probably love to pressure you into a quick
settlement."
"Well, they'll find that I'm not that easy." she said in a determined tone.
I had a feeling she wasn't. "Perfect. I'll meet you there at a quarter of. Now, let
me explain what I have in mind."
* * * *
Ironically, part of the Denver Tech Center, or DTC as it was commonly called,
was located in Greenwood Village, and not Denver. I knew I had arrived at the offices of
Pennington, Markowsky, Barbereau & Thomas, located on the eighth floor of one of the
many office buildings in the DTC, because of the three foot high PMBT logo painted in the
middle of the wall outside their office suite.
Joyce was waiting for me in the main lobby, wearing a simple black business suit
that a woman might wear to a job interview. It occurred to me that, in a way, that's exactly
what this was. While, at present, she couldn't become a partner in the firm, there were
certainly other alternatives, depending upon how things turned out. She was carrying a
thick legal size file folder, which I knew contained copies of the partnership agreement and
her husband's will. She was demonstrating herself to be a meticulous, organized
woman.
"Are you nervous?" I said as we rode up in the elevator.
She shook her head. "I'll be fine. But I'm planning to let my lawyer do most of the
talking."
"That works for me. Although, for the most part, my agenda is just to keep quiet
and listen to what they have to say."
I'd never had dealings with PMBT before. I knew it wasn't one of the Big Four
accounting firms or one of the large regionals, but from the decor of its office suite, it
definitely appeared to be a successful company. Someone had spent serious money
outfitting the reception area with three modern brushed nickel tables, plush leather
couches and chairs, and what appeared to be some very expensive artwork.
We approached the receptionist who sat behind a large marble counter. She was
busy sorting through a huge stack of mail on her desk.
Joyce said, "Hi, Vicki."
The woman's smile was subdued. "Good morning, Mrs. Markowsky. I sure was
sorry about Karl. We're really going to miss him around here."
Joyce reached out and patted the receptionist's hand. "Thank you. I appreciate
that. This is Adam Larsen, my lawyer. We're here to meet with--"
"I know. Misters Pennington, Barbereau and Thomas will be out in just a
moment. Would you like some coffee or water?"
"No, thank you."
"Just let me know if you change your mind."
Joyce and I went over to one of the couches and sat down. She smiled, letting me
know she was reassured that I was there, but said nothing. In about five minutes, three
men walked into the lobby, side by side. Something about them reminded me of the Earp
brothers, strutting down the street to confront the Clantons at the OK Corral.
We rose as they approached us. The one with salt and pepper hair, wearing a
light gray plaid suit, had to be Conner Pennington. Joyce had described him perfectly. He
was smooth and poised, with a neatly-trimmed moustache. The second man wore a dark
blue pinstripe suit, a black shirt and white tie. His hair was slicked back and, given that he
was about the same age as Pennington, I presumed he achieved the jet black color through
the wonders of hair dye. Guy Thomas was younger, somewhere in his late thirties. Joyce
hadn't known for sure. His sandy colored hair was worn long for what I assumed were the
conservative standards of a large accounting firm. He walked with his right hand in his
pants pocket, his gray sport jacket pushed back like a gunslinger's.
Pennington was the first to offer his hand. "Mr. Larsen, I'm pleased to meet you.
I've heard quite a bit about you."
I never knew how to respond to that kind of statement, since it could be either a
compliment or an insult, so I ignored it and just shook his hand. "Nice to meet you."
The black-haired man said, "Larry Barbereau." He had a firmer shake, although
not quite the macho "let's see who can squeeze
settlement."
"Well, they'll find that I'm not that easy." she said in a determined tone.
I had a feeling she wasn't. "Perfect. I'll meet you there at a quarter of. Now, let
me explain what I have in mind."
* * * *
Ironically, part of the Denver Tech Center, or DTC as it was commonly called,
was located in Greenwood Village, and not Denver. I knew I had arrived at the offices of
Pennington, Markowsky, Barbereau & Thomas, located on the eighth floor of one of the
many office buildings in the DTC, because of the three foot high PMBT logo painted in the
middle of the wall outside their office suite.
Joyce was waiting for me in the main lobby, wearing a simple black business suit
that a woman might wear to a job interview. It occurred to me that, in a way, that's exactly
what this was. While, at present, she couldn't become a partner in the firm, there were
certainly other alternatives, depending upon how things turned out. She was carrying a
thick legal size file folder, which I knew contained copies of the partnership agreement and
her husband's will. She was demonstrating herself to be a meticulous, organized
woman.
"Are you nervous?" I said as we rode up in the elevator.
She shook her head. "I'll be fine. But I'm planning to let my lawyer do most of the
talking."
"That works for me. Although, for the most part, my agenda is just to keep quiet
and listen to what they have to say."
I'd never had dealings with PMBT before. I knew it wasn't one of the Big Four
accounting firms or one of the large regionals, but from the decor of its office suite, it
definitely appeared to be a successful company. Someone had spent serious money
outfitting the reception area with three modern brushed nickel tables, plush leather
couches and chairs, and what appeared to be some very expensive artwork.
We approached the receptionist who sat behind a large marble counter. She was
busy sorting through a huge stack of mail on her desk.
Joyce said, "Hi, Vicki."
The woman's smile was subdued. "Good morning, Mrs. Markowsky. I sure was
sorry about Karl. We're really going to miss him around here."
Joyce reached out and patted the receptionist's hand. "Thank you. I appreciate
that. This is Adam Larsen, my lawyer. We're here to meet with--"
"I know. Misters Pennington, Barbereau and Thomas will be out in just a
moment. Would you like some coffee or water?"
"No, thank you."
"Just let me know if you change your mind."
Joyce and I went over to one of the couches and sat down. She smiled, letting me
know she was reassured that I was there, but said nothing. In about five minutes, three
men walked into the lobby, side by side. Something about them reminded me of the Earp
brothers, strutting down the street to confront the Clantons at the OK Corral.
We rose as they approached us. The one with salt and pepper hair, wearing a
light gray plaid suit, had to be Conner Pennington. Joyce had described him perfectly. He
was smooth and poised, with a neatly-trimmed moustache. The second man wore a dark
blue pinstripe suit, a black shirt and white tie. His hair was slicked back and, given that he
was about the same age as Pennington, I presumed he achieved the jet black color through
the wonders of hair dye. Guy Thomas was younger, somewhere in his late thirties. Joyce
hadn't known for sure. His sandy colored hair was worn long for what I assumed were the
conservative standards of a large accounting firm. He walked with his right hand in his
pants pocket, his gray sport jacket pushed back like a gunslinger's.
Pennington was the first to offer his hand. "Mr. Larsen, I'm pleased to meet you.
I've heard quite a bit about you."
I never knew how to respond to that kind of statement, since it could be either a
compliment or an insult, so I ignored it and just shook his hand. "Nice to meet you."
The black-haired man said, "Larry Barbereau." He had a firmer shake, although
not quite the macho "let's see who can squeeze
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