How does one go about passing on industrial secrets? Is there a protocol for these things? A user’s guide to employment espionage, perhaps?
If there isn’t, there should be. Now that I’ve made my mind up to betray my clients I have no idea how to go about doing it! It’s not like I can just sidle up and stuff secret documents inside the Claimant’s coat; or leave them for her at a secret letter drop.
Jane thinks I should just call her and tell her what I know, but Jane has a kamikazi complex when it comes to her job. I prefer a more subtle route to dismissal – at least leaving myself with a fighting chance to lie my way out of it if, if I can.
I decide to bide my time. Which proves to be fortuitous, as, when we receive a draft Tribunal Application Form from her (in response to our letter brushing her off) The Boss decides to summon a “Without Prejudice” meeting.
“Stupid girl!” he thunders. “Does she not know who she is dealing with?”
Of course, she does…….hence the school-yard response.
“She’s only protecting her interests,” I argue. “I would do the same thing in her position.”
“Oh you would, would you?” he peers down at me like a lion looking at a mouse.
“Yes. And so would you.” If anyone was ever able to oust you from the partnership.
He considers this. “You’re right. But I am a partner and she only a lowly assistant. If she knows what’s good for her, she should just put up and shut up.”
And, thus, in one small sentence, he encapsulates his entire management strategy
Still, keen to seize the initiative, I offer to arrange the “WP” meeting for the following week. But, then, when I write to suggest it, she thinks its a shameless defence-lawyer plan to bulldoze her into submission.
“I do not think it is appropriate, nor professional,” she writes, “to arrange a meeting with such a lack of notice or consideration. Whilst I am, of course, willing to discuss the matter in less formal setting, I will not be bullied into agreeing an arrangement which allows me no time to consult my advisors or to prepare. I shall revert to you with a time which is convenient to me, shortly.”
“She’s a trouble maker,” Observes Jane, Queen of Trouble Makers, reading the letter.
“She’ll be fine once she knows that I’m on her side,” I say, dismissively.
“But you’re not on her side, are you?” she points out. “You are representing the opposition. ”
“You know what I mean!”
“Well, not really. You are defending her old firm so she will view you as part of The Axis of Evil. ”
I hadn’t thought about that. But she’s right. She will see me as one of them.
“So, how do I go about convincing her that I’m not?”
“Perhaps you can turn up in a green tunic, tights and pointy hat?” she laughs.
“Very funny.”
“Robbing the rich to pay the poor!!” she goes on, amused by her own joke. “Helen Hood, Helen Hood, riding through the glen, Helen Hood, Helen Hood with her band of men. Feared by the bad, loved by the good! Helen Hood…Helen Hood, Helen Hood…….”
“I am not robbing the rich,” I sniff. “I am facilitating a fair and reasonable settlement between unequal parties.”
“By making the noblemen pay for their crimes against the serfs!” she cackles.
There is no talking to her when she’s in one of these moods. I seek solace in more sensible souls and locate Liz and Alex. But I don’t get my sympathy there either.
“You can’t give your client’s secrets away!” Liz is shocked by my confession.
“I’m not selling them to The Soviets” I reason.
“You might as well be! The Boss will have you in a gulag quicker than you can say Glasnost if he finds out what you’re up to. ”
“Well, he won’t, will he?” I fire her a petulant look.
“I think it’s marvellous!” Alex enthuses. “If we all did the same thing, all those evil employers would think twice about shafting us poor long-suffering workers!”
“But she’s completely compromising her professional integrity,” Liz argues.
“She might be,” he laughs. “if she had any!”
“Seriously Helen,” Liz warns me. “No matter how awful these cases are, you’ve got to act in the best interests of your clients.”
“That’s exactly what I am doing!” I protest. “Believe me, they will be better served by my actions, than by allowing this girl to tell The City what she thinks of them.”
“Spoken like a true shop steward!” Alex laughs.
I don’t like this accusation. It makes me think of Bob Crow and Arthur Scargill. Not people I would choose to be compared to. Still, I am resolved to put my plan into action and that’s exactly what I shall do.
But, despite my fine words, by the morning of the WP meeting, I am still no further towards putting my grand scheme into practice. Every attempt to speak to her directly has been met with frosty voicemail reception: “Ameila Walker is not available. Please leave a message after the tone.” Having left what I believe to be a suitably business-like yet intriguing message for her to call me back, I receive an e-mail oozing steely resentment: “Thank you for your voicemail message of earlier today. As my letter of 27th April makes clear, I shall revert to you – in writing- when I have consulted my advisors. “
And so, we arrive at the meeting without my having had a chance to prime her with ammunition. She is unprepared when The Boss begins his interrogation in his usual Gestapo-like manner.
“Are you having a laugh?” he begins.
“Sorry?”
“I said: are you having a laugh?”
“I beg your pardon.”
“You heard me. And it seems to me that there are two explanations for this fatuous jaunt: 1. you are having a laugh; or 2. you are trying to blackmail your employers.”
“Blackmail my employers?!” she gasps.
“Are you not?”
“No!”
“Then you must be having a laugh….”
And so it goes on. It’s like being in a cage with a great white shark. Still, despite her incredulity she puts up an admirable show.
“I had understood that I would be dealing with a professional litigator,” she observes.
“And you are, sunshine, you are.”
“There’s nothing professional about your attempts to bully me Mr King.”
“Bullying you?!” he roars. “Ha! This is nothing. Wait ’til you get into the witness box.”
“Oh, I intend to,” she folds her arms.
Ding ding. Round 1 to Ms Walker! I feel like leaping up and congratulating her. But I don’t because The Boss has launched a counter attack.
“You say you were singled out for redundancy because one of the partners made a pass at you?”
“Yes.”
“If he made a pass at you why would he want to get rid of you?”
“Because I turned him down.”
“Oh, so you think that because you ‘turned him down’ he’s out for revenge?”
“Yes.”
“So, let me get this clear: you think that Philip Carlton propositioned you and then, because you turned him down, he singled you out – over everyone else – for redundancy?”
“Yes.”
“You have a pretty high opinion of yourself Ms Walker. You are accusing the department’s senior partner – a married man with three children – of putting his career and marriage in jeopardy by chasing you – a silly little girl in a suit.”
“It’s the truth.”
“You are delusional.”
“No I am not.”
“Do you have any proof?”
“Only the hundreds of other women who have left after an encounter with him.”
“And they’ll testify in your favour will they?”
“Yes.”
“Not if they want to work in The City they won’t,” he leans back in his chair. “It’s his word against yours and who do you think the Court will believe?”
She bravely staggers on, only showing signs of flagging when he starts talking about the libel proceedings which will “naturally” follow any claim for harrassment. Suddenly, in the middle of his big speech, she gets up and leaves the room. The Boss gives a satisfied victory nod.
“I knew she wouldn’t last the distance. It won’t take much more before she capitulates.”
It’s now or never! With a flash of inspiration I flick the sound button on my phone, pretend to check my messages and mumble apologetically that Melinda wants me upstairs -urgently.
Shooting out of the conference room I check the coast is clear and then set off towards the bathrooms. Inching open the door, I can hear a muffled sobbing. Flinging my reticence aside I barge in and tap on the cubicle door.
“What is it?” comes the statled reply.
“Are you ok?” I ask.
“Who wants to know?”
“Helen Bailey.”
“You!”
“Yes.”
“Go away! You and your lovely colleagues have done enough damage!”
“No we haven’t, well, yes, we have, and really I’m sorry that you’re upset….”
“Can’t I even go the toilet without you bullying me!?”
“No. Yes! I’m not bullying you. I’m here to help you.”
“Help me?! What by offering me a job? That’s what I really need. Not all this crap.”
“Not a job, no,” I soothe, although, actually, that is not such a bad idea. “I’m here to tell you something.”
“If it’s more nonsense about how rubbish I am - I was – at my job, save it. I know that’s not true!”
“It isn’t. It’s this,” I take a deep breath. “the firm is embarking on a massive round of redundancies but it doesn’t want them to get into the legal press so, instead of doing it by the book and consulting the staff, it’s starting a programmed called “selective euthansia”. It works by asking the partners to pick people off one by one – that way there is no press coverage and no need for nasty, wasteful laws to be followed. I assume you were chosen for the reasons you’re already aware. ”
There is no reply. But the cubicle door springs open.
“You are kidding?”
“I’m not. But if you ever breathe a word that I have told you this, I will literally kill you. I mean, track you down and break every bone in your body. Is that clear?”
“Crystal.”
“Good. Now, take your time returning to the meeting, I’ve got to shoot upstairs and pretend I’m taking an urgent call.”
With a bewildered smile she squeezes my arm. ”Thanks.”
Ten minutes later, we’re all back in the conference room. Me feeling much more guilty, her looking much more confident.
“Where were we?” she sits down. “Oh yes ! You were just saying what a hopeless lawyer I am and how awful my billing figures were last year. Shall we carry on?”
“If you wish,” The Boss smirks. ”I’ll try to spare you the more gory details.”
“No, no!” she laughs. “Please don’t. I want to hear all the lies the partners are prepared to tell about me.”
The Boss doesn’t know quite what to make of this.
“Very well,” his eyes narrow, ready for the kill. “But before we do so, I must assure you there are no lies to be told. Your professional failings are well documented.”
“Are they?”
“Absolutely.” He produces a report with some handwritten notes on it. “I understand that this is a report you drafted. ”
“It is.”
“Then you can plainly see that there are a very large number of amendments on it.”
“There are.”
“Which proves that you are incapable of following instructions, need constant supervision and cannot be trusted with simple drafting exercises.”
“Or,” she chuckles. “it simply demonstrates that the client changed his instructions.”
And so it goes on. Him producing his ‘concrete evidence’ of her failings and her producing a perfectly plausible explanation for them. Then, unexpectedly, she stands up.
“It’s been lovely to chat Mr King, I could sit here all day and eat your delicious biscuits, but I really must get going with my tribunal claim form.”
She holds her hand out for him to shake.
The Boss lets out an irritated snort. “Are you mad?!”
“Perhaps.”
”It’s career suicide you know.”
“For him or me?”
“You!” he roars. “You foolish girl! You make this public and you will never be able to work again.”
“Is that so?” she smirks. “Or is it really the case that ifI make it public, Mr Carlton and his merry band will never get any work again?”
“It’s the former,” he snaps. ”Look, Ms Walker, I’m doing you a favour, sort it out here, in private and you’ll be able to hold your head up high. Take it out there and no firm will touch you.”
“That’s a chance I’m willing to take. Frankly, I’m not sure I want any law firm to touch me – I feel tainted by association with them. Thank you for your time.”
The Boss is still shaking his head in disbelief as the door closes behind her.
“Arrogant fool,” he mutters.
“She was tougher than we thought,” I busy myself with the files.
“We’ll make mincemeat of her if she presses on.”
“There’s no need to be too harsh. She is right, after all!” I remind him.
“Since when has ‘being right’ had anything to do with the justice system?” he scoffs.
Since I became it’s secret champion! But judging by furious look on his face, I don’t think now is the time to tell him that.
“I admire the way she’s standing up for her beliefs,” I say instead.
“Oh, you do, do you?!” he sneers.
“Yes,” I nod. “It takes a lot of courage for David to take on Goliath.”
And, believe me, I know!
FOR THOSE OF YOU WITH AN INTEREST IN SLAVERY OF A MORE DISTURBING KIND, CHECK OUT MY BOOK REVIEW AT LAWANDMORE.COM
Intriguingly amusing.