27. Cade
27
CADE
ON THE SAME MORNING
F ollowing my unavoidable absence, Judge Washington begrudgingly rescheduled the preliminary Humphries v. Ecclestone hearing. Despite my secretary’s prompt notifications to all concerned parties about my unavoidable need to be elsewhere and inability to attend, I knew that the late notice was essentially a formality and would do little to alleviate the significant impact of my last-minute absence.
Naturally, when I turn my phone back on, it goes berserk.
Three calls from Humphries, the last one telling me I’m fired; four from my buddy Oliver, his son; and one from Soren. Those were expected. What I didn’t anticipate, however, was an avalanche of calls from the press. I count thirty-seven. Without listening to any, I forward them to Shanice.
I do the same with the text messages.
After showering and changing at home, I shift my focus to damage control. I have a meeting set with Soren in the afternoon anyway, so I’ll handle his concerns then. I can predict his argument: He’ll likely suggest that I should have sent him in, insisting he could have made it up to Camille for missing their anniversary. But that was never an option. If I abandon my responsibilities for love, I certainly wouldn’t burden him with the choice between work and love. Besides, Soren’s expertise is personal injury and criminal defense, whereas contract, construction, and real estate law are my forte. No doubt my partner would have tackled the hearing with his usual brilliance, but on such short notice, he wouldn’t have had the chance to prepare adequately for his turn as lead attorney.
I ponder whether to call old Mr. Humphries to announce my arrival, or just show up at his office.
I doubt he’ll reassign me to the Ecclestone case.
I’ve lost his trust, and no matter how good my reason is, Humphries will look for a “more reliable” lawyer. In his position, I wouldn’t be swayed either. Humphries and I are cut from the same cloth.
So why am I going to his office instead of settling things with a phone call or an email? Because my moral code demands it. Period. Just like leaving Kennedy high and dry was a mistake I will never repeat. Not privately, not professionally.
I don’t regret for a second choosing Kennedy, and I would do it again. But no one can claim I lack backbone or don’t own up to my decisions. I owe old Humphries an honest explanation, and he’s going to get it.
Oliver Humphries will be mad, but under Miles’s calming influence, they’ll both end up laughing about how I, of all people, lost a case over a woman. I’ll never hear the end of it.
Thanks to Miles, I know his father is in his office by 7:30 a.m. every morning, reserving the first thirty minutes for reading the day’s stack of newspapers.
Mr. Humphries’s mood will be at its lowest, but at least there won’t be any appointments. I charm his secretary into letting me pass, and moments later, I’m face-to-face with the CEO slash founder of Humphries Properties, one of the three biggest construction firms in the country. The white-haired man glowers at me from behind his monstrous desk, his knuckles white on the arms of his chair.
“It better be a matter of life and death why you didn’t show up,” he grumbles, gesturing curtly at the visitor’s chair. The fact that he’s asking me to sit is a promising sign. Offering me coffee or tea, however, that’s not happening.
“Oh, not quite life and death. More important than that, actually,” I tell him with a wry smile.
“There is nothing more important than our case,” he barks, already worked up.
He really has a short fuse. But, like his son Miles, I know the boss’s anger typically melts away when presented with reasonable arguments. His older son Oliver, on the other hand, is more like me. We stay calm for a long time, but when someone crosses us, we don’t forgive or forget easily.
“I fully agree,” I say, watching him calm down at my apparent concession, “under most conditions,” I add, and before Mr. Humphries can remind me again that the only thing that matters is victory against Ecclestone, I continue, “I regret not being at the preliminary hearing yesterday, and before I tell you the reason, I want to remind you that Judge Washington postponed the hearing. We haven’t lost anything but time.”
Mr. Humphries presses his lips together and indicates that I should get to the point.
“I had to choose between the hearing and a woman.”
There’s a moment of silence.
He raises his brows.
“A woman?” Mr. Humphries asks in surprise, still skeptical, but appeased for the moment. Like any of my other clients, he isn’t accustomed to my discussing personal matters, least of all relationships with women.
“Specifically,” I say, “the love of my life.”
That does the trick. Mr. Humphries melts like butter, revealing a soft spot for the—allegedly—weaker sex. He immediately pulls out his wallet and proudly displays a photo of a smiling woman in a garden.
“My dear wife,” Mr. Humphries says fondly. “Helen.”
She’s an elegant lady with a lively expression that tells me she isn’t a person who’d let a man like Humphries push her around. She’s no trophy wife—far from it. My respect for the old warhorse grows.
“Beautiful,” I say, sincerely meaning the compliment.
“She sure is,” Mr. Humphries agrees with a twinkle in his eye. From then on, there’s no stopping him. He recounts the obstacles he had to overcome before his wife said, “Yes, I do,” and if even half of what he says is true, I might, just might, have something to learn from him.
“That’s wonderful, Mr. Humphries,” I reply, genuinely appreciating his unusual openness. “It sounds like you and your wife have a deep connection.”
Mr. Humphries beams with pride, nodding like a man who ritually indulges in a glass of fine French brandy and a cigar at the end of a long, hard day. “Oh, absolutely. Helen has been the light of my life since the very first moment our eyes met. We have been through quite a lot together. In the end, life is about finding that one person who completes and understands you.”
I couldn’t agree more. My thoughts drift to Kennedy. Finding is one thing. Holding on is another. “Years ago, I made a huge mistake by letting her go,” I confess, surprising myself. I’m here to own up to my mistake and hopefully make amends, but somehow, this conversation has taken a turn I didn’t expect.
Mr. Humphries chuckles. “Well, you have some making up to do with the lady of your heart, Mr. Gladwell.” He’s thoroughly entertained, and his old-fashioned phrase “lady of your heart” gets a chuckle from me as well. I’m sure Kennedy would like this sophisticated and wise old fox. “If you have found that special someone, never let her go.”
That’s exactly my plan.
But before the new beginning I’m planning for Kennedy and me can progress, there are some obstacles to clear, none of which she is aware of.
“And here are my boys, Miles and Oliver, when they were little.” The picture shows Miles in diapers, sitting on a pristine lawn next to an absurdly large golf bag, sucking on a golf ball, while Oliver, slightly older, stands behind him holding a tiny plastic club like he’s ready to tee off. The image is now permanently etched in my memory.If Miles ever pokes fun at me again, I have the perfect comeback.
I nod as he continues to share stories about his sons growing up and the adventures they had as a family. The love and pride in his voice are palpable. Mr. Humphries’s initial antagonism has disappeared, and we are experiencing a real connection built on mutual respect and understanding.
“And now look at these little rascals,” Mr. Humphries shows me photos of his grandchildren. “The joy they bring us is immeasurable.”
I smile along with him, enjoying the glimpse into his family life.
If anything, our discussion reaffirms my steadfast dedication to my principles. We both recognize our hard-earned—and continually evolving—expertise in conquering the toughest opponent of all: love.
I wish I could have left his office boasting that I had managed to persuade him, but I hadn’t. I lost the account. Despite having a strong rapport with his sons and serving as a trusted advisor for months, my absence at the preliminary hearing was too much for Mr. Humphries to overlook.
That’s understandable. Feelings have no place in business. Mr. Humphries wouldn’t have built his company into what it is today by making sentimental decisions.
As I said to Kennedy this morning: You win some, you lose some.
Our amicable parting left the door open. If his new legal counsel falters, he may come to realize the necessity of bringing back the only man in the city capable of handling an adversary as relentless and invincible as Ecclestone.
Personally, I have no regrets for prioritizing wisely.
Losing a case or a client is a small price to pay to feel her lips on mine.