Chapter Twenty-six BarrettAny time I forget why I want to move up and become a partner at the firm, I’m reminded of Mr. Lyons’ office. Any interior designer would start drooling the second they got a look at the place—from the desk to the leather chairs to the bookshelf lined with legal books filled with historic cases, all the furniture sleek and black. Not a nick or a smudge on anything. He’s got the nicest office of anyone in the firm, maybe of anyone on this city block, and the man knows it.
Sometimes, I feel like he calls people in for meetings just so that they can ogle the place. The second you walk in the view is enough to knock you down a peg—the entirely glass walls look out over the water taxis and barges headed down the Chicago River. Not that Mr. Lyons gets to enjoy that view
