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too many. You have to learn to say no.”
    Paul looked chagrined.
    â€œThis is a discussion we’ve had before,” Martin added softly. “So if you don’t have time, it won’t be good for me and it won’t be good for you.”
    â€œI am busy now, but not overloaded.”
    â€œOkay, but we’ll be operating on a tight schedule.”
    â€œI’ll give it all the time it needs.”
    â€œI should have the background material later today. I’ll …”
    Martin’s office phone rang. Hoping it was Arthur Larkin calling about the Supreme Court, he stopped talking and held his breath, waiting for Alice, his secretary, to answer. Seconds later, she buzzed on the intercom. “Arthur Larkin, White House Counsel, is holding for you.”
    Martin lifted the phone to his ear.
    â€œHi, Arthur. What’s up?”
    â€œCan you meet with me over here this afternoon. Say three o’clock?”
    Martin looked at his calendar marked for a conference call at two thirty with his partner Janet Derby and people from Merck about FDA approval for a new drug application. Janet could cover it.
    â€œThat works for me. You want to give me a subject?”
    â€œI’d rather do it in person,” Arthur responded in his usual gruff tone.
    â€œFair enough. See you at the White House then.”
    Putting down the phone, Martin felt his body tingle. Well, there it was. Braddock wanted to consider him for chief justice. No, he couldn’t count on that. Never mind what the New York Times said yesterday. Arthur might want to talk about something else—or worse—solicit Martin’s view about who should be considered.
    Swept up in what Arthur’s call might mean, he’d forgotten about Paul, who was clearing his throat. “Okay, we’re finished,” Martin said. “Alice will send you the material when we receive it.”
    Paul left, and as Martin walked across to the cherry credenza, he studied the photo of Chief Justice Hall seated in a high-backed black leather chair with Andrew, standing beside him, holding out a law book. He still remembered Hall’s note, “To Andrew, my clerk, my friend. With best wishes and my hope that you will one day sit in this chair.”
    And maybe, he would.
    * * *
    By the time he reached his office, Paul’s stomach was churning. All he had overheard was that the president’s counsel wanted to meet with Martin. Paul had read in the Times yesterday about Chief Justice West’s resignation and Martin named as one of the people being considered to succeed West. He didn’t think it was a coincidence. More likely, Arthur wanted his old tennis buddy to become chief justice.
    Damn it, Paul thought. It was so great working with Martin. And so challenging. Somehow, Martin always found solutions—ways to argue cases that no one else saw. Paul would hate it if Martin left.
    Also, there would be the personal impact for Paul. With Martin remaining at the firm, Paul was a certainty to make partner unless he peed on one of the oriental carpets. But with Martin gone, and other powerful partners viewing him as Martin’s associate, it would be an open issue. Paul was well aware that law firms, like all organizations, were full of petty jealousies and resentments.
    Paul thought about the first time he met Martin. After graduating from Yale Law and clerking on the DC Circuit, Paul had been working in a neighborhood legal services office in Washington. At its annual banquet at the Washington Hilton, the organization was honoring Martin for the contributions his law firm had made to the program. Two weeks before, Paul’s father, who ran a small roofing firm in New Haven, had fallen off a roof. While the accident wasn’t fatal, his dad would never work again. He didn’t have disability insurance and Paul’s only sibling, Gabriella, was a grad student in a PhD program in English at Columbia. That left