The young man stood outside the Skylight building, looking up at the glass façade. He sipped the latte he had just bought at Coffeeheaven, and took a long drag on his cigarette – probably the fifth he’d smoked in the last hour.
Kordian remembered when the undeveloped area opposite the Palace of Culture and Science had been bleak and empty – valuable land at the heart of Warsaw, squandered. Now there was an office building there, attracting major Polish and international companies eager to site their headquarters next to Złote Tarasy, the bustling shopping complex through which thousands of people passed daily. One of the companies was the law firm where on that very day, Kordian Oryński was due to start work as a legal trainee.
Żelazny & McVay was a limited partnership company, a paragon of Polish-British collaboration, and as is often the case, several firms had had to go out of business before it could secure its spot on the twenty-first floor of the Skylight. It had been holding its own in the legal rankings for quite some time – somewhere just below Dentons and Domański Zakrzewski Palinka – but standards were getting ever higher, and Żelazny & McVay’s owners were looking forward to toppling the competition in the coming year.
The firm had branches in ten provincial capitals and employed well over a hundred lawyers, as every aspiring trainee was required to know before stepping over the threshold of the Skylight building. They would then be given a brochure detailing how to work twelve hours a day without resorting to amphetamines or other stimulants.
In truth, Kordian didn’t need that sort of information in print; he knew exactly what was involved. Once he had drunk his latte and finished his cigarette, he’d be entering a different world. A ruthless, devious, dangerous world of manipulation, multi-million-dollar scams and other intrigues.
Well, that was the theory.
In practice, he expected to be given a desk in some small cubicle and a pile of old documents, and to spend hours breathing in dust from years of ancient paperwork.
And still, he couldn’t wait to get started.
‘You’re causing a stench.’ He heard a woman’s voice behind him.
‘Sorry?’ he said, turning around.
‘Put the cancer-stick out. You’re causing a stench.’ The voice belonged to a woman of around forty, and, try as he might, Kordian couldn’t tear his eyes away. Her well-fitting jacket and tight skirt didn’t help.
‘I can’t see a no smoking sign,’ he said.
‘It’s right here, in front of you.’
Then, to the young man’s amazement, the woman pulled out a packet of Marlboros and lit one. She inhaled with pleasure, blowing the smoke out in his direction. For a moment Oryński wondered if she was from some sort of psychiatric institution.
‘Something wrong?’ she enquired.
‘What are you . . . ?’
‘Where are you heading to?’ interrupted the woman. ‘No, hang on, don’t tell me, let me guess. You’re not shitting yourself, so it can’t be any of the big-name companies. Perhaps you’re with the insulation guys? Or no, I know.’ She took another deep drag on her cigarette, looking at the lower part of the building. ‘You’re the new intern at the United Arab Emirates Embassy.’
Kordian said nothing.
‘Allahu Akbar,’ she added, nodding her head encouragingly.
‘Really? The Embassy’s here in this building?’ he asked in astonishment.
‘Uh huh,’ she nodded, then frowned. ‘Then . . . EDF perhaps?’
‘No, Żelazny & McVay.’
He tried, but failed, to keep the pride out of his voice. The woman smiled, then bowed her head, as if in reverence.
Kordian realised the smile was more one of pity than admiration, and that this woman most probably worked there herself. When he saw the look of commiseration on her face, he knew he’d hit the nail on the head. He felt his shirt stick to his back, although the weather wasn’t particularly warm.
‘Take your glass of milk and follow me,’ said the woman, scowling at the steaming latte. Kordian was glad he hadn’t gone for his favourite white chocolate mocha. He hastily crushed out his cigarette with the sole of his brand-new shoe and followed her.
They rode the lift to the twenty-first floor in awkward silence. Kordian didn’t even try to start a conversation, convinced he’d sink even lower in her esteem. He sighed with relief when they stepped out of the lift and into a narrow corridor. A long row of plaques bearing the names and job titles of Żelazny & McVay employees confirmed he was in the right place. A career take-off strip, he thought.
‘Have we already offered you a position?’
‘Sorry?’ he exclaimed. ‘Yes, yes, I’ve already been taken on. I’ve spoken to Mr Żelazny, I’m doing a traineeship here in Warsaw and . . .’
‘I guessed you weren’t doing it in Gdańsk,’ growled the woman, who had stopped at a door with a gold plaque inscribed ‘Joanna Chyłka, Senior Associate’.
‘Do you know what to do next?’
‘Yes, ma’am,’ replied Oryński, sounding so obsequious it made him cringe. ‘That is . . . no, not really.’
‘Yes or no?’ she asked, shaking her head. ‘Go to reception. Over there,’ she pointed. ‘Get Anka to give you your Hooker and Snooker voucher, then go to . . .’
‘My what?’ asked Kordian. Had he misheard? Probably not, but she looked so serious that maybe he had.
‘Your Hooker and Snooker voucher,’ she repeated, opening the door to her office. ‘It’s tradition, for our newbies. You get this bit of paper, which you put on your desk. If you lose your first case, your boss gets to treat you as their whore for an evening. If you win, you can have a nice game of snooker together. Understand?’
He didn’t understand at all. Żelazny & McVay was supposed to be a serious company modelled on New York law firms, or like in the TV series Suits. But this was more like a dumbed-down version of Boston Legal. Not what he had applied for.
‘Sure,’ he nodded.
‘So, shift your ass, go to reception,’ Joanna advised, entering her office. ‘And pray you don’t get a mentor as stroppy as me.’