A Subtle Line

Chapter 1

Chapter 1

Fabrizio Tancredi

Winners and losers.

Hunters and prey.

This is what a courtroom consists of.

This is what my world consists of.

A world with only a fine subtle line between one and the other.

A world where a breath of wind can push you over that line.

Long ago I understood which is the right side of that line to be on.

I’m a winner.

Mine is not needless arrogance but a simple observation. Ultimately, all any man does is follow the instincts of his own nature.

I was born to hunt. I was born to win.

And there’s a reason why, most of the time, I manage not to cross that line. I'm good at calculating the wind.

In my thirty years of life I’ve had to work like a slave to learn everything a lawyer needs to know to stand out. But to be the best I’ve had to develop a talent that no book can convey and no master can teach: animal instinct. An affinity for changes of course which, in a law court, can save your backside more often than is imagined. The same instinct that made me sense one hesitation too many, a tiny pause that sparked a conjecture which turned out to be correct. The same instinct that sent me a ruling this morning that smells of victory. Lack of legal standing.

Pure legal jargon to say you’ve just thrown away five years of lawsuits and twenty thousand pounds in legal costs, plus another ten thousand which the company defended by the law firm where I work, will be happy to pay us, for having avoided it several million pounds in compensation.

As I push through the transparent doors of the Smithson Partnership and head straight for the lifts that I’ve been riding up and down in now for five years, I quickly straighten the knot of my grey tie which hangs immaculately against a pure silk suit. I detest ties, but every world has its own labels, every life involves compromise and, in all honesty, that of ties is perhaps the least painful to accept.

Three minutes and sixteen floors later I’m in the outer corridor staring at the firm’s smiling secretary. A real looker with auburn hair and brown eyes, only hired last week, whose name I still haven’t managed to ask. There’s something lively, sunny in that smile. The radiant shine of a girl who has spent too little time in this environment. Perhaps this is precisely what I like about her. I promise myself I’ll ask her out for a drink one day, at the right time, in the right place. As I go past she gives me the smallest of waves with her hand to catch my attention.

‘Good morning Mr Tancredi, Mr Smithson is in his office and would like you to join him'.

Speak of the devil.

‘Thank you…’ for a moment I kid myself she hasn’t noticed the tiny pause implying "what the heck’s your name?"

‘...Sofia, I’m Sofia Sir’.

“Of course, Sofia”.

‘Thank you Sofia, by the way I’m Fabrizio’.

Her face flushes slightly as I stretch out my hand to shake hers. I quickly move away from her desk to avoid further embarrassment and head straight towards the end of the corridor, passing in front of a small constellation of tastefully furnished offices, including my own, and knock on the last door right at the end.

‘Come in’. As usual, Richard Smithson is seated behind his large mahogany partner’s desk, intent on sipping coffee.

The founding partner of the firm which occupies the eastern side of the building, an elderly man with a lean physique and thick silver hair, he’s a shrewd bastard who in the past thirty-five years has dominated the corporate law scene in the city. A boss and mentor who has spent the last five years supervising my training and drumming into me the idea behind any smart lawyer: all that counts in the courtroom are results.

A mindset that bore fruit today.

‘You wanted to see me?’

‘If that sheet you’re holding is what I think it is, I imagine I should be complimenting you’, he smiles slyly.

‘If you were to add a nice bonus to the compliments they’d be even more welcome’

‘I already pay you too much for my tastes’, he answers with an exasperated grimace.

‘And what tastes!’ I reply advancing. This man’s stinginess towards his employees is renowned throughout the terrestrial globe, wherever there’s a law court.

‘Sit down novice, I need to talk to you’. He indicates I should sit on the synthetic leather armchairs in front of his desk. How I love them. I hand Smithson the judgment I’ve just collected from the court registry and he begins reading it lazily alternating placid signs of approval with a spectacular aplomb.

Those few pages hold the summary of my whole career in court cases. The company we were defending had been sued for a landmark amount of compensation by a big haulage company that complained it had been damaged by the rusty metal protuberances of its customers’ warehouse. The circumstances were clear and we were in the wrong, no doubt about it. So, I called the other party to strike a deal and avoid going to court.

It was then my instinct came to the rescue. It was then I considered a change in the wind.

Every company has a manager who represents it, including in civil or criminal court proceedings and our opponents were no exception, but for one thing.

The name of the manager who had sued us was not the same as the one in the company’s articles. After a brief investigation it turned out that the old manager had resigned only a month before the case and his replacement had fanned the flames before being officially appointed, so without any legal authority at the time the proceedings began. The idea came to me while I was on the phone with the other party’s secretary. On hearing the wrong name, the woman had hesitated slightly, one hesitation too many that put me on the right track.

‘Why did you request a second certificate from Companies House?’, asks Smithson glancing at me furtively, ‘Wasn’t the one the clients gave us sufficient?’.

I lie back in the chair.

‘And since when have we trusted our clients?’, I ask.

Richard nods narrowing his eyes and clasps his hands together, glancing through his plate glass windows which offer a breathtaking view over London.

‘So, what did you want to talk to me about?’

Smithson turns his chair round and looks me straight in the eyes.

‘Lots of money, I mean lots of it!’.