The NonEquity Partner

 Short Short Fiction By Jane Genova

You have to put this in context. It was a different time.

They needed experienced lawyers. Cravath had just instituted the NonEquity tier and Paul, Weiss seemed to be coyly testing out also doing that. No, I won’t mention where I had worked since my grand nephew is interviewing there for tech, not law.

The joy-killers and the cruel made me know that the NEP was shit. As a senior associate somewhere I could earn more and with less administrative duties. I had always thought it had been that overlay of supervising summers and more that did in Gabe MacConaill, the late equity partner at Sidley Austin.

Sure, they were right. But I did the NEP mostly for my wife Theresa. Those bag-of-bones harpies in Greenwich, Connecticut worked her over plenty. I knew and she knew they would do less of that now that I was Howdy, Partner. It would have been simpler strategy to just sell the house she had inherited from her family and get out of there but that’s all she had left of them. She also loved walking on Tod’s Point.

In addition, “I do feel better about myself.” I confided that to Theresa. They promised me a shot at the real deal and Theresa agreed to sell the house to pony up the money to buy in.

Back then I had grown a protective layer of thick skin. No, it didn’t eat me alive that the equity partners would go on a gala gush retreat. Not the NEPs. It was also easier to force us out and that happened a lot.

To deter relationships with those NEPs who felt so less-than I pretended that my wife and I had found Jesus. “How blessed we are to be able to serve our clients with all the resources of this firm,” I said. For the true office pest I would add on, “And may the Lord guide us in our work.” In boarding school, I had been a prankster. Beloved, and not only by classmates. At least twice at the law firm I actually fell to my knees, the office door open, with raised arms. 

Of course, word got around. Lawyers are gossipy yentas. One evangelical on the Executive Committee began mentoring me about what to do to begin to star. Theresa and I went to his church in Westport, CT.  We moved there when we sold the Greenwich house to pay for partnership. The Westport females had more meat on their bones than in Greenwich. 

Like I said, they needed seasoned lawyers then. Technology. You bet, you had to talk about it a lot. But that was about it.

An administrative assignment as a firm shareholder was to coach the NEPs on how to get where I was. “Look at me. I used to be where you are.” The equity partners were supposed to be arrogant and even mean or you wouldn’t be taken seriously.

Funny, there was no conflict of interest.  Simultaneously I also used the evangelical stuff like getting in touch with your best and highest self. They listened. They did my group favors. One was the intel and being the contacts for raiding the rainmakers in a Houston, Texas office.

There I was, on the Executive Committee with my mentor. During one meeting I looked at Joe. I had that career-ending AH-HA moment: I asked myself how I had gotten into such a dead end.

Theresa and I exited with plenty of money. We set up a boy’s boarding school in Sierra Vista, Arizona, about an hour from Mexico.

We encourage pranks. “No need to grow up too soon” is the school meme. Of course, only families who have been totally defeated in their own parenting practices put their offspring in our care. 

Fortunately, they don’t need many lawyers anymore. I don’t have to warn the students about all that. Troubled, my grand nephew had attended our refuge from the excesses of capitalism. Now, in tech, he’s purpose-driven but knows how to chill.

Jane Genova is a published novelist. Her dark comedy “The Fat Guy from Greenwich” ranked 30 for a while on Amazon. In addition, her non-fiction career guide “The First Critical Years of Your Professional Life” remains in print. (For communications assistance, please contact her at janegenova374@gmail.com or text/phone 203-468-8579).