What a B—

WHAT A B—

“God! What a bitch! How can you stand working for her. She’s horrible! I’d quit!”

I looked at my co-worker Kara. We weren’t actually friends, more like friend-adjacent. We both worked at the same law firm—I was in family law, on the marriage dissolution team, and Kara was in finance. We had met at one of the all-hands meetings, and had attended a couple of the same in-house training sessions. Today, we both happened to be eating lunch outside on a bench in the shade.

I looked at Kara. I really did not like any woman being called a bitch—especially by another woman—but that wasn’t the hill I was willing to die on today. Instead I decided to address what she’d said about my boss, Whitney.

I sighed to myself. This was not the first time that I had heard that particular complaint about Whitney. Nor would it be the last. There was something about a powerful woman that was off-putting to certain people. Apparently, Kara was one of those people.

“Why do you say that?” I asked, my face neutral.

“Did you not see how rude she was to Spence?” she said, indignation radiating off her.

Spence was another lawyer on the marriage dissolution team. I’d watched the Whitney and Spence interaction earlier, but I hadn’t noticed anything out of the ordinary. “No, I didn’t,” I said. “She asked him for the Mitchell v. Mitchell file, and he said he’d have it to her office immediately. What was rude about that?”

Kara looked at me incredulously. “It’s her tone. The way she expected him to drop everything and jump and get her the file.”

I happened to know that Whitney had asked Spence to have the file on her desk first thing this morning, and he hadn’t done that. They were going into mediation right after lunch, and she needed to review the case and the depositions. I also knew that Spence, who was second chair for this case, hadn’t finished his review of the case on time because he’d gone out last night to karaoke with a couple of people from the firm, Kara included, and they’d closed the place.

I looked out across the quad, and sighed again. “She’s first chair, and he was supposed to have finished his review by this morning. And, well, she’s his boss, so …” I shrugged.

Kara crossed her arms. “Well, maybe she should realize that employees need down-time every once in a while.” She huffed. “Just because she works eighteen hours a day, doesn’t mean that everyone else has to.”

“You know she’s one of the founding partners, right? She’s the Caine in Caine, Howard, and Getz—first name on the masthead? It’s her firm.”

Kara was a getting annoyed. She wasn’t a very good lawyer if my argument sent her pouting. Plus, I was pretty sure she had a thing for Spence. They may even have been seeing each other, but that was none of my business.

“She acts like she’s so superior,” Kara harrumphed, arms crossed.

True, but the fact was she was superior. She was considered one of the best divorce lawyers in the country. That was why her fees were so high. “Whitney is a professional. She treats most people with courtesy.” I shrugged. “But she doesn’t suffer fools gladly. Especially if they’re working with her and not meeting expectations.” I’d seen her fire someone on the spot for not doing what they were supposed to do.

Kara snorted. “Whitney’s why so many of the articling baby lawyers don’t go into divorce law. They can’t work with her. She’s too demanding.”

What could I say? Obviously that wasn’t true. I worked with Whitney, and Spence worked with Whitney, and we’d both articled for her right after graduation. Plus, there were the four other team members who had articled for Whitney, now working in family law. This conversation was giving me a headache. So, I changed the subject. “How was karaoke last night?”

Her face brightened, like a flame had been sparked. “You should have seen Spence when he sang When A Man Loves A Woman! I swear he was looking right at me ….”

I let her talk for a few minutes before I excused myself to get back to work.

Whitney had a reputation for being relentless and laser focussed. If she was representing you, she made sure that she did the best job she was capable of. All her clients respected her. Not so much the other lawyers—no one wanted to be across the table from Whitney Caine.

Back in the office, I saw the mediation was finishing up in conference room one. Mitchell v. Mitchell was a news-worthy divorce. It wasn’t a Jeff Bezos/MacKenzie Scott big money divorce—no stratospheric thirty-eight billion dollar settlement, but they were fighting over a hefty billion dollars. This time, though, Renee Mitchell was the main innovator whose tech genius had paid off, and Ian Mitchell wanted his “share.” Whitney had done her due diligence—she found out that Ian Mitchell was a serial philanderer, had tried to syphon funds out of her personal accounts into an offshore account, and had tried to leverage one of her holdings to pay off gambling debts and fund his current mistress’s lavish lifestyle. Whitney had discovered all that and more. Ian Mitchell’s rationale was that he deserved at big payout because they were married. Whitney was pretty sure that ultimately, Renee would not be paying for the privilege of his antics. Plus, there was that pesky airtight prenup Whitney herself had drawn up, and the fact that a lot of Renee Mitchell’s investments were in a protected trust. Whitney had said “Ian Mitchell should have done his homework before he blew up his own life.” I knew that before too long he would be ruing the day Whitney became his wife’s lawyer.

We had a consultation with a new client, Ben O’Hara right after mediation. While not in the Mitchell’s financial round house, Ben O’Hara was willing and able to pay Whitney’s retainer. He was here on behalf of his daughter, Stella, who was living abroad in UAE. She was coming home with her husband within the week and wanted to be able to file for divorce immediately, and begin the one year living apart timeframe the day the papers were served.

When Mr. O’Hara arrived, I settled him in Whitney’s spacious office with refreshments. I walked past conference room one, and saw Whitney leaning over and shaking hands with the other team.

That’s what I liked about Whitney. She could cut you off at the knees, but would take the time to shake your hand when it was over—as if to say, “No hard feelings. Just doing my job.”

But there were a lot of hard feelings. Kara’s opinion was pretty common when it came to Whitney Caine—too mannish, too cutthroat, too aggressive, too, too, too. And usually, the characteristics that they were describing as a negative with Whitney, were admired in men. There was the usual “she slept her way to the top,”allegation—even though she was the founder of the firm. Who’d she sleep with? She was the boss!

And the rumours extended to her private life—or what people thought they knew about her private life, which was nothing, really. She was single because she scared all the men in her life away. She was a ballbreaker—no man wanted to take that on—like Whitney was a project. Blah, blah, blah. If she’d heard the slop spreading around her, she never let on.

I watched as Whitney set up a followup meeting with Renee Mitchell, and walked her the elevator, then she joined me, and we walked to her office together.

“How’d the Mitchell mediation go?”

“We will be heading to court, so that Mr. Mitchell—and I am quoting here—‘can get what he’s owed’ from his workaholic wife.” She was not surprised. Ian Mitchell had been posting online about how he deserved everything his wife had built—not half but everything—because she could just earn more money again. He spouted that he’d been her partner from the beginning, so he deserved it all—it was his idea, his genius that created DataTech. That, of course, was bullshit. He hadn’t even met Renee when she was building her company. And they’d been married, what, four years? Yeah, no.

Ben O’Hara rose when we walked into the office.

Whitney smiled, hand extended. “Mr O’Hara? I’m Whitney Caine. You’ve met Quinn” She nodded towards me. They shook hands and sat down. “So, Mr. O’Hara, how can I help you.”

He sat down and gathered himself. “About three months ago, my daughter Stella married Leo Ali. They met a couple of months earlier at a fundraiser, and he seemed like a nice guy. He was a citizen of the UAE, but did business here all the time, and had a work permit. They hit it off, and married rather quickly. I thought it was too soon, but Stella said she was in love. Jen, Stella’s mom, my ex-wife, told me to let it go. She said that Stella was thirty years old and knew her own heart.” He sighed an scrubbed his face with his hands, regret written across his face. “I capitulated, but something seemed off with Leo. He was too … too much. Always on. Always the smartest person in the room. He worked for his family’s business—they’re bankers—and Leo oversaw all of the North American dealings.

“Stella had a good job in finance, and was on an upward trajectory. She owned her own home, had savings, had a cat. She travelled, she had friends. Once they started getting serious, things began to change. Stella stopped seeing her friends, she gave me the cat because Leo had allergies. I saw him around the Mitzie—he wasn’t allergic, he just didn’t like her. Then she merged her bank accounts into his. He said because he was in banking, he would invest her funds through his company.” He looked at Whitney. “Ms. Caine, Stella’s a smart woman. She knows about money. But …” His voice trailed off. “She sold her house, and moved into Leo’s condo—one that was owned by his company.” Ben O’Hara looked like he was going to cry. “Stella loves to garden. She said that it was the perfect foil for her high pressure job in finance. She gave it up for Leo.“

I watched Whitney as she took notes. She looked up. “It seems like Whitney gave a lot up for Leo.”

Ben O’Hara nodded his head. “That’s exactly true, Ms. Caine. Stella signed everything over to Leo. There was a small, wedding here, just the four of us.” He shook his head. “That’s not the wedding Stella wanted. She wanted a huge glittering affair, with everyone she knew celebrating together. Leo nixed that. His parents didn’t even show up. Leo said his family planned a second celebration in Abu Dhabi. They were going to honeymoon in the UAE. Leo was going to show her his country.” He paused. “They packed up and headed to the UAE after the ceremony. I waited to hear about the second celebration. Jen, Carrie and Mike—our other two kids—and I, were all supposed to go to Abu Dhabi for the other ceremony. About a week after she left, Stella called and said that they were postponing the UAE wedding. Then she quit her job—a job she loved—saying she were staying in the UAE indefinitely.” He sighed, shaking his head.

“Did Stella go to the UAE willingly?” asked Whitney.

“Yes, but I’m pretty sure she only expected to stay for the ceremony and the honeymoon—about a month.”

“Did you have contact with Stella during this time?”

“Yes. We’d FaceTime with her. But Leo was always there with her. It was unsettling. There was no opportunity to ask her if everything was okay. He was always hovering. Stella looked stressed. Every time we’d ask her how she was, Leo would say ‘she’s fine.’” He looked at both of us, his eyes travelling from one to the other. “He wouldn’t even let her answer.” He paused again. “And she called us Mommy and Daddy.”

Whitney put down her pen. “Mommy and Daddy? Why is that important?”

“When the kids were little, we set up a code. If they were uncomfortable or needed us to come get them, they were supposed to call us Mommy and Daddy. None of them really ever called us that. It was usually Mom, Dad, Pops, Old Man when they were kidding around—not Mommy and Daddy. Ever. Mommy and Daddy meant she was in trouble.”

Whitney picked up her pen and jotted something down. “Do you have any proof beyond her calling you and her mother Mommy and Daddy?”

Ben O’Hara nodded his head. “I do. About five weeks ago, I got a text. It was from a number I didn’t recognize, but the country code was the UAE.” He pulled out his phone, opened up messages, and handed it to Whitney. She read it, and passed it to me. “Daddy, Leo took my passport and my phone. I can’t leave. I have no money, no job. I need to come home. Leo was a mistake. Help me.”

Whitney looked across the table at Ben O’Hara as I slid the phone back to him. “Do you believe that Stella sent this message?”

He nodded his head. “Yes I do.” Pause. “She needs my help. And I need yours.”

Whitney nodded. “How do you plan to get Stella back into the country?”

Ben O’Hara placed his hands on the table. “About a week after the SOS text, Jen and I FaceTimed Stella together—Leo was right there, of course. She called us Mommy and Daddy. We said we had some bad news. We lied and told her that Jen had stage four pancreatic cancer, and that she only had weeks to live. Jen said that she wanted to see her only child once more before she died. Stella did not know this was fake. She started crying hysterically, begging Leo to let her come home and see her dying mother. He agreed. They—Stella and Leo—are arriving next week.” He paused and looked at us both. “Somehow we have to get her away from Leo immediately. Then we’re going to go into seclusion. But, we don’t know what we can do about Leo. He’s wealthy, and entitled. Jen and I are worried about Stella, and about ourselves. I’m afraid he’ll come after us. Can you help us?”

Whitney nodded. “First, we need to get your daughter safely away from Leo. When we serve him the divorce papers, we will also have a restraining order that the police with serve him at the same time. You and your wife will take Stella to a property our firm owns. You will be safe there. Then we will sue to have Stella’s funds reimbursed. If he refuses, we will threaten to sue him personally, and if that fails, sue his business. I believe we have a solid case. Leo isolated and held Stella against her will in the UAE. We have no jurisdiction there, but his family has considerable holdings in this country. If he doesn’t comply, I will inform their clients about what he did to Stella. People don’t want to do business with a bank that steals.”

Ben O’Hara looked a if a weight had been lifted from his shoulders. As the meeting ended, Whitney promised to follow up tomorrow with a draft of the divorce decree. Ben O’Hara smiled for the first time as he left the office

Whitney looked at me. “Ready to go?”

I nodded. We took the elevator down to the parking garage, hopped into Whitney’s car and headed east. When we arrived at the community centre, we carried in a large box of files and a couple of laptops. The manager, Jane Humbolt, lead us into her office. Already there were people lined up waiting in the hall.

“Hello Bethany. How’s the mediation going?” asked Whitney.

“Not too bad. I just have a few questions I hope you can answer for me.”

Whitney smiled. “I hope I’ll have the answers!” They both laughed.

“Whitney! Quinn!” We turned to look at Bob Nygen. “I brought my friend Jorge. His landlord hasn’t fixed the lights. He’s been in the dark for about a week.”

Whitney nodded. “We’ll see what we can do,” she said.

There were more people calling out their problems to us. Whitney smiled and greeted them all.

You see, Whitney and I ran a free legal clinic every other Thursday evening. Advice, papers, actions—all free.

We worked until after the community centre closed at nine. Whitney never packed up until everyone in the hall had been helped. And there were all kinds of issues—fraud, threatening, one woman was sure her daughter’s partner had tried to kill her, robbery. There were also a lot of family issues—child support, abuse, infidelity, parental alienation, straight up divorce.

I once asked Whitney why she does this—none of the other partners even do pro bono work, let alone run a free clinic.

She’d smiled at me, and said. “When I was a child, my parents divorced. My mom was left almost penniless—no job, no skills, just a promise my dad made to support us. But he lied. Then, because we didn’t have any money, we couldn’t fight back and get what was rightfully ours. I never wanted anyone to be powerless under the law because they don’t have any money."

Whitney wasn’t a bitch. She was one of the good guys.