The Confidence

Martin Jenkins had not been this nervous since the time during high school when he had been pulled over after having a few beers.   He knew that all of his hopes and dreams would take a nosedive if he were picked up for being a minor under the influence.   During those long moments as the officer just sat in his car, he tried to calm himself while his heart was beating at near cardiac arrest levels.   When the officer let him off with a warning, he felt like the luckiest man alive.   

Now, eight years later, he had successfully climbed the ladder to become an associate with Erwald, Grunz & Thomas, an established firm in Fort Worth.   It had not been an easy journey.   The party atmosphere of college and fraternity life gave way to the panic of law school.   After a poor first semester, he learned to borrow outlines from better students and scored a clerkship with Erwald, Grunz & Thomas after his second year.    The clerkship led to a job offer.

Erwald, Grunz & Thomas, known as EGT,  was the picture of a conservative Texas law firm.   Its clients were traditional Texas businesses--railroads, insurance companies, oil and gas producers.   Many of them had been with the firm for generations.    The firm's partners were white, male and belonged to the same private clubs.    While the firm hired a few female associates, they did not thrive in the boys club and eventually left.  There were no casual Fridays at EGT.   Associates learned early that the EGT uniform consisted of a dark suit with a white shirt, red tie and black shoes.  Most of the partners could be observed wearing their dark suits at the office on Saturday and donning similar apparel at church on Sunday. Failure to live up to these unwritten expectations could end the path to partnership. 

Martin Jenkins found that practicing law was every bit as difficult a transition as law school had been. Although he came in earlier than any of the other associates and stayed later, his supervising attorney, Arnold Longstreet, seemed indifferent to his work.   When he asked for help, the response was often, "Your law license looks the same as mine."   Although he turned out a large quantity of work, it wasn't the sort of thing that he imagined when he decided to go to law school.   He spent endless hours reviewing documents and doing research for the firm's largest client, McMurtry Petroleum.  He had just completed a memo on the tax attributes of a derivative tied to the oil depletion allowance and he wasn't sure he understood what he had written ten minutes later.

Now late on the Wednesday before Thanksgiving, he had been summoned to the office of the senior partner, Marcus Erwald, III.   He fidgeted as he sat on the couch which was designed more for appearance than seating.    He wanted to check his phone, but he didn't want to be caught looking down when the firm's leader and leading biller summoned him. Instead, he looked at the imposing portrait of Marcus Erwald, Jr., the firm's first managing partner and father of the current occupant of the corner office on the 18th floor.  After what seemed like an eternity but was probably less than five minutes, the stern gatekeeper, Miss Bleucher, looked up and said, "Mr. Erwald will see you now."   He was always referred to as Mr. Erwald within the firm as though to speak his given name would invite fire from the sky.  

Mr. Erwald's office was dominated by floor to ceiling windows which offered a panoramic view of the Fort Worth skyline.  The inner walls were decorated with antique law books and memorabilia from the big man's college heyday as a defensive linebacker at TCU.     At six feet four inches tall, Mr. Erwald dominated the room even while sitting down.   The spartan oak table that he sat behind, which held only a telephone, a blotter and a blank legal pad, served to emphasize his bulk and power.   Even after 6:00 p.m., Mr. Erwald's shirt appeared freshly pressed and his tie was precisely knotted.    He leaned back in his chair and said, "Come in son, have a seat."    Martin positioned himself in one of the client chairs in front of the desk, balancing equal parts trepidation and awe at the sight of the inner sanctum.

  

"Martin, you've been here a little over a year now, so I know that you're aware how important McMurtry Petroleum is to this firm."

Jenkins nodded.

"This firm owes its existence to the McMurtry family.   My father represented Ernest McMurtry's grandfather and his father.   I inherited the relationship from my father.   Keep Ernest McMurtry happy and we have a firm.   Lose his business and no more bonuses, no more ski trips to Switzerland, no more fishing in the Cayman Islands."

Jenkins didn't think it was appropriate to point out that he did not get to take skiing vacations in Switzerland or fishing junkets to the Cayman Islands.     

"I think you understand that as lawyers, it is very important that we preserve our clients' confidences not just the attorney-client privileged conversations, but everything we know about them."

Jenkins' face began to turn red and he gulped, "Yes sir."     He tried to remember if he had let any details slip to his fellow associates.   Most of what he did was so dull that they had no interest talking shop in their off hours.   Not only that, but the few associates who had ever met Ernest McMurtry, IV described him as exceedingly dull and tedious, better suited to pouring over financial statements than carrying on his grandfather's wildcatting exploits.

"Good," Mr. Erwald said.   "So you'll understand if I request your commitment to the highest level of secrecy before bringing you in on a new project."

Jenkins began to breathe again.   He was not about to be fired for betraying client secrets.    "Yes sir," he replied.   "I would consider it a great privilege."

"You may see some things that could be unsettling," the partner continued.  "Once you've seen them, they can't be unseen.   You have to keep them inside even when you're in bed with your wife."

"I'm not married, sir," he said, "but I completely understand."   However, as he said this, his mind was racing. What could be so deeply confidential that it required being stared down by the most imposing lawyer in Fort Worth.   Was the firm laundering money?   Could be but that would earn them only a slap on the wrist if they were caught.   Were they bribing government officials?  Small potatoes.   What could be worse?

Mr. Erwald looked absentmindly for a moment then asked, "Do you dance?"

Jenkins blurted out, "Doesn't everyone?" before he had a chance to think about his answer.

"So what do you say?  Are you up for a special project?  It will keep you occupied through the Christmas holidays, so you'd best put any plans you had on hold."

"Yes, sir," Jenkins said, being the only words that seemed to come to his lips.

"Good," said Mr. Erwald.   "Report to the main conference room this Saturday evening, seven sharp.   And do not, under any circumstances, tell anyone about this conversation or where you will be.   I'll know if you do.   Run along now."

Jenkins got up and started to extend his hand, but noticed that Mr. Erwald did not reciprocate.  Instead, he turned and left the room with as much haste as he could without falling down.

The next day was Thanksgiving.   Jenkins spent it with some of his fraternity brothers drinking beer, eating turkey and watching football on TV.    After a large quantity of beer had been drunk, someone got the idea to play football in the street in front of the building.   Although they were nominally playing touch, Jenkins wound up hitting the pavement multiple times.

The next day, he stumbled into the office, hung over and bruised up and down the length of his body.    After four hours of halfway trying, he managed to bill seven hours and decided to call it a day.

Saturday morning he got up early and went for a long run to work the rest of the toxins out of his system.   After the first mile, he began to hit his rhythm and started to feel good.   Then his mind began to work overtime.   Just what awaited him at 7:00 p.m.?   Could he call in and tell Mr. Erwald that he was sick?   The flu had made an early debut that year.   No, he told himself, failure was not an option.    No matter what awaited him, he would face it head on.

On Saturday evening, he put on his best gray Brooks Brothers suit, starched white shirt and red tie.   He polished his black Giorgio Brutini wingtips then drove to the office.   

His heart beat faster as he rode the elevator to the firm's offices.   What was he getting himself into?   Was there still time to back out?    Would this help his bonus?

The firm occupied three floors of the American Bank Building.   The seventeenth floor was dominated by a massive conference room.   It filled the entire floor except for a small reception area.    As Jenkins exited the elevator, he observed that the door to the conference room was closed and the shades were drawn.  He could hear voices and movement within.  He knocked hesitantly on the door and waited.   There were no answer.      

Summoning his nerve and fighting the urge to flee, he opened the door.   There he saw . . . the partners . . . in tights with black tshirts.  Scowling at him from the left side of the room was his supervising attorney, Arnold Longstreet, his copious stomach protruding over the waistband of his tights.   In the center of the room, Mr. Erwald was giving direction to a woman in an oversized dress.   However, it wasn't a woman.   It was Ernest McMurtry, IV, the scion of the firm's largest client, someone Jenkins had only seen from pictures in the Society pages of the newspaper. 

Mr. Erwald turned around and noticed Jenkins standing there, his mouth hanging open.  "Don't just stand here," he said.   "Remember that I told you that we would do anything for a client?  Well, twenty-five years ago there was a crisis in the McMurtry family.    Ernest the Fourth, wanted to dance the Nutcracker; not watch the damn thing with his wife like respectable Fort Worth families do, but actually dance it.  While his father knew that he was straight as a West Texas highway, he was afraid that their society friends might think he was a sissy boy.   He was ready to kick Ernest out of the business and the family which would have left the company without a plan of succession.  That could have been catastrophic for the firm.

"I was just a junior partner back then.  However, when I played for the Horned Frogs, Coach Shofner  used ballet for conditioning and to reduce injuries so I knew  real men could do ballet.    I suggested that we stage our own very private showing of the Nutcracker put on by the partners.   Partners who don't make their billing targets get to be sugarplum fairies.  Ernest has been a toy soldier, a rat and for the last ten years, Mother Ginger."   

"The problem was finding someone to find Clara.   Since we have no female partners and never will, we had to find someone young and hungry enough to play the girl's part.   For the last six years Simmons here has played the part."

Jack Simmons, a junior partner nodded toward him.

"Unfortunately Simmons has done too much tailgating and lost his young, girlish figure.   So we needed a new Clara this year.   Here's the deal.  You dance the role of Clara and keep your mouth shut and in four years you make partner.  Guaranteed.   So what do you say?"

Jenkins smiled and said, "Let's get dancing."