Having succeeded in passing off the staffing moves as ”asset reallocations” the firm has finally run out of places to hide: and is forced to announce redundancies. 

But, as ever, it handles them with the diplomatic skills of George W Bush.

With no warning an e-mail is circulated which announces: “The Immediate Intention to Implement Staffing Reduction Measures”. 

It provokes firm-wide panic, (everywhere except the litigation department, which is, of course, basking in the global misfortune).

“I’ve just encountered three weeping women in the toilets,” Liz informs us.  ”I haven’t seen so much streaky mascara since Princess Diana died.”  

“Everyone seems to think they’re up for the chop,” I sigh.

“I’m not surprised,” Jane  tuts. “The way that e-mail was worded, they might as well have let off a hand grenade and waited for the explosion.”

We all nod in agreement.

“Apparently,” Liz whispers. “HR advised a more touchy-feely approach but the Partners wanted to get it over with as quickly as possible - to avoid disruption!”

 Oh how well they have managed that!

“I bet they wish they could just sack the lot of them,” Liz observes. “They must hate having to follow rules.”

“We have to consult?” Jane mimics The Boss. “With the staff?  Are you sure? ” 

“I’m afraid so Sir,” Alex whispers, a la Veronica.

“But why?!” she thunders. “Are there no prisons?  Are there no workhouses?!” 

“I’m afraid not,” he  shakes his head. “But perhaps we could look at establishing one via the Corporate Responsbility Programme?”

Things get worse when the HR team tries to dampen the flames.  The next e-mail (an attempt to assuage everyone’s fears) only serves to compound them.

“The world is undergoing a paradigm shift in economic behaviour,” it begins. “and, as a result of the reduction in work across The City there is a need for a re-evaluation of staffing levels in the firm.   A significant reduction in posts is, unfortunately, inevitable but we understand your concerns.  In view of the  extremely hostile employment climate, please rest assured that the firm will do its utmost to help those selected for these roles.”

“‘Selected for these roles?’” Alex scoffs. “It makes them sound like they’re about to star in a  West End musical!”

“I hear the producers of ’Oliver’ are on the look-out for street urchins,” quips Jane.

All this Dickensian doom and gloom is unsettling.    I return to my office and ponder the benefits of working for in “counter-cyclical” service; I have a job because everyone else is being sacked or getting sued but, does being a litigator put me on a par with pawnbrokers and bailiffs?   I guess so.

The next day, in keeping with the desperate manner in which it has been arranged, those “selected for these roles” are on the receiving end of a third e-mail (copies of which are, naturally, circulated round the building).

“You have been selected to take part in the redundancy consultation process.    We shall be in touch in due course, to inform you of the outcome of this exercise.”   

“They might as well just take them outside and shoot them,” Liz mutters.  “It would be less painful than having to endure the indignity of the ‘consultation process’.”

“And less disingenuous,” Alex agrees. “Tom, in Finance, told me the partners are just going to chose the staff they don’t like and then think up ways of justifying their selection.”

“That’s outrageous!” Jane exclaims.

“That’s City law firms,” I point out.

Still, the firm begins at least making a show of following the rules, by asking for staff to stand as “employee representatives”  on the consultation committee.

Jane immediately volunteers but is rebuffed by Caroline, who informs her that she is not one of the ‘affected employee groups’.”

“What does that matter?” she huffs.  “I want to make sure it’s done properly for when the recession ends and you start laying litigators off!”

Despite her protests, Caroline is unmoved.   Only members of the “affected employee groups” are eligible but, given that the ‘affected employee groups’ represent four fifths of the firm, that’s still a pretty large pool.   

And, to everyone’s amazement Fergus puts himself forward.

“Have you suffered a head injury?” Jane asks him.

“Not at all,” he smirks. “I want to give something back to my community.”

“You will never be elected,” she points out.

“Why not?”

“Because, after our Boss, you are the most unpopular person in the firm.”

“You don’t mean that,” he chuckles. 

“I do,” she nods.

With an obsequious wink he saunters off to practice his canvassing techniques on the unwitting trainees.

“Do you think his Dad put him up to it?” Alex wonders. 

“I wouldn’t be surprised,” I agree, “There is no chance of him being laid off whilst Daddy is a partner.”

“Then why is he doing it?”

“Keeping up appearances,” Jane reasons, “Either that, or he’s an industrial spy.”

Luckily, for those who are part of the ‘affected employee groups’, there are other candidates, who are not related to members of the partnership, to choose from. And, soon, there is a busy election campaign organised.  

A week later, the votes are in and, astonishingly, Fergus is on the committee!  He makes a point of doing a victory lap of our floor and telling Jane that he is ‘The People’s Champion.” 

None of us is convinced but with the employee representatives in place, the consultation process begins in earnest.   At their first meeting they are presented with the criteria the firm intends to use to select fee earners for redundancy.

• attendance record,
• disciplinary record,
• specialist skills,
• contribution to business development initiatives,
• client relationships; and
• appraisal ratings

“Client relationships?” scoffs Jane.  “How many assistants are allowed those?  The Boss does his best to pretend that he does all the work himself.”

We all nod in agreement. 

“What about attendance record?” says Liz.  “If someone was sick they’ll be penalised.  That’s not very PC.”

Since when has anything in this firm been PC?

“What the hell does ‘specialist skills’ mean?”  Alex asks. 

“Fire eating and tight rope walking,” Jane guesses.

It really is that ridiculous.

Liz gives a desultory shake of her head.  “I’m glad I’m not going through this.  They can dress any decision up with this cloak of  consultation.”

“It’s horrible,” Alex agrees.  “Litigation and Insolvency are the only teams not targetted.  Kevin, in Construction, is applying for Teacher Training posts cos there are no jobs in law.”

We are all very depressed.   It’s hard to work knowing our colleagues are about to be laid off.  Harder still since The Boss keeps reminding us of it at every opportunity.

“How lucky you are to be working for me!” he declares. “Oodles of lovely work to do and no nasty threat of redundancy hanging over you.”

For the first time in our careers we really do consider ourselves lucky to be working for him.   At least, until the “voluntary” redundancy packages are announced.

“Three months’ notice plus three months’ redundancy pay?!” Jane exclaims.    “That is six months’ wages!”

“Half of which is tax free,” I point out.

“You have got to be kidding?!” she is open-mouthed with astonishment.  ”Since when did the firm become so generous?”

“Since Fergus decided he wanted to spend the summer playing polo,” Liz explains.  

“Sorry?” We turn to look at her.

“That’s the reason,” she nods. “He wants to go to Argentina so he persuaded his Dad and others to give him, and anyone volunteering to leave quietly, a great big bung.”

“I’ll volunteer!” Alex pipes up.

“Me too!” I agree.

“And me!” Jane nods.  

“I’m afraid not,” Liz shakes her head.  “We are not part of the ‘affected employee groups’. ”