The Break-Up Clause by Niamh Hargan
Chapter Ten
‘Uh, Mr Zelnick, this is Benjamin Lowry,’ Fia swoops in, attempting to regain some sort of control of the conversation. ‘He’s a summer associate. Benjamin, I’m sure Mr Zelnick needs no introduction …’
This man’s name is, after all, on the stationery, his late father having been the OG ‘Zelnick’ in Zelnick, O’Leary and Abbott. These days, it is commonly accepted that he practises very little law and often none at all – yet he could not be prevailed upon to leave the firm. Even the retirement party thrown for him last year hadn’t worked. He’d disappeared for what amounted to a long holiday and then, suddenly, there he was, back again every morning in his suit and bow tie. Fia has never once heard anyone, no matter their own seniority, refer to him on a first-name basis.
For a few minutes, Fia waits it out, lets Benjamin and Mr Zelnick exchange the pleasantries that must be exchanged, paying only vague attention. At a certain point in proceedings, though, her ears prick back up.
‘So, Benjamin,’ Mr Zelnick is saying loftily, ‘let’s talk turkey. They teaching you anything about divorce over there at Columbia?’
Benjamin shoots Fia a sidelong glance, and she’s sure he deliberately takes his time before replying. She’s sure he wants her to sweat a bit. She does sweat a bit. For the very first time, it occurs to her that she is involved not just in concealing her personal history with Benjamin: she has also concealed the fact of their ongoing, sadly not-at-all-historical, spousal relationship. She’s let him join the firm, let herself become his mentor, without mentioning that – at least on paper, at least as far as Human Resources will be concerned – he is her husband. Failure to disclose something like that …
Suddenly, it occurs to Fia that embarrassment over a youthful mistake made public, the thought of her character being called into question, the prospect of a delayed promotion … all these things should be the least of her worries. What she’s involved in now, the degree of deception involved … it’s a fireable offence, surely.
In Ireland, of course, there is a whole process. Employees have to be given chances, and quite a lot of them at that – it seems to be pretty difficult to get shot of even the most incompetent staff members. In the US, though, things are different. You can be there one day and quite literally gone the next. Fia’s seen it happen in the New York office with her own eyes.
And, given the look on Benjamin’s face right now, she would not be at all surprised if this were the moment that he decided to drop her in it, the impact on his own future prospects be damned. The frightening thing is: he’s contrary enough to do it.
In the end, however, he gives a little shake of his head. ‘Not so far,’ he replies. ‘Though interestingly enough, Fia here was just giving me the benefit of her … experience.’
He looks over at her properly as he says that last bit, holding her gaze, and Fia averts her eyes. She doesn’t know why she hasn’t mentioned this particular aspect of her legal practice to Benjamin before now. Maybe it just felt a bit too close to the bone – like something he would surely find a way to twist or mock or make all about him.
Meanwhile, across the room, Mr Zelnick is nothing but delighted. ‘Well, how ’bout that!’ he exclaims. ‘Y’know, it’s funny – as an attorney, you gotta be able to turn your hand to anything. Me, I’m a corporate tax lawyer, really, but you wanna guess how many times I been down at the Metropolitan Correctional Facility bailing people out of jail? More times than I can count! We’re a full-service law firm here at ZOLA, that’s for sure!’
Both Fia and Benjamin chuckle along politely, before Mr Zelnick speaks again.
‘How’d you like me to assign you to assist on the Chestnut divorce, Benjamin? It’d be a wonderful learning opportunity for you, I’m sure. When I was a young buck, I would have given my eye teeth to get in on something this juicy!’
Immediately, in every part of Fia’s being, it is as though alarm bells begin to ring – deafeningly. She tips from extreme discomfort into a full-scale panic, practically tripping over her own tongue in protest.
‘You know, I’m really not sure Benja—’
Horrifically, though, she finds herself cut off, Benjamin’s voice rising over the top of hers.
‘That sounds amazing, Mr Zelnick, thank you,’ he says, all sincerity. And again, he looks right at Fia as he finishes: ‘I can’t wait.’
Mr Zelnick claps his hands together. ‘That’s settled, then!’
Fia says nothing, looking between the two men hopelessly. Her mind races, searching for some other escape, some new protest she might legitimately raise.
There’s nothing, though. She knows when she’s beaten.
And, undeniably, that is what has happened here. Benjamin Lowry has beaten her. More than that, from the expression on his face, he’s all too aware of it. He has no genuine interest in learning about the legal mechanics of a divorce. She’s also quite certain he has no genuine interest in working alongside her in any substantive way – assisting her. No. He has seized upon his opportunity for one reason and for one reason only, which is to cause her the maximum possible aggravation.
‘All right,’ she manages weakly, after a moment. ‘Well. Maybe you could’ – this was where, if she were speaking to any other lawyer in the office and perhaps the world, Fia would suggest the sending of an email, but Mr Zelnick does not do emails – ‘drop a memo on my desk at some point? Just with this woman’s contact info and whatever other details you have. I’ll give her a call.’
‘No need,’ Mr Zelnick beams. ‘She’s in the lobby.’
Fia’s eyebrows shoot up. ‘She’s in the lobby now?’
‘I’ll bring her up, shall I? Meeting room six?’
There’s an expectant look on his face, and Fia lets out a helpless laugh. There is, at this point, nothing else to do.
As she gets to her feet, Benjamin does the same. They look at one another, and he gestures towards the door with an open palm, his voice silky smooth. ‘After you.’
Of course, it doesn’t take long for him to drop the gentleman act.
‘You’re a fucking divorce lawyer?’ he asks, through practically gritted teeth, the second they’re alone. Specifically, they’ve cleared the open-plan atrium and are marching down a long corridor now, at breakneck pace.
‘Sometimes, yes,’ Fia replies tightly, and she only wishes she could go faster. Not for the first time since Benjamin has joined her at ZOLA, she wishes she could take off her heels and run, as hard as she knows how, just for the sheer release of it.
‘What does that mean?’
‘Remember when I said rich people die?’ she asks, and she watches as Benjamin nods irritably. ‘Yeah, well, sometimes they also get divorced. You heard Mr Zelnick. We’re a full-service law firm.’
‘And you didn’t think you should have mentioned this to me?’
Maybe, yes, comes some reflective, inexplicable response in her own mind. Of course, she cannot utter it.
‘And when would I have done that in the last eight years, Benjamin?’ she demands instead. ‘At what point in your very regular, very mature communication with me?’
Benjamin cannot seem to restrain a choked grunt of frustration. ‘Jesus, Fia, I get it! I didn’t write you back or whatever. You were sad. But what do you want me to do – this is not The Notebook. And let’s be honest, you’ve made the best of things in the interim, haven’t you? Very much so, I’d say.’
Now it’s her turn for an outright gasp. ‘Of course I have – what other choice did you give me?’
‘Well, for one thing—’
‘Shh!’ she commands, the sound much more staccato than soothing. They’ve turned a corner now, another long corridor stretching out before them, a woman advancing from the opposite direction. Fia has no clue who this person is, but her mere presence is enough to force a temporary halt in their conversation.
Fia and Benjamin do nothing to slow their pace or to soften their expressions, but that’s fine. There are plenty of reasons, inside this building, why two young professionals might validly seem extremely panicked and unhappy. It’s just the specific nature of Fia and Benjamin’s unhappiness that must be concealed.
The very moment they seem to be alone again, Benjamin turns back to Fia. ‘Anyhow, you’ll forgive me if this latest development doesn’t exactly put my mind at rest about Susan Followill,’ he says, his voice a little more hushed now, but still dripping in disdain.
‘What does this have to do with Susan Followill?’
‘I just think it’s pretty suss. Nine to five you’re apparently divorcing people left and right, taking no prisoners. You’re a shark. But you’re telling me “oh, let’s definitely just go with this nice therapist lady.” And I’m supposed to just take that in good faith?’
Every part of this feels offensive to Fia – illogical, inaccurate, grossly mischaracterized. She doesn’t know why, in terms of her response, she starts where she does. ‘Susan is not a therapist!’
She cuts herself off then, before she can finish the thought, physically stopping in her tracks while she’s at it.
Benjamin halts right alongside her. It’s discombobulating, like stepping off a moving walkway at the airport.
They look at each other, as though they’re both a little dizzy. To their right is conference room six, and through the glass, Fia can see that their client has beaten them there.
‘We’ll have to discuss this later,’ she tells Benjamin, forcing herself to take a deep breath in and out. Then, for the record: ‘Do not talk when we get in here. I mean not one word.’
Of course, as soon as she says it, she realizes her error – and it’s a rookie mistake at that. The most likely way of ensuring Benjamin’s silence would doubtless have been to ask that he contribute as much as humanly possible.
He follows her eyeline, peering into the conference room for a moment. Then, he returns to face her, affecting confusion.
‘But, Fia, what if I have some insight to bring to bear? What if that woman in there says “my spouse is a total fucking lunatic, who’s entirely abusing his power over me”? What then? You expect me to just say nothing?’
‘Yes, I do!’ she hisses, and in this precise moment, she feels like a lunatic. He has made her into a lunatic.
‘I just don’t think I can make that sort of a promise,’ he tosses back airily and then gives her a particular sort of smile, the one she never finds at all comforting. ‘But, hey, I’ll do my best.’