I Regret Everything Read Online Free PDF

He was either deep in reflection or had suffered a small stroke. To occupy myself, I removed a monogrammed Mark Cross fountain pen from my pocket and examined its sleek design. The old-school pen was an affectation I allowed myself because no client who employed a firm like ours wanted to sign anything as serious as a will with a ballpoint. Ed still hadn’t moved when the waiter cleared the appetizers and set our entrées down.
    â€œHow long have you been with the firm?”
    â€œFive years.”
    Five years was the point where lawyers at Thatcher were given an early indication of whether they would be made partners. Most were informed they should quietly begin looking for a new situation. You’re welcome to use your office, phone, and stationery, they were told, but your future is not at This Firm. Was that the purpose of the lunch? I had a sense that Ed liked me on a personal level and was struck with the realization that this was his way of imparting the bad news gently, as if sea bass in a Béarnaise sauce was going to compensate for professional disaster.
    Clearing his throat, Ed mentioned Dirk Trevelyan, an older client who had minted gold on Wall Street. Was he going to suggest Trevelyan might have something for me when I left my current job? Why had he asked me how long I’d been at the firm? It was a question to which he already knew the answer.
    â€œHis current wife is a talented artist apparently.
Quite
a talented artist.” It was difficult to discern why Ed repeated the phrase, repetition not being a rhetorical device he favored. “You’ve done the drafting and the amendments for Trevelyan’s will so you know that his art collection is positively extraordinary, the Utrillo, the Brancusi, and that little Kandinsky he’s got.”
    I told him that we had arranged for a professional photographer to take pictures of each piece for the purpose of cataloguing the estate. It was important that he know just how on top of my game I was.
    â€œWell, the second Mrs. Trevelyan found it all very inspirational. Trevelyan keeps her on a short leash financially and the lady has expensive tastes that apparently led her to borrow money from some unsavory characters. She was in for over seven figures when she decided to pay them off with Dirk’s Kandinsky.”
    Ed sliced a piece of tuna, put it in his mouth, and chewed mechanically. It was as if the story had made his appetite vanish. Seeing him eating reminded me there was food on my plate and I took a bite of the sea bass.
    â€œShe gave it to them?”
    â€œAnd the old man has no idea. Because . . . you’re not going to believe this . . . she painted a copy and that’s what’s on the bedroom wall.”
    The enormity of the betrayal sat there, neither of us saying anything. Ed took another bite of his tuna, then absently picked up my Mark Cross pen and tapped the table a couple of times before wrapping both of his hands around it and squeezing.
    â€œHow did you find out?”
    â€œMrs. Trevelyan came to see me. Jeremy, this is sticky. Do you know what that little Kandinsky is worth?”
    â€œI think we had it valued around five million.”
    â€œIn all my experience, imagine . . .” He shook his head, whether with respect for Mrs. Trevelyan’s skills or consternation at her husband’s position, it was hard to tell.
    â€œWhere is she now?”
    â€œMrs. Trevelyan flew to Bora Bora this morning. She didn’t want to be around for the fireworks.”
    â€œWhat are you going to tell him?”
    The waiter stopped by to refill our water glasses and ask how we liked the food. Ed told him everything was perfect and turned his attention back to me.
    â€œBy the way, the partnership committee is meeting later this summer. You’re aware we don’t consider associates for partnerships until they’re in their seventh year at the firm, but because of the job