industries. They also showed his award from the president of Harvard for his fundraising. So now Martin might also be leaving. But the baby the two of them had spawned was powerful. It would thrive without its founders.

Martin never looked forward to these management committee meetings. Running an organization by committee is a plague. For years, with Fred's acquiescence, he'd operated the firm as a benevolent dictatorship. He could have strangled that group of young partners who, ten years ago, demanded a management committee elected by all partners. He felt like King John at Runnymede. He had to acquiesce or the firm would disintegrate. But, he'd nonetheless maintained the real power by operating as chairman.

Entering the conference room he checked his watch. Five to six. He looked around. Three were already here. On one side was Meg Worth, head of the firm's wills and estates practice. Good old Meg, stocky and solid in both appearance and outlook. She had pale blue eyes, rimless glasses, and a Dutch bob. In her mid-forties, she was always calm, always searching for the compromise.

Martin liked that she was a voice of reason. Next to Meg, was Tom Wilder, IP litigator and quintessential nerd. At fifty, he was a tall string bean with thinning black hair over a narrow face. His navy suit was rumpled. It probably had never been cleaned or pressed. Constantly tugging on his earlobe, he needed a shave, even at ten in the morning, but he was a technical genius. Recipient of a PhD from Cal Tech in near-record time, he tossed it all away and enrolled at Harvard Law. And what amazed Martin was that Tom could not only understand complex technical issues, but managed to explain them to a lay judge.