And so, perhaps ironically, the firm was much more a meritocracy than most of its competitors. The younger associates worked endless hours like – well – slaves, so that they could become partners and keep working even harder. Mental or physical weakness, excuses, moral lapses, failure – all were grounds for termination.

Jackman, unhampered by any laws mandating sensitivity to race issues, ran what he thought was a good, old-fashioned firm. When he and Aaron had first started out, they'd set the tone immediately, getting rid of deadwood on sight. And soon enough the word got out and the stars came calling from the good law schools and from other firms – the diligent, the brilliant, the ambitious. Workers all. Here his attorneys could accomplish great things, could kick some real ass and make real money without anyone wondering whether they'd been hired to meet some quota or kept on because they couldn't be fired.

Now, saddened on many levels by the murder of one of his true stars, Elaine Wager, Clarence Jackman was going to have to deliver one of the tough messages to one of the good people. He had seated himself behind his desk – always an effective tool for reinforcing emotional distance – and was shuffling papers as the door opened. He kept at it for a few more seconds, then looked up. 'Ah, Ms Ghent. Thanks for coming up.'

'You're welcome.' She was standing in a classic military at-ease position by the empire chair that he'd placed in front of his desk.

'Please. Have a seat.'

Nodding briskly, all business, she thanked him and took the chair, sitting ramrod straight and managing to do it without appearing stiff or nervous. She looked at him expectantly, then surprised him by speaking up first. 'What can I do for you, sir?'

In spite of the message he was about to deliver, Jackman found himself almost enjoying the moment. This was a woman with presence. A slight puffiness around her eyes in no way detracted from her appearance. If she was wearing any make-up, it was very subtle – she sat about ten feet from Jackman and he saw no sign of any, not even lipstick. Her face was handsome – Jackman decided that if she made it up it would be close to beautiful, which was probably why she didn't bother. It had an angular, almost exotic cast – some hint of Asian bloodline in the racial mix. Conservatively dressed in a honey-colored silk blouse and knee-length skirt, she still managed to project a powerful physicality. There was no sign of any extra weight on her, but she wasn't petite. She came across, more than anything, as strong.

These impressions coalesced in the seconds it took for Jackman to frame his response. His own expression was grave, his body language sympathetic as he came forward, his arms on his desk. 'Well, first,' he began in his deep, soothing voice, 'I wanted to see how you're holding up in the wake of… Elaine.'

'I've tried to do most of my crying at home.' He admired the self-deprecating way she phrased it, meeting his eye. 'I haven't always been successful.'

'It's a tragedy,' Jackman declared. 'A terrible tragedy.'

'Yes, sir, it is.' She inhaled deeply and waited. Jackman might be both sympathetic and sincere, but he hadn't called her up here to share condolences.

It didn't take any time at all for the managing partner to get to it. Jackman pulled himself up straight in his chair and cleared his throat. 'On another note, a bit unpleasant, I'm afraid, I wanted to make sure that your situation over the next few weeks isn't any cause for awkwardness.' He paused. 'I understand that you worked for Elaine pretty much exclusively.'

Treya nodded in acknowledgment. Jackman, of course, wasn't guessing. He knew that Treya and Elaine had evolved a working relationship that was unique in the firm. All of the other paralegals 'floated' between loosely-defined teams of three to five attorneys, taking assignments from any of them. Treya, on the other hand, got all of her hours assisting Elaine. Though it was an unusual arrangement, Jackman had allowed it to continue because it had worked. Elaine had been a workhorse with a case and business load of incredible diversity, and Treya was organized and efficient enough to keep up with her.

But now, the arrangement loomed as a liability. Jackman drove home the point. 'I assume that over the next six weeks you'll be helping out with the distribution of Elaine's caseload and that should keep your utilization high.'

'I was thinking the same thing.'

'Good. Beyond that, I'd like to recommend, if I may, that during that transition you also begin taking assignments from some of the other attorneys if they are offered to you.'

'Yes, sir. I was hoping to do just that, too.'

'Splendid.' Jackman didn't have to issue the warning any more clearly. Left unspoken was the hard truth that if Treya could not find enough work with one of the teams to keep her fully utilized, Jackman wouldn't be able to justify keeping her on. 'You've been with the firm quite a while now, haven't you?'

'Almost seven years. I came with Elaine when she moved over from the city.'

Jackman had his fingers intertwined on the desk. He was rolling his thumbs ponderously. Something was going on in his brain, though his face didn't show it. 'Well,' he said with resignation, 'your good work hasn't gone unnoticed.' He paused again, offered an avuncular smile. 'Let's call it a soft six weeks, shall we? If you need a little extra time, please come up and see me.'

'I will,' she said.

The discussion was over, though they both sat unmoving for a long moment. Then, as though on cue, they both nodded, and Treya stood. She said 'Thank you' without inflection and headed for the door.

As she walked down the hallway back to her cubicle, the knife kept turning in her stomach. Whatever sympathetic spin Jackman might put on it, she knew the reality behind his words – she had just been politely, regretfully, fired if she couldn't find another attorney in the firm who'd want to use her.

Six soft weeks.

She knew that Jackman meant he might give her seven weeks, maybe as many as nine if he let her continue to work through her two weeks' notice.

My God, she was thinking, what am I going to do?

Six weeks!

She knew that there was little chance that she would get anywhere near full utilization in that amount of time. First, her fellow paralegals were under the same pressure as she was to keep working. Non-attorney staff at Rand and Jackman would 'bank' their overtime so that they could apply the hours to their utilization during slack periods -though technically illegal in California, the firm winked at the common practice. Too many weeks of low utilization -the exact number was unknown but low – you were gone. And everyone at the firm knew it.

Beyond that Treya was aware that her special relationship with Elaine had been a source of jealousy among her peers. She had done nothing purposeful to make this happen. She was unfailingly polite and friendly. She bent over backwards to tell the truth. But there was no denying that she enjoyed a slightly exalted status that some of the other paralegals resented. A few lawyers might have harbored even more negative thoughts – Treya was a mere paralegal who on some level must have thought she was equal to someone who'd passed the bar. A ridiculous notion if ever there was one.

No one was going to throw her a bone, and several people she could mention might even be glad to see her laid low.

So unless a miracle occurred, and she had long since stopped counting on them, she was going to be unemployed before springtime. She couldn't let that happen, not to herself and not to Raney. She had to whip her resume into shape, get out there at lunchtime and start interviewing.

If only Elaine… oh, poor Elaine…

Blinking back the unexpected new flash flood of tears, Treya hurried the last few steps to her cubicle. She would be damned if she'd let anyone see her crying. If she could just make it back to the safety of her workstation, she could get herself back under control.