15. Lady Macbeth

A lawyer is not profitable, according to the firm’s calculations and budget, if he does not achieve at least his targeted billable hours. If lawyers aren’t profitable then they are effectively worthless. “We are not a charity,” Lars had once said to me when he was managing partner at Solomons. Of course, law firms are profit-oriented, just like any other business, but everything is relative. The continuously increasing performance criteria of billable hours, hourly rates and invoice collections appear to become less and less achievable.

* * *

On our post-honeymoon, with the children, on the French Atlantic coast, neither Jacob nor I were thinking about billable hours or other work matters. We were coming to terms with the requirements that our newly defined relationship was imposing upon us. From being lovers with independent lives we had turned into a married couple. To me that meant I had him to protect me and my girls, while I made us our home, looked after our children and did my part to contribute financially. So when we arrived at our rented summerhouse near Lacanau, the first thing I did whilst everyone else jumped into the pool was to unpack, put sheets on all the beds, get towels for everyone, go food shopping and stock up the kitchen.

“Come on, wifey,” Jacob shouted from outside, “come swimming!”

I poured two glasses of the red wine that I had just acquired at the local wine shop and took them outside to the terrace. Jacob and Antonio were swimming lengths while Noëlle and Marie were looking at something in the lavender bed, that framed the pool terrace on the south side.

“The water is too cold for me,” I replied. “I got you some wine, though.” I held up the wine glasses.

“Moja dobra żona! You’re such a good little wife!” Jacob crawled to the stairs, climbed out of the pool and took the glass from me. “Cheers, darling!” He downed the glass in one and planted a kiss on my lips. “Mwa!”

“Careful!” I laughed. “You’re getting me all wet!” I looked down at my sundress, which was showing a big water stain. “I better get this off.” I went through the French doors into our bedroom. He followed me, a towel wrapped around his hips.

“Oh, darling! Have you followed me to be naughty?” I turned to hug him and started kissing his neck. “I mean, the children are outside but perhaps we can go to the bathroom - after all, this is our honeymoon.”

He took me by the shoulders and slightly pushed me away. “Uh, no. I just wanted to get a polo shirt, and I’m tired.”

“Oh.” I let go of him. “Here, in the closet.”

He opened the doors of the cupboard. “What the - ? Chloé, how much stuff did you bring? We’re only here for two weeks. I mean, there are at least six pairs of shoes and four handbags.” He turned around, shaking his head in disapproval.

“Darling, we are on our honeymoon! I want to look pretty for you.”

“You look pretty enough without all this stuff. My mother never travelled with more than a couple of things.” He took out a polo shirt and banged the doors shut. “I’m going to lie down on the sofa,” he announced. “Please tell the children to be quiet and wake me up at seven, OK? I’ll then get the barbecue going. Did you get any charcoal?”

“Oh damn. No, I forgot. I’ll go back to the shops.”

“You forgot? But you spent like two hundred Euros - what on earth did you buy?”

“All sorts of things. The wine I got wasn’t cheap. Don’t worry, I paid with my money.”

“What do you mean? This is now our money. Seriously, darling. You still have so much to learn.” He planted another kiss on my forehead, took the wine glass out of my hand and emptied it in one go. “You won’t be needing that when you go shopping.” He grinned and gave me a light slap on my bottom. “Off you go then.”

When I got back from the shops Jacob was curled up on the sofa, sound asleep. I went outside to place the bag with the charcoal next to the barbecue. The three children were at the table by the pool playing what looked like Monopoly.

“Are you OK, kids?” I asked them.

“Yeah, sure,” Antonio answered without looking up, apparently contemplating his next move.

“Shh, not so loud. Your Dad told us to be quiet,” Noëlle reminded him.

He dismissed her with a short laugh. “He won’t hear anything anyway. He’s had lots of wine.”

“Mummy, can we have some sweets?” Marie asked.

“It’s a bit late, darling,” I replied. “But I could bring you a bowl of grapes for you all to share.”

“Yeah, thank you Mummy!” Marie replied and Noëlle nodded. Antonio shrugged and counted the steps of the little racing car he had chosen as his game piece.

I went back inside. As I passed the sofa, I noticed the empty wine bottle and nearly empty glass on the coffee table. I decided to pick it up slowly so as not to disturb Jacob. As I did so, he suddenly woke up with a jolt.

“Antonio! I told you not to wake me up!” He started ranting. The he noticed me. “Oh. It’s you. Man! The kids have been so loud! I haven’t been able to sleep properly!” He ran his fingers through his tousled hair.

“They are outside, playing quietly. Did you finish the bottle by yourself?”

“Hm. I must have.” He let out a short growl. “I guess I might as well get up.” He started lifting himself up from the sofa but fell back again, knocking over the wine glass in the process. The glass fell on the terracotta tiles and shattered into pieces, its contents being sprayed onto the side of the sofa.

“Oh no!” I exclaimed. “I think that glass was crystal!”

“So what - we are paying enough money for this place.”

“We have to take a note of everything that we break. I better get a dustpan. I’m not sure how I’ll be able to remove the wine stains though.”

He clicked his tongue impatiently. “Just leave it for the fucking cleaner tomorrow!”

“But Jacob, the splinters are dangerous and the stains may not be removable tomorrow,” I objected.

“Gawd! I did this so I decide how to deal with it and I say leave it!” He got up, brushed some of the larger pieces aside with his deck shoe and shuffled to the master bedroom.

“Mummy, what happened? Did something break?” Marie came in from outside.

“Stop! Careful, honey, don’t come closer - you’re not wearing shoes. Yes, a glass fell on the floor.”

“Ouch!” She stopped and lifted her foot. I quickly went to examine it.

“Yes, you have a small cut. Here, the splinter is gone. But please, no more walking around. Come, I’ll carry you to the bathroom so we can put a plaster on it.” I carried her back to the terrace door, opened it and shouted: “Noëlle, Antonio, please don’t come inside - there are some pieces of glass we need to clear up first.” I then went to the master bedroom in order to get to our bathroom, where I kept the first aid kit. Jacob was lying on our bed, asleep again.

“Mummy, why is he sleeping so much?” Marie whispered in my ear.

“He has been working a lot, so he’s just tired,” I whispered back. In the bathroom, I placed her on the edge of the bathtub and went to get my sponge, which was back with the medical supplies. Next to it was Jacob’s toiletries bag. It was open. I noticed a pillbox with the lid not fastened properly. I picked it up to screw it back on and read the label - Imipramine.

“It stopped bleeding, Mummy.”

I quickly placed the bottle back in the bag and turned around. “Good. We’ll put a plaster on it anyway, OK? Then you can go outside through the terrace doors. I will hoover the floor and let you know when it’s OK to come back inside.”

“OK, Mummy.”

We tiptoed through the bedroom again, Marie left through the French doors and I went to clean the floor. When I finished and saw that Jacob was still asleep, I decided to let him sleep and prepare dinner myself. Antonio woke him up when everything was ready and we had set the table outside. Jacob appeared from the bedroom to join us.

“Hm, sorry guys. I’m just so tired.” He yawned. “My wifey, you’ve been so good, letting me sleep and preparing everything.”

“That’s OK. The children were a great help. Are you feeling better now?”

“Yeah, thanks.” He gave me a kiss on the head and sat down. “Again, thanks. I’ll prepare the barbecue tomorrow, OK? How about we make a trip to the beach tomorrow?”

That got the children all excited. All three started talking at the same time about what they needed to take and what they wanted to do in the sea. The shattered glass incident was not mentioned again.

A few days later we decided to make a day trip to Bordeaux. As we emerged from the parking garage near the Cours de l’Intendance, I spotted a Louis Vuitton boutique.

“Oh! They may have the new leo print scarf, it’s sold out everywhere else! Jacob, do you mind if I have a quick look?”

Jacob did not look pleased “Hm. OK. We’ll wait outside - Antonio and Noëlle can try out their new Heelys. Be quick though, and don’t spend any money.”

“I’m going with Mumma!” Marie announced and took my hand. As we entered the shop I saw the leo scarf in one of the displays. I humoured the shop assistant, who made a fuss about it being sold out everywhere, and completed the transaction much quicker than I normally would’ve and without looking twice at the beautiful temptations that winked at me from the shelves. Marie had stood next to me when the price was announced so as we were leaving, I turned to her. “Don’t say anything about how much this was, OK darling? In case Jacob asks.”

“Why Mummy? Can you not buy what you want? It’s your money, isn’t it?”

“Well, it’s complicated, honey. Let’s just not talk about it.”

We found Jacob outside, watching Antonio and Noelle rolling up and down the street.

“So you obviously found what you were looking for,” he stated with a glance at the brown paper bag.

“Yes - such pot luck! This scarf costs more on eBay than in the shop itself! They even had this handbag, that I thought was not for sale any more - it’s the handbag that Carrie gives to her assistant Louise in Sex and the City: the Movie.”

He frowned. “You didn’t buy that as well though, did you?”

“Well no, but really, I should - it would be a good investment.” I looked back at the window displays.

“Chloé. If you buy another handbag I will get a divorce.”

“Very funny,” I laughed.

“I mean it. If you buy another handbag I’ll get a divorce,” he repeated sternly.

At that moment, it dawned upon me that he was serious. Being married to Jacob meant that he really expected us to share our salaries, and that in future I had to account for my purchases. I looked at the beautifully wrapped box inside the paper bag and no longer felt any enjoyment. For an instant I had the urge to go back and return it but then I felt an even stronger urge to go back and buy that handbag.

However, he was my husband and I wanted this marriage to work. Upon further reflection, therefore, I decided to be a good ‘Polish wife’ like his adored mother. So on our return to the holiday home I took my notebook - a navy linen-bound book with blue ruled paper and a Prada logo that Isabella had once given to me - and started to write down all my daily expenses. I continued to do so after our holidays. Jacob was content. Our marriage was on track.

* * *

Job matters soon become predominant again. It was the beginning of September 2008. That morning, having switched on my PC, I had noticed that Jerome had put an appointment in my outlook diary for 10 a.m.: review with Tracey. Yay. That was never a pleasant exercise and I didn’t expect anything different this time. Still, she had been quite friendly to me after we had come back from our post-wedding vacation - congratulating me and politely admiring my rings - and she certainly seemed to place more attention on Jacob, being nearly flirtatious with him at times. I took that as a sign that she was relaxed both with me and with my personal circumstances. Maybe I could relax now as well.

When I entered her office she barely looked up from her papers.

“Come in, Chloé, and close the door, please. I am just looking at the print-out of your financial performance. As far as I can work out you have only got about one hundred and thirty chargeable hours a month on average over the last three months.” She looked up at me and raised her eyebrows. “How can that be?”

“Uhm - we did not get the last two deals from Holmans and the other two pitches I sent out are still pending?”

“This is not acceptable. These figures are far too low. I have also had to write off too much of your time on the deals that we have billed in the second quarter.”

“Well, the fee caps we offered were quite low and the structure of the Amsterdam bank deal changed completely so I had to put in double the amount of work. Also, there was a bit of duplication of work by Jessica when she filled in for me when I was on holiday.”

“Her hourly rate is lower than yours and she deserves to be able to have her time invoiced when she works so hard. If I did not know you better I would nearly have the impression that you have become less willing to work and instead are enjoying an extended honeymoon.”

I could feel my face getting flushed. “No. I haven’t. I’m not.”

“Be that as it may, all I can say is these figures must improve drastically within the next three months. Otherwise we may need to reassess your counsel status.”

At this point my scalp and the top of my ears were burning, which only happens when I feel the adrenaline of danger shooting through my veins. Notwithstanding my racing heart I managed to respond calmly. “I understand. I will do my best. Is that all?”

“Yes, that’s all.”

Back in my room, I closed the door and sat turned towards the window. This wasn’t good. Not good at all. Granted, the expected monthly chargeable hours target was one hundred and sixty and at one hundred and thirty I was below that. However, I simply hadn’t been that busy and, I admitted to myself, I had enjoyed not being frantically busy all the time. However, Tracey’s threat had contained a dangerous undertone, which, since she was a woman, was relevant and not to be ignored. She had meant much more than she had actually said. A man would have clearly said ‘if you do not perform, you will have to go’. I found the business card of my preferred head-hunter, Steven Quinn, in my purse and dialled his number on my private mobile.

“Steven Quinn?”

“Steven, hi! It’s Chloé - Chloé Krakowski from Pratt & Wonkey.”

“Chloé! Good to hear from you. How are you - how are things at P&W?”

“That’s why I’m actually calling. I’m considering a change and was wondering whether you have any searches going on.”

“In fact, we do. Two firms are looking actively at the moment. They aren’t top ten though - they are small and don’t have any banking law capacity. Other than that, it’s fairly quiet in that area - the financial crisis is taking its toll.”

“Yes. I know. Would you enquire anyways, with these two firms, on a no names basis?”

Sure! I’ll do that and get back to you.”

“Thanks.” We hung up. I was unsure what might come of it but it was important to set up a plan B if matters deteriorated here.

* * *

Two weeks later, on a Monday morning, when stepping off the lift at 8.30 a.m., I was surprised to see that many associates and partners were already or - judging by their state - still in the office. I spotted Jessica who was about to rush past me with a little stressed wave of her hand. I stopped her.

“Hey, what’s going on? Why is everybody here already?”

“Haven’t you heard? It’s Lehmans! They have filed for insolvency! AB bank made a money transfer to their German subsidiary on Friday afternoon for the GREF deal which is to close today. We have to try and get the money back before it lodges its insolvency application with the German bankruptcy court! Sorry, I’ve got to see Tracey now!” She ran off.

At P&W we had known of, and been affected by, the subprime crisis over the preceding year because many of our real estate finance transactions were put on hold, or stopped altogether, due to the rise in the interbank interest rate. Banks were simply no longer able to lend money at the low rates clients were willing to pay and able to afford. This, however, was unbelievable. One of the largest US investment banks was insolvent?

Once I had reached my office, and was online, I scrolled through the websites of the various financial newspapers, which all had the same topic. Even the tabloids were dominated by screaming headlines about the fall of Lehman Brothers. I was shell-shocked. What would this mean for the world economy? I still remembered the stock market crash on Black Monday in 1987 but at that time I was a student and only theoretically interested in the financial markets. Things were of course different now. P&W’s main clients were banks. They - and we - would be clearly, and dramatically, affected by this.

Sure enough, a while later, an email from Tracey, to her entire team, informed us of the immediate consequences.

From: Taylor, Tracey (BK)

To: Krakowski, Chloe (BK); Allen, Jessica (BK); Jones, Mike (BK); Holmes, Joanna (BK)

Cc: Panzer, Jerome (BK)

Dear all,

I have spoken to AB Bank, Holmans/HOLREF, Holland Bank and Francobank. All transactions are on hold. DO NOT write down any time on any of their deals until further notice. If you have any questions let me know.

Tracey

My heart sank. I was involved in two of those transactions and needed the billable hours. I certainly had not forgotten Tracey’s words: ‘these figures must improve drastically, within the next three months, otherwise we may need to reassess your counsel status’. The aircraft finance restructuring for Bavaria Bank that I had been working on was not affected by the crisis, as this was not a new money loan. The airline had received their loan years before but now had problems repaying it so the bank agreed to lower the repayment instalments and extend the term in which they were payable, in return for receiving additional security and guarantees. However, even taken together with some other small matters I was busy with, it would not be sufficient to increase my hours drastically. Which reminded me of plan B. I closed the door again and dialled Steven Quinn’s mobile. When he did not answer I left a brief message, asking to be called back.

A short while later he returned my call.

“I was going to call you in the next few days anyway,” he began. He was the only legal head-hunter I knew of who did not need to be chased for information.

“The two firms I mentioned to you - they were interested, initially, but now everything’s on hold. They are not sure they want banking law capacity in this current market. Do you do restructuring?”

“Not really,” I replied. “Only in respect of deals I have previously done but I’m not a restructuring or insolvency specialist.”

“Shame. That’s what everyone will want. All I can say is you better hang on to your job.”

“Sure. I was just checking the market,” I lied. “I have no reason to leave.”

* * *

I did leave though - the office, early, at 6 p.m. It was glorious to have non-hurried evening time with the girls, eating pizza with toppings we made ourselves, playing with foam and huge bubbles in the bath, cuddling in Noëlle’s bed with her reading a story to me and Marie.

When Jacob came home I was just washing up the oven trays.

“You left early,” he stated with raised eyebrows as he placed his briefcase on the kitchen counter.

“Hm. I was looking for you but heard you were in that crisis meeting all day.”

“Yeah. The whole Lehman thing is a nightmare. I need a drink.” He opened the cupboard and took out a whiskey glass.

“Yes. I know. Nearly all my deals are on hold. So I left early to have dinner with the girls and give them a bath. I have even done the washing and tidied up.”

“How exciting.”

“It’s not about being exciting or not. I’m really trying to be a good wife, Jacob. I have the same job as you, yet I do all our housework and look after the girls and Antonio as much as I can.”

He shrugged his shoulders. “If it’s too much for you, just don’t do it.”

“It’s not too much. It’s a pleasure. I love looking after my family but I feel like you’re taking everything for granted. I need your appreciation once in awhile. Like, you no longer tell me that I’m pretty or that you love me. I miss that.” I firmly held eye contact. It was not easy for me to do so but I thought if he wanted to make me happy then I had to verbalise my needs. There was no point waiting - any longer - for him to realise this by himself.

“I’m a good husband. I work all day. I don’t beat you. I don’t cheat on you.”

He was actually serious, which only got me more upset. When he noticed that, he smirked and took me in his arms. “Darling, darling! You are so pretty, I love you so and we have such a nice home,” he said in a baby-like voice.

I pulled out of his arms. “You don’t have to make fun of me!”

He laughed. “Oh come on.” He grabbed my breasts from behind, made a grunting noise and rubbed himself against my bottom. “Let’s have sex, oomph-oomph.”

I pushed his hands away with my wrists and took off my dripping rubber gloves. “Let it go. That’s really not a turn on. I don’t know why you always do that when I am washing up and can’t defend myself.”

“That’s exactly why it’s fun!” He shook his head and let go of me.

In an attempt to placate him I hugged him and kissed him softly. “Can we not be more tender? Let me show you what I mean.”

He pulled back impatiently. “No. I don’t have time for that now. I’ve got work to do.”

I turned away, pretending to check the dishwasher program, so that he could not see my tears. “Alright. I’ll wait for you in bed.” When I looked up again with a forced smile he had left the kitchen.

* * *

From: Hart, Christopher (CEO)

To: All Fee Earners (Global); All Support Staff (Global)

Cc: James, Bryan (SP)

Re: Global restructuring programme

Dear All

In order to anticipate the effects the financial crisis may have on the firm it has been decided that a restructuring of all Pratt & Wonkey staff will be required globally. The aim is to reduce the head count overall by 9 per cent. within the next two months. This will affect all offices and all departments, and fee earners and support staff alike. If you have any questions please consult your local HR department.

Best regards

Christopher Hart, Chief Executive Officer

Bryan James, Senior Partner

“Do you think the banking department will be affected? I mean - with all the restructurings we are still the most profitable department overall,” I said to Jessica when she called me as soon as the email had arrived.

“That’s true, but David told me that although there is a worldwide increase in turnover, the profit per equity partner is expected to fall because of staff costs and underperforming departments, like real estate for example. He also told me - well, but you must please keep it quiet.” David had, in the meantime, been made partner so this was first hand gossip.

“Of course, what is it?”

“Apparently Michael Stone and Krystle Cann from HR have drawn up a list of staff to be made redundant. And Mike is on it.”

“What, but he is fairly busy and he’s only on a junior lawyer’s salary! His girlfriend is pregnant - he just told me yesterday.”

“I know! Maybe they will change their minds. I heard that the list is to be finalised by this afternoon.”

After we had hung up I pressed the short dial for Mike. I felt somehow responsible for him as I had taken part in persuading him to work in our team and, apart from being a fine person, he had been an invaluable help on my aircraft transactions.

“Hey, Chloé! What can I do for you?” He was as obliging as ever.

“Just quickly - have you told Tracey yet that Natasha is pregnant?”

“No, not yet - I mean why should I, it doesn’t affect my work.”

“You should tell her ASAP. Don’t ask why. Just do it. Please. Now.”

“Uhm. OK, sure.”

Good, maybe it would get him off that list. The whole thing was absurd. Even following the stock market crash, in October, we had been busy with restructuring various deals we had completed in the last two or three years. There wasn’t a great outlook for new transactions in the near future but as soon as the banks would be back in business, so would we. No firm would take such a short-term view.

I was wrong.

“So, Chloé. I trust you have read the CEO’s email this morning. As it said, every office and department is affected, also this one. A list has been drawn up of members of staff who are affected by the restructuring. Actually, Mike’s name was on the list but I took him off it as he will have to provide for his girlfriend and a baby. I had to give another name instead. So, now your name is on it.”

I was standing in front of Tracey’s desk. She had called me and asked me to come and see her. I only managed to stare at her incredulously.

“You will be offered the same as everyone else. The firm will pay you three months’ salary in return for signing a termination agreement and you can leave now.” She spoke in a business-like manner, as if she was talking about a new transaction.

“And what if I don’t accept?”

“Then we will lawfully terminate your employment contract by giving you the required notice period.”

“I will have to take legal advice.”

“Of course.” She smiled sweetly. I left her office without a further word and without closing the door.

“I don’t believe this! They are firing my wife? What assholes!” Jacob freaked out when I told him, having straightaway walked to his office. “You must contact an employment specialist! Here, wait - there was an article I saw a while ago about this lawyer who successfully represented some high-profile CEO.” He rummaged through a pile of business magazines on his shelf. “There it is. Ah, page 23 - there - his name is Peter Weaver. Just Google him, and call straightaway. Three months’ salary as a severance payment is ridiculous. You should get one to two years’ worth.”

“But I don’t want to have to leave! I want - I need - this job!”

“You’ll get another one and until then we have a shit load of cash.” He grinned with glee.

I couldn’t feel any glee at all. Peter Weaver did confirm Jacob’s view about what was an adequate severance package in my case and responded to management, accordingly, on my behalf. P&W, however, didn’t move at all on their offer ‘accept three monthly wages severance or get fired’.

Thus, after several weeks of being isolated and ignored in the office, whilst keeping strict working hours at the advice of my lawyer, I received Tracey’s version of Lady Macbeth’s letter. I now found myself - a hard-working, highly experienced, former equity partner, Oxford-educated barrister and solicitor and mother of two - out of work.

* * *

“I doubt that they will let this go to trial. I expect them to make a decent offer now.”

I found myself in court with Peter Weaver, waiting for the lawyer representing P&W and the judge to arrive. Immediately after having received my termination notice and being escorted out of the building within an hour thereof, I had called Peter Weaver who lodged our case one day later. It took another month for the judge to summon the parties to court for a negotiation meeting.

“Well, I need it. I am struggling financially, to be honest. I get less than ten per cent. of my monthly net salary as unemployment benefit. This just about covers my daughters’ school fees. My husband is lending me money to cover my part of the mortgage payments and all other costs.”

“He is lending you money? Doesn’t he earn about the same as you did?”

“Yes.” I looked at the ground. That had been another unpleasant conversation with Jacob. I couldn’t blame him. Yes, if I had spent less money on clothes, shoes, handbags and holidays, I would have more reserves. But did I ever - ever-contemplate being without income? No. Maybe that was naïve. I regarded it as an inherent lack of existential fear. Deep down I felt I would always be alright. Yes, if necessary, I would do any work to support us. It would just not be logistically possible to change my lifestyle completely from one day to the next. If they were to make me a decent offer now, I would accept it and discuss with Jacob how to downsize our life. We could sell the house, sell the car, rent a small apartment. Whatever happened, never, ever, did I want to have to work within this type of culture or for those people again.

We were interrupted by the arrival of Krystle Cann, P&W’s HR manager, and Angela Lang, employment law partner at P&W. So the management had chosen to be represented by one of their partners, who thus would have a vested interest in this case. The door behind the bench opened and a young-looking woman with an Ellen de Generes-style blonde pixie haircut and blue-rimmed glasses, wearing a judge’s gown, entered the court, causing all to rise.

“Good morning,” she began. “In the matter of Chloé Krakowski versus Pratt & Wonkey LLP. - are all parties and their legal counsel present? Ah, good. I would like the parties to consider negotiating a settlement.”

“My client is not interested to settle, Your Honour. We consider this dismissal as having been made on lawful grounds,” Angela Lang replied.

“I see. Are you absolutely certain? Very well, then I will order pleadings be exchanged as follows,” the judge ruled. Checking through her calendar, she set the dates for four sets of pleadings. “That will take us to a trial date in September,” she concluded.

So now we were in full legal action mode and it was going to take months. The nightmare was not yet over.

* * *

Somehow the time went by more quickly than expected. The summer came and went while I played the good housewife and mother (who was amassing debt, with her husband, in order to be able to pay her half share of the outgoings) and tried to deal with the mounting tension in our relationship - with little success.

“So the trial is on Monday?” Jacob had come into our dressing room while I was switching handbags.

“Yes. Weaver said since we have exchanged pleadings twice and submitted all evidence in writing we might even get a judgment on Monday.”

“I doubt P&W will let it get to that. They will make you an offer and then you should take it whatever it is. I mean - you are suing my employer! How do you think that affects my position? If this gets any worse, I can forget my career!”

“Jacob. They haven’t made any offer at all. I had no choice but to sue. Anyway, I’m going into town now with the girls.” This discussion was pointless, especially when he was getting angry.

“What? You’re unemployed and are going shopping to spend our money?”

“Jacob, I did not say I was going shopping and I still have some of my own money.”

“It’s not your money, it’s our money! What is this - a new handbag? Don’t you have enough of those stupid fucking handbags? My mother has only ever had one handbag and it certainly did not cost more than a hundred Euros! This really makes me sick!” He kicked the Prada bag I had emptied. I picked it up carefully and moved away from him towards the corner opposite the door where he was standing.

“Please don’t do this. I understand you’re upset, Jacob, but it is me who is being kicked and treated like shit by your employer. I don’t ever want to work in that kind of place ever again!”

“How dare you talk like that! Sometimes I think they were right to fire you! You are brainsick! You better get a fucking job when this is over and if you have to work as a fucking waitress I don’t fucking care! I can’t believe I had the fucking idea to have this fucking wedding and move into the house of princesses! It’s all your fucking fault!” He banged his fist against the cupboard door, threw me a hateful look and left the room. Several moments later I heard the front door bang shut.

After I had dried my tears, and poured myself a glass of wine, I went to see the girls downstairs. They were playing with our cat Peppermint, laughing as it tried to catch the red light being projected by the little torch Marie was holding in her hand.

“Mummy, can we go to the sushi place where the plates go around on a belt?” Noëlle asked.

“Sure, sweetie. Then we’ll go to the Japanese supermarket and buy some mochi as well.”

“OK! Will they make me fat?”

“Of course not! What on earth makes you say that?”

“That’s what Jacob said to me. He said I was getting fat because I was eating toast with Nutella.”

I quickly went to hug her. “No, no! Not at all! I’m sure he didn’t say that!”

“He did, then Marie said Noëlle is not fat! And then he said to Marie, you don’t understand anything you’re a dumb-ass.”

What?! I pulled Marie into my arms as well. “Come here, darling. I’m sure that was a joke, you know like you say silly-billy.”

“OK.” Marie did not seem upset. Good. I was livid though. It was one thing to scream at me, quite another to abuse my sweet little girls verbally.

In my arms, Noëlle seemed to feel protected enough to speak further. “But Antonio said nasty words to us the other day and told us he will beat us up if we tell you.”

“What? Why? What did he say?”

“I can’t tell you, Mummy. It was horrible.”

I pressed them both at me. “I’m so sorry, my loves. Boys can be quite mean sometimes. I’m sure he didn’t realise what he said. Please tell me, immediately, next time this happens. I’ll speak to Jacob about it anyway.”

“I don’t like Antonio anymore,” Noëlle said.

“I don’t like Jacob anymore,” Marie added. “They are both mean.”

I just hugged them tighter. I didn’t know what to say.

* * *

The evening before the trial, I sat down to write a letter to Jacob. When I had called Alexia to ask her for advice and tell her of my fight with Jacob she had recommended I should do just that.

“Write a letter - do what it takes. I’m sorry, Chloé, but you got married. For the second time! You’ve got to pull yourself together and make this marriage work at all cost,” Alexia had said.

“But the girls are unhappy, too.”

“Not if you make things work. It’s up to you, Chloé.”

“Maybe, but there is something I haven’t told you. Jacob takes anti-depressants.”

“Oh! Do you know which ones?”

“Imipramine. I have Googled it. It would explain his low sex-drive and his mood swings.”

“Have you talked to him about it?”

“Not really. One time I asked him what that was, when he had popped a tablet, and he says it’s to help him be less nervous when he has a presentation.”

“Well, I mean the current situation can’t be that easy for him either. I guess in his mind he married you with your job - it was like the basis of your relationship contract. Now the essential terms of that contract are being changed, which he doesn’t understand, doesn’t support and doesn’t want to live with.”

“Maybe you’re right. The last months have been hard on both of us.”

With that conversation in mind, I started to write the letter to Jacob. I was not sure I could reverse anything that had happened but I was going to try to rescue what was left.

Dear Jacob,

I need to tell you how I feel before things get out of control. Please take this seriously.

I don’t want to be patronised.

I don’t want to be shouted at.

I do not want to be cursed at. That is verbal violence. It hurts deep inside, destroys my feelings and scares me.

I should be allowed to be angry, especially when it is justified.

I want rules of manners to be accepted and supported.

I want appreciation for my thoughtfulness, not criticism or indifference or derisive lack of respect.

I want my needs to be taken seriously.

I want my husband to understand me and to love me and my children, and not for us to be subjected to your authority and constant criticism.

I never wanted the man whom I love and married to expect me to change and to adapt to his image of a wife.

I want a man who, in the case of existential or money issues, does not look for fault in me. I may be neurotic and sometimes superficial but that cannot be the justification for any disdainful behaviour towards me.

I want a man who does not leave me in times of trouble and who is also interested in my feelings.

I want my man to be happy for me if I spend my time doing something that makes me happy and fulfils me. I would like him to encourage me and support me in doing so.

I don’t want to be despised and criticised when I ‘m tidy and look after our home and our things (like fluffing up sofa cushions and using coasters).

I want my man to love and admire me for grooming and looking after myself.

I want a man who loves looking after, and looking out, for me.

I don’t want to be despised for spending my money. It ignores who I am and what I have achieved in my life and what I achieve now.

I don’t want to be punished with disdain and withdrawal of affection if my man does not like the way I am or behave.

I want to be spoiled once in a while by my man. I work hard and I deserve it.

It’s not all my fault and I don’t want to hear that anymore.

I also want to be treated with respect and tenderness physically. Crudely grabbing my breasts and other body parts particularly in inappropriate circumstances repels me.

I want my man to trust my decisions and to take them seriously.

I want to exercise my personal rights freely.

I want my children and their education to be respected.

I want criticism to be given kindly and constructively and not to be seen as an opportunity to impose an opinion on me or to give me a telling off.

I want to be loved and understood just the way I am.

I want our marriage to work and I want to be happy. Is that too much to ask?

I love you

Chloé

* * *

The next day I was waiting outside the courtroom, waiting for Peter Weaver. My stomach was in knots. I hoped that nobody I knew would see me. As if I had just wished for the opposite, I spotted a partner from Solomons in his robe walking up the corridor towards where I was sitting. He was engaged in conversation with what I assumed to be a client. When he looked up and saw me he appeared surprised.

“Oh, hello Chloé!” He hesitated as if to say something else and, when I only nodded at him, turned back to his client and walked on, not without glancing at the board next to the door to the courtroom which showed that my case was up next - Chloé Krakowski v. Pratt & Wonkey LLP. Oh shit. Lawyers cannot resist such sensational gossip. By tomorrow everybody in the legal community would know that I dared to take the big almighty firm to court.

Several minutes later, Peter Weaver arrived as well as Krystle Cann and Angela Lang. I wondered briefly whether the rumours Jacob had told me were true - namely that Angela was also a victim of the cleansing programme at P&W and was to be demoted to non-equity partner.

We all rose when the judge came in, this time with two lay judges. She still had this cute hair cut but this time was wearing red-rimmed glasses.

“Good morning.” She sat down and ruffled through her papers.

“Right. I have received and read all pleadings and have come to a conclusion. Before I pronounce my decision, however, I would like to ask the parties whether there have been any further negotiations for an out of court settlement.”

I turned to Peter Weaver in surprise. He replied immediately. “Your Honour, we have never received an offer after the initial one several months ago before my client was dismissed.”

“I am astonished to hear that. I must say, I am indeed astonished, that Pratt & Wonkey have let this case go to trial at all.”

“We have offered an amount equal to one year’s salary,” Angela Lang quickly declared as if that was no news.

“This is the first time we’ve heard about that,” Peter replied.

“Well, that is a good start,” the judge commented, “but in the circumstances, and looking at similar cases, I was thinking more of eighteen months. I expect Mrs. Krakowski will have considerable difficulties to find a new job any earlier than that. She is a very senior lawyer in a highly specialised area of the law, over forty years old and a mother of two young children.” The judge looked expectantly at our counterparties. Krystle Cann whispered something in Angela Lang’s ear.

“I have no authority to offer one cent more than that,” Angela replied stiffly, “and in my opinion, that offer is absolutely adequate.”

“Hm. Mr. Weaver, do you want to consider this offer? You know that if we rule in favour of your client she will have to go back to her job where, I daresay, she will not be welcome.”

Krystle Cann nodded in assent and shot a cold glance at me.

“May I have five minutes outside with my client?” Peter Weaver replied.

“Of course.” The judge rose, causing all attendees to follow her example. “I see you all back here in five minutes.” She left the room through the door behind the bench. Peter Weaver and I went outside and found a quiet corner.

“What do you think?” he asked me.

“I can’t believe she acted as if that offer had always been on the table! Why have they not come up with this earlier?”

“Clearly, in order to increase the pressure on you until the very last moment.”

“No. We have come so far. The last six months have been a nightmare. They shouldn’t get away with this so easily.”

“I agree but it’s up to you. I wouldn’t take it either. There is a risk you will lose altogether but I’m quite confident we will get a judgment in our favour. You know what that means.”

“Yes.” I swallowed hard. “I’ll have to go back into that arena.”

He pressed my arm in encouragement. “Fine. Let’s go and inform the judge.”

Back inside the courtroom, I tried to ignore the poisonous looks from the Pratt & Wonkey ladies. The judge entered the room and sat down. She looked questioningly at Peter. “Mr. Weaver, has your client made a decision?”

“Yes, your honour. We will not accept the offer.” That prompted excited murmur from the other side.

“Very well.” She switched on her dictaphone and took the microphone.

“In the matter of Krakowski - spelt K-R-A-K-O-W-S-K-I - versus Pratt and Wonkey - spelt W-O-N-K-E-Y - is that correct Mrs. Lang? Thank you. All claims - there are two claims, Mr. Weaver, aren’t there? That the dismissal was void and unlawful and that the plaintiff has to be re-employed? Yes, thank you - that all claims of the plaintiff are herewith granted. I hereby pronounce judgment in favour of the plaintiff. Mrs. Lang, Mr. Weaver, a fully reasoned judgment will be available by tomorrow afternoon. Thank you all.”

And thus came the evil spirits I had summoned.