The senior partner studied the resume for the hundredth time and again found nothing he
disliked about Mitchell Y. McDeere, at least not on paper. He had the brains, the
ambition, the good looks. And he was hungry; with his background, he had to be. He was
married, and that was mandatory. The Firm had never hired an unmarried lawyer, and it
frowned heavily on divorce, as well as womanizing and drinking. Drug testing was in the
contract. He had a degree in accounting, passed the CPA exam the first time he took it
and wanted to be a tax lawyer, which of course was a requirement with a tax firm. He
was white, and The Firm had never hired a black. They managed this by being secretive
and clubbish and never soliciting job applications. Other firms solicited, and hired blacks.
This firm recruited, and remained lily white. Plus, The Firm was in Memphis, of all
places, and the top blacks wanted New York or Washington or Chicago. McDeere was a
male, and there were no women in. That mistake had been made in the mid-seventies
when they recruited the number one grad from Harvard, who happened to be a she and a
wizard at taxation. She lasted four turbulent years and was killed in a car wreck.
He looked good, on paper. He was their top choice. In fact, for this year there were no
other prospects. The list was very short. It was McDeere or no one.
The managing partner, Royce McKnight, studied a dossier labeled:
Mitchell Y. McDeere,
Harvard
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