Chapter 11: Just Considering

Jocelyn My managing partner’s email arrived while I was reading Dad’s proposal for the third time, and the timing couldn’t have been more appropriate. My request for additional leave had been approved. I had another week in New Mexico, provided I remained available for urgent questions and returned to the Chicago office the following Monday. There was also a reminder about the commercial litigation matter I’d been handling before Luke died. Opposing counsel had submitted revised settlement terms, and the partners wanted my recommendations before our next client meeting. Chicago wasn’t going to disappear simply because another opportunity had presented itself. I closed the proposal and opened my work files, settling onto the couch in Dad’s living room with my laptop balanced across my knees. He’d gone upstairs to rest after our meeting at the firm, and the house was finally quiet enough for me to think. I’d spent eight years building my career. I had an apartment I loved, colleagues who respected me, and clients who trusted me to handle matters that could affect their businesses for years. I’d fought for every promotion, every difficult assignment, and every seat at a table where someone assumed I was too young to belong. I wasn’t about to walk away from all that because Dad had handed me an impressive folder. But I couldn’t pretend the offer wasn’t worth examining, either. I opened it again and compared the proposed salary against my current compensation. Dad’s offer was competitive, especially considering the difference in living expenses. The partnership track was attractive, and the succession plan offered something I wouldn’t realistically have access to in Chicago for years. Then there was the question of practicing in New Mexico. I’d need to confirm the applicable admission requirements and arrange my licensing before taking on clients. There would be professional obligations to satisfy, a transition to coordinate, and an entire practice to learn. None of it was impossible, which made the decision harder than I’d expected. My phone rang. The managing partner’s name appeared on the screen, and I straightened automatically. “Hello.” “Jocelyn. I hope I’m not interrupting.” “Not at all. I was reviewing the settlement revisions.” “Already?” There was amusement in his voice. “You’re supposed to be taking time with your family.” “I can do both.” “I know you can. That’s why I’m calling.” We spent several minutes discussing the client matter, including the changes opposing counsel had made and the recommendations I’d send once I’d completed my review. It felt good to talk about something familiar, something I could analyze without wondering whether my personal feelings were interfering. Eventually, the conversation shifted. “Your additional leave is approved,” he said. “But I wanted to confirm you’ll be back the following Monday. We’ve got several matters coming up, and I need to know how to allocate them.” “That’s still my plan.” “Good. I know this has been difficult, and we’re happy to give you the time you need. We also have clients specifically asking for you.” I glanced at Dad’s proposal. “I appreciate that.” “You’ve built an excellent reputation here, Jocelyn. I don’t want you feeling as though things are moving forward without you.” His words should have settled the matter. They were exactly what I’d spent years working to hear. Instead, they reminded me that I had people counting on me in two different states. I pictured the conference room in Chicago, the partners waiting for my assessment while a client measured every expression for clues. Nobody there had ever expected me to be anything except prepared. Leaving would mean saying goodbye to people who had helped make me the attorney I was, not merely handing back a key card. “I’ll have those recommendations to you tomorrow,” I promised. After we disconnected, I opened a new document and divided the page into two columns. Chicago and New Mexico. It was an embarrassingly simple exercise for a woman who regularly analyzed complicated business disputes, but sometimes the easiest way to understand a problem was to put the facts in front of you. What I couldn’t put in either column was a fair comparison of the unknowns. I knew the politics of my Chicago firm, which partners trusted me, and which clients would call me at midnight. Here, I would have to learn a different office and prove that I belonged in it. I could handle that. I just needed to decide whether I wanted to. Under Chicago, I listed my position, compensation, professional relationships, clients, and advancement opportunities. Under New Mexico, I listed Dad’s proposal, the succession plan, proximity to family, and the possibility of building a career with greater long-term authority. There was another reason New Mexico kept pulling at me, and his name was Brian Moss. I didn’t write him down. He wasn’t a professional consideration, although I couldn’t ignore that I hadn’t stopped thinking about him since the funeral. His expression when I’d confronted him about Luke. The way he’d defended Sable. The familiar warmth in his voice when he’d called me Lynnie. I’d spent years wondering what might happen if we saw each other again. I’d never imagined accusing him of killing my brother. That brought me back to why I’d requested more time here in the first place. I opened the investigating department’s public website, found its records contact information, and emailed a request for instructions on obtaining whatever records concerning Luke’s death could legally be released. I knew there might be restrictions, but I could at least begin with the proper process. I also noted the dates I needed to verify surrounding Steve’s crash and Brian’s appointment as vice president. A sequence of events wasn’t evidence by itself, and I wasn’t going to mistake suspicion for proof. But I could establish the facts before asking anyone to explain them. I saved the notes in a separate personal folder, well away from my clients’ files. My phone buzzed with a message from Dad. Would you like to come back tomorrow? I can show you around properly and introduce you to the people you’d be working with. A visit didn’t mean accepting the position. Meeting the partners and asking hard questions was simply responsible. I’d like that, I replied. But I want to meet them as a prospective attorney, not just your daughter. His response came almost immediately. Wouldn’t have it any other way, honey. I smiled and returned to my laptop. My Chicago cases needed attention, and Luke’s death deserved answers. Dad’s offer was another question I could consider without deciding today. Still, when I glanced at my two columns again, something made my stomach tighten. For the first time in eight years, going back to Chicago felt like a decision I would have to make, rather than something I’d automatically do.