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here when you’re ready to resume your career.”
    â€œI appreciate that, Benjamin, I really do. As you know, I’ve devoted my professional life to this firm. My wife would have said that I devoted my entire life to this firm.”
    He gave me a knowing smile, surely recognizing where this was heading. “Daniel, I know how hard you’ve worked, because it’s as hard as I’ve worked, and as hard as every single one of our partners has worked. And as many hours as we have all logged, it probably is roughly the same amount of time as put in by the world’s best surgeons, and pianists, and writers, and athletes. The others in ourlives—spouses, children, friends—they all get a little less because of the commitment we have to make to practice law at our level. And you’ve just established yourself in that topmost echelon with the Macy verdict. Don’t throw all that away, Daniel. Instead, why don’t you take some time to think about how you want the rest of your career to look, and then call me when you’ve made a decision.”
    â€œI appreciate the offer, Benjamin. I do, along with everything you’ve done for me over the years, but I’ve made up my mind. I’m done with this.” I could have left it there, but I wanted to make it crystal clear that this was final, and well considered. “And since you brought up the Macy case, you need to know . . . it’s not a reason for me to stay, it’s a reason for me to leave.”
    I knew that he wouldn’t try to talk me out of it any further. “I see,” he said in a measured voice. “Best of luck to you,” and then he shook my hand.
    And that was it. I hadn’t spoken to him or anyone else at Taylor Beckett since that day. Even though I’d known many of my coworkers for twenty years, I didn’t get a single telephone call or email. I was just as much to blame for the silence as my former colleagues, as I hadn’t reached out to them, either. The expression out of sight, out of mind doesn’t apply anywhere more than at a large law firm. It was all very Orwellian; I was wiped from the institution as completely as if I’d never worked there at all.
    But now, this afternoon, and after all this time, I dialed Benjamin Ethan.
    His assistant, a woman named Janeene, answered his phone. When I worked at Taylor Beckett, I spoke to Janeene so frequently that she joked about wishing her husband called her half as much as I did. But when I gave her my name and asked to speak to Ethan, she was all business, asking me to hold while she told “Mr. Ethan” that I was on the line.
    â€œDaniel. Long time, no talk,” Ethan said when he finally pickedup, after I’d been on hold for the better part of two minutes. “What has it been, two, three years?”
    â€œEighteen months, actually.”
    â€œTime. Where does it go?”
    I chuckled to myself. You’d think that a guy who billed $1,250 for every sixty minutes would have a better sense of time.
    â€œHow have you been?” I asked.
    â€œYou know, a slave to the billable hour. But I can’t complain. What can I do for you?”
    â€œI’m ready to get back into practice.”
    â€œI’m glad to hear it. But, well, you know the way this place runs. It’s not up to only me, and after so much time . . . I just don’t want you to get your hopes up, that’s all. I’ll certainly advocate for your return, but I don’t know how the other partners will feel about it.”
    This was hardly a surprise. I’d long suspected that Ethan’s grandiose “you’re always welcome back here” when I’d left the firm was classic lawyer BS. The last thing that anyone at Taylor Beckett wanted now was for me to return. Nature might abhor a vacuum, but a big law firm devours it. My cases had been reassigned, and my clients were now firmly under