He was glib and engaging with a mellow, almost professional baritone. At sixty-one, he was the grandfather of the firm and spent most of his time administering and balancing the enormous egos of some of the richest lawyers in the country. He was the counselor, the one the younger associates went to with their troubles. Mr. Lambert also handled the recruiting, and it was his mission to sign Mitchell Y. McDeere.
"Are you tired of interviewing?" asked Oliver Lambert.
"Not really. It's part of it."
Yes, yes, they all agreed. Seemed like yesterday they were interviewing and submitting resumes and scared to death they wouldn't find a job and three years of sweat and torture would be down the drain. They knew what he was going through, all right.
"May I ask a question?" Mitch asked.
"Certainly."
"Sure."
"Anything."
"Why are we interviewing in this hotel room? The other firms interview on campus through the placement office."
"Good question." They all nodded and looked at each other and agreed it was a good question.
"Perhaps I can answer that, Mitch," said Royce McKnight, the managing partner. "You must understand our firm. We are different, and we take pride in that. We have forty-one lawyers, so we are small compared with other firms. We don't hire too many people; about one every other year. We offer the highest salary and fringes in the country, and I'm not exaggerating. So we are very selective. We selected you. The letter you received last month was sent after we screened over two thousand third-year law students at the best schools. Only one letter was sent. We don't advertise openings and we don't solicit applications. We keep a low profile, and we do things differently. That's our explanation."
"Fair enough. What kind of firm is it?"
"Tax. Some securities, real estate and banking, but eighty percent is tax work. That's why we wanted to meet you, Mitch. You have an incredibly strong tax background."
"Why'd you go to Western Kentucky?" asked Oliver Lambert.
"Simple. They offered me a full scholarship to play football. Had it not been for that, college would've been impossible."
"Tell us about your family."
"Why is that important?"
"It's very important to us, Mitch," Royce McKnight said warmly.
They all say that, thought McDeere. "Okay, my father was killed in the coal mines when I was seven years old. My mother remarried and lives in Florida. I had two brothers. Rusty was killed in Vietnam. I have a brother named Ray McDeere."
"Where is he?"
"I'm afraid that's none of your business." He stared at Royce McKnight and exposed a mammoth chip on his shoulder. The dossier said little about Ray.
"I'm sorry," the managing partner said softly.
"Mitch, our firm is in Memphis," Lamar said. "Does that bother you?"
"Not at all. I'm not fond of cold weather."
"Have you ever been to Memphis?"
"No."
"We'll have you down soon. You'll love it."
Mitch smiled and nodded and played along. Were these guys serious? How could he consider such a small firm in such a small town when Wall Street was waiting?
"How are you ranked in your class?" Mr. Lambert asked.
"Top five." Not top five percent, but top five. That was enough of an answer for all of them. Top five out of three hundred. He could have said number three, a fraction away from number two, and within striking distance of number one. But he didn't. They came from inferior schools - Chicago, Columbia and Vanderbilt, as he recalled from a cursory examination of Martindale-HubbelPs Legal Directory. He knew they would not dwell on academics.
"Why did you select Harvard?"
"Actually, Harvard selected me. I applied at several schools and was accepted everywhere. Harvard offered more financial assistance. I thought it was the best school. Still do."
"You've done quite well here, Mitch," Mr. Lambert said, admiring the resume. The dossier was in the briefcase, under the table.
"Thank you. I've worked hard."
"You made extremely high grades in your tax and securities courses."
"That's where my interest lies."
"We've reviewed your writing sample, and it's quite impressive."
"Thank you. I enjoy research."
They nodded and acknowledged this obvious lie. It was part of the ritual. No law student or lawyer in his right mind enjoyed research, yet, without fail, every prospective associate professed a deep love for the library.
"Tell us about your wife," Royce McKnight said, almost meekly. They braced for another reprimand. But it was a standard, nonsacred area explored by every firm.
"Her name is Abby. She has a degree in elementary education from Western Kentucky. We graduated one week and got married the next. For the past three years she's taught at