Chapter 2
Whitney
“You look tired.”
“Thanks, Gwen.”
“I’m just saying, if you come sit in my chair one day, I could give you a new haircut, a new hair color, a nice massage and deep condition. You’ll feel good as new,” said Gwen.
“I take it the hairdressing business is going well?” I asked.
“Girl, I got that shit on lock. I’ve almost got enough to start my own little place!”
“Wait, that’s awesome,” I said. “When the hell were you gonna tell me this?”
“I just did, bitch! By the end of this year, my Christmas present to myself will be signing the lease on the store for my own business.”
“Holy hell, Gwen, I’m so proud of you. Have you started looking at places? You need someone to look over rental contracts?”
“Girl, that law degree of yours does not relegate you to go reading over my legal paperwork,” she said. “I got this.”
“I just want to help,” I said. “Gwen, this is exciting. You’ve been talking about owning your own salon ever since we were in grade school.”
“Yep. I knew what I wanted then, and I know what I want now. The question is, do you?”
Her question hit me like a ton of bricks. We were sitting at our favorite restaurant in Memphis, waiting for the best barbecue while we sipped on the best sweet tea in the South, but all I could do was sigh. It felt like my best friend’s life was falling into all the right places. She graduated from high school and went straight to beauty school. She learned how to cut hair before jetting off to L.A. to learn all the new and funky coloring styles. Then, she kept getting certification after certification on how to do everything from neck massages to people’s toenails. She was a one-stop shop for everything spa-oriented, and it had all culminated to her opening up her own salon.
Me? I was a twenty-eight-year-old lawyer working in a corporate law firm that defended institutions from getting sued for shady practices they engaged in. We defended everything from sexual harassment lawsuits to companies that were skirting health regulations in their own damn factories. My firm defended embezzlement cases and even assisted one or two people into getting by with their Ponzi-scheme-like business setups.
It made me sick, and I was tired of defending the guilty just because it paid me a decent sum of money.
“No, Gwen, I don’t know what I want to do,” I said.
“What’s going on with work?” she asked. “Obviously, the paycheck isn’t worth it anymore.”
“No, it isn’t. Had I known what I was getting into from the beginning, I wouldn't have taken the job. I became a lawyer to defend those who need it; to prosecute and put away the very same men I’m defending every day. These men and these companies should have been thrown in jail and had everything stripped from them. I’ve watched them drag women who’ve been sexually harassed through the fucking mud for a measly settlement so they wouldn’t have to go to court. Work is hell, Gwen. This isn’t what I signed up for.”
“So fucking quit,” she said. “That’s absolute bullshit. Can you quit and go after those assholes?”
“Their cases are closed,” I said. “You can’t reopen them unless another woman comes forward. But I can’t just quit, can I? What in the world would I do?”
“Look, Whitney. That job pays you over six fucking figures a year, yet whenever I see you, you look like you make less than five. You’re cheap, so I know you’re stowing away that money. What are you doing? Investing it? Giving it away? Letting it sit in a raggedy show box for some rainy day?”
“I’m investing it,” I said. “I started hating my job so much that I figured I could invest in high-risk accounts and retire by the time I’m forty or some shit.”
“So, you’ve got money in the bank. You worked all through law school, even though you didn’t need to, and your full fucking ride paid for everything. You’ve got money for days, Whitney. Use a little of it.”
“To live without a job?” I asked.
“You could go wherever you want. You like the beach, right?”
“Not really,” I said. “Too crowded in the summer.”
“Then get yourself a little rented condo this winter. Get away. Remember when I went to the mountains last summer, after my breakup, and came back a new fucking woman? Clear your head. Getting away from all this bullshit will help you figure out what you want to do.”
Her words sat heavily in my head just as our food was set in front of us. The barbecue smelled delicious, and the hushpuppies were to die for. Gwen was already digging into her macaroni and cheese, but all I could think about was saving room for their blackberry cobbler.
Holy hell, this place had the best cobbler.
“Well, I still can’t just quit,” I said.
“Yes, you can,” Gwen said. “You’re just telling yourself you can’t.”
“No, I can’t,” I said. “I’ve already been given a new case by my boss.”
“So turn that shit down.”
“No, I can’t,” I said. “It’s me and another colleague of mine defending some asshole.”
“What are they doing?” she asked.
“I can’t go into specifics because of attorney-client privilege, but it’s absolutely insane. The client’s ready to win, ‘no matter what it takes.’”
“That doesn’t sound good,” Gwen said.
“It’s not,” I said. “This man should be stripped of his wealth and thrown into Guantanamo.”
“Whoa,” Gwen said. “Those are some harsh words. Has he killed someone or something?”
“He might as well have.”
The truth was, I had no business defending a man like this. He was the head of one of the most powerful pharmaceutical companies, and he ended up cutting corners like all asshole businesses do. He took his drug to trial before it was ready, and now, some of the patients in his trial were dying. And he wanted to cover it up and somehow make it the patients’ fault so he could take the damn drug to market to make millions.
But here was the kicker: by the time this man made his projected four hundred million dollars off this one drug, he’d have settlements to pay because more people would die. And if he could convince them all to settle out of court, that was maybe fifty million out of his pocket if he could keep the government out of it.
Which still meant he netted three hundred and fifty million dollars from this faulty fucking drug.
It was disgusting.
I finished up my lunch with Gwen and hugged her. I got myself a sweet tea to go, as well as another slice of their blackberry cobbler before I headed back to work. I knew my boss would be ready to update me on the latest toe-curling saga from Mr. Pharmaceutical.
What I didn’t expect was for him to be waiting for me at my door.
“Miss Hollis, I assume you have a good reason for being late?” he said.
“I’m not late,” I said. “I’m actually two minutes early. Would you like to come in?”
“No, we can talk right out here. You need to mount your defense forty-eight hours early. Our client is trying to settle out of court.”
“Of course, he is,” I said, sighing. “I’ll get right on it. But I’ve gotta ask you: can you really get behind this man?”
“What does that mean?” my boss asked.
“I mean, from what I’ve already read up on him in the documents, his drug is killing these patients in these trials. Why in the world are we defending someone like that?”
My boss’s stare hardened, and I could tell I was treading on thin ice. The last thing I needed was to be fired, but the more I looked at my boss’s stoic, angry face, the more I wanted to punch him in it.
“Miss Hollis, if you believe the client is at fault, it doesn’t matter. You work for me, and I’ve told you what I need from you. Now, do what you are paid to do, or I will find someone else who will. Someone I can pay a little less money for, mind you.”
“I just wanted your honest opinion,” I said. “Your honest, human opinion.”
“Tried and true lesson number one, Miss Hollis. As a lawyer, you don’t get to be human.”
His words were like a slap on my face. All my life, I’d wanted to be a lawyer. To help those that couldn’t defend themselves. I wanted to gather up the women and men who felt they couldn’t go after their perpetrators and run those assholes down. It was the human side of me, the empathetic side of me that pushed me to become a lawyer.
And now, I was working with a man who told me that was exactly what I couldn’t be.
“Sir, that simply isn’t true,” I said.
“What did you say?” he asked.
“This client is killing people, and he knows it,” I said. “He’s a murderer, and he knows it. He’s come to you because you’ve sold your soul to some devil, and that means you’re willing to defend a mass murderer. There are five people dead because of him right now, and if this drug goes to market, who knows how many more will die? This man deserves everything that’s coming to him from the families he’s devastated. I will not help a murderer go free.”
“You will if you want this job,” he said.
“I quit.”
Once those two words left my mouth, I felt like a boulder had been lifted off my shoulders. I felt like, for the first time in two years, I could take my first deep breath. I felt like my head had just come above water, and I was coughing up the burning salt from my lungs from an ocean of darkness that had tried to suck me down in its depths.
My boss’s eyes were on fire as I turned my back to him and threw open my office door.
“If you aren’t out of here within the next four hours, I’m having security escort you out,” he said.
“Actually, I have to pack up and then head down to HR,” I said. “I’ll have to update them on my status and then discuss my severance plan.”
“You will have no severance plan,” he said.
“Would you like me to challenge that in court? Because I’m more than willing to.”
I turned around, caught his glare, and I felt powerful. In control. Alive. I watched my boss waver for a split second before he turned around and stormed away. I sat down in my office chair and looked around, eyeing the few things I’d decorated it with. I didn’t have books or anything that needed to come with me. Hell, I could probably fit everything in the massive purse I lugged around with me. But even though this job caused me more heartache and pain than I could’ve ever imagined, I’d called it home for two years. I spent more hours here than I did at my own apartment, and now, I didn’t have anything to occupy my time.
I had no plans, and that was when my fear began to set in. What the hell had I just done?
I packed up my laptop and the rest of my things before I turned off the light in my office. People were poking their heads out and watching me all the way to the elevator. I smiled and nodded before I headed down to HR. I wanted to make sure I talked with them face-to-face and got paperwork signed before my boss could get to it because now, I was going to need all the money I could muster. I still had an entire paycheck coming in a couple of days, and I could automatically invest my severance package, so that was a start. I signed all the paperwork and made copies for myself, then stayed and watched the HR clerk file them electronically before I left.
I walked out of the office with my overloaded purse, my cobbler, and my tea, and for the first time in my life, I had no idea where to go. I spent so little time at my apartment, that it was practically like a hotel room. My fridge had nothing more than creamer for coffee and bottles of water. Gwen was right. I was cheap because of the way I was raised by my father, and I was scared of spending money because of the turn my life took in high school.
When I was fifteen, my father lost his job. We weren’t wealthy by any means, but with state assistance, we got by. My mother worked whatever jobs she could until her back gave out, and she had to quit. My escape from my world was always going over to Gwen’s. Her parents had wonderful jobs, and food overflowing their fridge at any given moment. I was mesmerized by the way they lived. I’d always looked forward to sleepovers, when I would eat until I couldn’t see straight. Then her parents would always give me plates of food to take back to my parents.
However, when my father lost his job and couldn’t find work, we were evicted and living on the streets.
My father always taught me how to rub two quarters together to get a dollar, but those couple of weeks on the streets until Gwen’s family found out and took us in had done their damage. My mother had begged for money on the corner while my father applied for any and every job he could find. It wasn’t until I broke down to Gwen one day in the library that she finally knew what was going on.
Gwen’s family took us in for a time, but I knew they couldn’t keep us in their home forever.
I couldn’t blame them. One family taking in another family skyrocketed bills and grocery runs. Even with trying to ration my food, I knew the toll we were taking on the Maxwell household. My father used their computer to apply for jobs all around the country, and after two months of straining an entire household, he found a job.
A factory job in the middle of South Dakota.
Gwen’s family offered to keep me with them so I could stay in school and graduate in my hometown, and at first, my parents were against it. We fought, and we yelled. We screamed, and we cried. I called them every single name under the sun, and they continuously called me selfish. The stress and the pain and the fear that I’d kept shoved down boiled over the top, and it drove such a rift between my parents and me that we couldn’t even stand to be around one another.
Eventually, however, they caved to the notion and left me with Gwen.
What I didn’t realize was that I’d barely hear from them again.
To this day, we barely spoke. They barely called after they got to South Dakota, but I was so scarred by the upheaval that I didn’t reach out much. I didn’t care that I didn’t hear from them, except on certain occasions like birthdays. I didn’t care that they didn’t want me. Maybe they were ashamed that they couldn’t give me the life Gwen’s parents could, so they were doing what they thought was best for me.
But as I stood on the edge of the corner outside of the place I used to call work, I sipped my tea and held back my tears.
I felt like that lost little girl again, sleeping on the street, and I didn’t know where in the hell I could go from there.