The Tenth Justice - Brad Meltzer [47]
“I never heard this,” Ben said with a smile.
“I’m not joking,” Nash said. “I heard they used to call themselves The Cabal, and the older clerks would teach the younger clerks how to sway decisions to their own agenda. I’m serious,” he added, noticing Ben’s doubtful expression. “You know how much influence you can have if you want it. When you write a decision, for the most part you can structure it your own way. You can emphasize certain points, or make other points extra ambiguous. It’s a subtle gesture of power, but it’s still power.”
“Yeah, but you really can’t do anything the justice doesn’t want in the first place.”
“That was the scary part. People said Osterman knew about all this and he just turned his back on it—letting his clerks do what they wanted.”
“I think that’s how Hitler trained his militia,” Ben said as a waiter refilled the table’s breadbasket.
“Didn’t I tell you this guy knows what it’s like?” Alcott said to Ben as he pointed at Nash.
“So tell me,” Ben said, “how’s everything at Wayne?”
“Fantastic,” Alcott said, putting both elbows on the table. “We just took on NFI Properties as a client, so if you need any tickets to a Redskins game, you let me know. In fact, any game in the whole country, whenever you want. We also took on Evian, so every water cooler in the firm has sparkling fresh Evian water.”
“That’s great,” Ben said, noticing that Alcott had paused for his reaction.
“And the pro bono department recently started doing work for the Children’s Defense Fund.”
“There are no free benefits from them.” Nash laughed. Shooting Nash a look, Alcott said, “But we do get invited to their annual convention, where the president usually speaks.”
“That’s great,” Ben said. “I’m on their mailing list because I did some work with them during law school.”
“Did you really?” Alcott asked. “Then we’ll have to get you in on this. Whenever you have some free time, let me know, and I’ll get you in to see the chairperson. She’s a wonderful woman. Very charismatic.”
“Meanwhile, did you tell him about the Supreme Court bonus?” Nash asked.
Alcott smiled. “Ben, this one is wonderful. The hiring committee recently met to reevaluate compensation packages for first-year associates. Since we’ve always given bonuses to associates who have clerkship experience, we thought we should add another bonus if the candidate also clerks for the Supreme Court. So in addition to that number I gave you last week, you can add another ten thousand. It’s only for the first year, but we think it’s a nice token.”
Staring at his plate, Ben wondered how he could take a $38,000-a-year job with the U.S. Attorney’s Office when a $100,000 job was staring him in the face and buying him an expensive lunch.
“Listen, you don’t have to decide now,” Alcott said. “We know it’s a hard choice. I’ll be honest, we know you can write your ticket anywhere, but we want you at Wayne and Portnoy. You’ve been with us for one summer; you know our style. It’s a relaxed atmosphere. We work hard when we have to, but we try to enjoy all the perks our profession allows us. If you come to us, I can assure you that at least twenty percent of your work will be on pro bono cases, so you can still give a great deal back to the community. Obviously, this isn’t the last time we’ll be speaking this year, but I do want to keep you informed about your choices.”
“I appreciate it,” Ben said. “You make it hard to say no.”
“Good,” Alcott said, closing his menu. “With that said, let’s order some expensive food.”
When Ben returned to the office, Lisa was still sitting at her computer. “How was lunch?”
“It was great,” Ben said, lying on the sofa and patting his stomach. “I had the best snapper I’ve eaten in my entire life. It was crusted with macadamia nuts and covered with the most tantalizing lemon-butter sauce. Unreal.”
“So let me ask you, how does it feel to sell your