Chapter 12: Bigger Than Chicago

Jocelyn The first assumption anyone made about me at Dad’s law firm was that I already had a job waiting, whether I’d earned it or not. “Good morning, Ms. Redford.” The receptionist smiled when I approached the desk. “Your father’s expecting you.” “Jocelyn is fine.” “Of course. He said you’d be meeting with several partners today.” “That’s the plan.” Her smile widened. “How exciting. It must be wonderful knowing you’ll have a position waiting whenever you decide to come home.” I stopped halfway through putting my phone into my purse. “I haven’t accepted a position,” I said pleasantly. “And if I do, I expect to go through the same process as anyone else.” The woman blinked before nodding. “Of course.” I continued toward the elevators, wondering how many people had already decided Dad was simply giving me a job because I was his daughter. Dad met me on the second floor, wearing a charcoal suit and looking considerably more rested than he had the day before. He held two folders. “Ready?” “Depends. Am I walking into an interview or a family reunion?” “Hopefully a little of both.” “Dad.” He laughed. “I’ve told everyone you’re evaluating the opportunity. Nobody’s expecting a decision today.” “Good. Because I’m not making one.” “I know, honey.” We started in commercial litigation, where several attorneys were preparing for a hearing involving a dispute between regional businesses. I recognized the case from a recent article about its potential impact on suppliers throughout the state. The team was reviewing publicly filed briefs and a hearing schedule when we entered. Dad made it clear that anything confidential would remain off-limits until I was properly authorized to see it. I appreciated the distinction; I would have insisted on it myself. Dad noticed where I was looking. “You’re studying that brief like you’re about to take over,” he whispered. “I’m wondering why they led with their weakest argument.” He laughed. “I’ll introduce you to the attorney responsible. You can ask her.” “Absolutely not. I haven’t even been offered a chair yet.” Our next stop was the real estate and property department. I’d expected a handful of residential closings and commercial leases. Instead, Dad described development projects, complicated transactions, title disputes, financing arrangements, and disagreements involving businesses and family-held land throughout New Mexico. One attorney described an anonymized, recently completed transaction involving several entities that owned different portions of the same commercial development. The team had coordinated multiple agreements and resolved competing interests before closing. It was exactly the kind of work I enjoyed. I asked how they coordinated litigation risks with transactional deadlines. The attorney answered thoughtfully, then asked how my Chicago firm handled similar matters. Within minutes, we were discussing procedures rather than exchanging introductions. Dad stood back and let us talk. By the time we reached estate planning, I’d nearly forgotten I was supposed to be evaluating the place. The attorneys worked with family-owned businesses, substantial estates, complicated trusts, and succession arrangements involving several generations. Much of their work intersected with the corporate practice when ownership interests needed to pass between relatives without disrupting active businesses. It was more sophisticated than the wills-and-deeds practice I’d pictured. The corporate team occupied the offices beyond it. One partner explained how they advised companies expanding across New Mexico, from negotiating acquisitions to reorganizing ownership and drafting agreements between investors. He used a transaction already announced publicly to explain the coordination required among the corporate, property, and litigation groups. The overlap impressed me. In Chicago, I sometimes spent weeks chasing information between departments that barely spoke to each other. Here, the teams seemed to know exactly when to bring one another in. It was the kind of work where a mistake in one document could ripple across an entire business, and I wanted to know how they kept everything aligned. “You’re enjoying yourself,” Dad observed in the hallway. “I’m evaluating.” “Is that what we’re calling it?” “It’s an important distinction.” He smiled and led me into a conference room. Three attorneys were waiting, including a woman with dark hair pulled into a neat twist and an expression that suggested she didn’t appreciate having her time wasted. “Jocelyn, this is Nadia Pacheco, one of our senior litigation partners.” Nadia shook my hand firmly. “I’ve reviewed your professional background,” she said. “Your father speaks highly of you.” “I hope my work supports his opinion.” “That’s what I’d like to determine.” I appreciated the directness. We sat, and Nadia asked about the commercial cases I’d handled in Chicago, the clients I preferred, and whether I’d be comfortable developing business instead of simply receiving assignments from senior partners. Her questions were detailed. I answered honestly, including where my experience was strongest and where I’d need to learn. “Joining us wouldn’t automatically put you in line to run the firm,” she said. “I understand.” “Your father has made his long-term wishes clear. The partners will expect anyone seeking leadership to demonstrate sound judgment, financial responsibility, and the ability to maintain client relationships.” “That’s exactly what I’d expect.” Nadia studied me. “Then why are you considering leaving Chicago?” I could have mentioned Dad’s age, Luke’s death, or the fact that I’d just returned after eight years away. Those things mattered, but they weren’t why I’d spent the morning asking questions about commercial work. “Because the practice interests me,” I said. “And because I believe I could contribute something valuable. My decision would have to make professional sense, regardless of who owns the firm.” Nadia nodded slowly. “That’s a better answer than wanting to be closer to your father.” “I do want to be closer to him. But I wouldn’t accept a position I wasn’t qualified to hold.” For the first time, she smiled. “Good. We have enough work to keep a qualified attorney busy.” Afterward, Dad introduced me to longtime staff and younger associates, and we discussed licensing, client transitions, and what it would take to establish myself here. Back in his office, my feet hurt and my mind was racing. “Well?” he asked. “I owe you an apology. I assumed coming back would mean taking a smaller job.” He nodded without appearing offended. “And?” “And I was wrong.” He didn’t celebrate or pressure me for an answer, and I appreciated that. Chicago had given me an extraordinary foundation. I’d never regret leaving New Mexico to pursue it. But Dad’s attorneys weren’t offering a place to hide from a difficult week. They were doing work I wanted to be part of. Nadia Pacheco hadn’t promised me anything, and that might have impressed me most of all. For the first time, I wasn’t simply asking whether this firm was good enough for me. I was thinking about what I’d have to prove to earn my place in it.