The Paper Chase

Make no mistake. I was well prepared for court. And prepared for battle with Ne'er-do-well #1. I had a fine attorney. We had crafted a kick-a** position statement. All of my actions and decisions - in all cases, not just this one - were thoughtful, lawful, professional and best of all, defensible.

But as I was headed to the courthouse for the fact finding hearing, I got a call from my attorney who had already arrived. Malcontent 1 had brought Malcontent 2 as a plaintiff's witness.

They were going to lie for each other.

I was suddenly in a flop sweat.

My attorney asked me to pull and copy Malcontent 2's (outrageously thick!) file so we could be prepared to talk about it and discredit her. I had time to copy, sure, but there was no time to prepare. My confidence went sailing out the window. And worse, all the extra copying had left me short on travel time. I skipped the cab and began to sprint the 4 blocks to court. Somewhere I am a YouTube sensation for this.

Huffing and overheated - I was running in heels and hose and a very tailored suit, hello - I stopped for a few seconds to try to quell the hyperventilating. I took the moment to have a little chat with Dad.

"Dad," I said, addressing him directly. " I know I never asked for your help with anything growing up, and that it always bugged you. But Pop,I really need your help today. My professional credibility is on the line, Dad. I need to go into court today and be brilliant. I have to be calm. I have to be articulate. I have to make sense. And I need the investigator to see that I've been honest."

I had sent up the prayer and put it in someone else's hands. I walked the rest of the way to court hoping to calm down and catch my breath. Because nothing says "I have nothing to fear" more convincingly than a disheveled woman in a full sweat wheezing uncontrollably.

The proceedings went beautifully. It was rather like holding my breath for 4 hours but there were no surprises, speed bumps, detours, mystery guests, or Watergate tapes. Sitting across a narrow table from the prickly plaintiff was nerve wracking but it was a relief that there was no "across the table testimony" allowed. I could not address her, and she could not yell at me, hurl insults my way, name call, or make extraneous commentary. I made all all the points I'd come to make and presented testimony credible enough to prove myself to have acted judiciously and fairly and in good faith. Even better, the "witness" never got to cross the threshold. A slam dunk.

I returned from court jubilant. I paused for a moment in front of a nearby church to thank Dad for a whopping dose of divine intervention. I retold the story to my overjoyed boss who then let me head for home early. I'd clearly earned my keep.

And when I got into my car and turned the key, the radio came on. I recognized the violins at once. It was the opening bars to "To Sir With Love."