harder" variety. Turning toward Joyce, he
said, "Good morning, Joyce. I'm afraid I was a bit ungracious yesterday afternoon. I
apologize. This has been quite a strain on all of us."
She smiled politely, but said nothing.
I noted that Pennington was watching the exchange intently. I had a feeling he'd
put Barbereau up to the apology, in order to change the tenor of the discussions with
Joyce.
Thomas pulled his hand out of his pocket and shook mine. His mannerisms
reminded me vaguely of Conan O'Brien.
Pennington said, "I thought we could meet in the conference room," and
gestured toward a large room that was visible through a wall of glass wall at the rear of the
reception area. Beyond the glass, I could see the front range of the Rocky Mountains,
gleaming under a clear blue sky. The more distant peaks were still domed with snow.
We started toward the conference room. I hadn't noticed it, but Barbereau was
carrying a small stack of envelopes in his left hand. He let all of us pass, while he paused at
the reception desk and slammed them down in front of the receptionist.
"Vicki, you got my mail mixed up with Mr. Pennington's." He leaned forward, his
face roughly six inches from hers, and said, "Again."
Before she could respond, he turned away and headed toward the door of the
conference room. Being the last one inside, he pushed the door closed behind him as he
told Pennington, "I don't know why the hell you don't get rid of her. She can't even keep the
mail straight."
Pennington just shrugged. They'd obviously had this conversation before. "The
clients like her. For what we pay her, she does fine." He took the seat at the end of the
conference table, which seemed fitting since he was the managing partner of the firm.
Barbereau sat to his left and Thomas next to Barbereau. I took the chair on the other side of
the table, across from Barbereau, with Joyce next to me. She set the file folder down on the
shiny wooden tabletop.
Pennington said, "Joyce, before we get down to business, I just want to tell you
again how sorry we are about Karl's death. This is almost unfathomable."
She smiled and reached out to pat his hand, but she was too far away to make an
actual connection. "Thank you, Conner. I appreciate that."
He turned to me. "You understand that these are just discussions, and that any
agreement we reach needs to be done in writing?"
"Of course. In fact, I have an ethical duty to suggest that you have your attorney
present during--"
He flipped his hand in a dismissive gesture. "We're just talking concepts here.
After we've worked things out, we'll leave it to you legal types to handle the details. Joyce,
you said yesterday that Karl's will contained a provision to the effect that he wanted you to
join PMTB as a partner."
"It does. I brought a copy for you. The original is with the lawyer who drafted it."
She pulled the document out of the file folder and slid it across the table. "The part about
PMBT is on page five."
Barbereau commented, "Well, you've certainly wasted no time going through his
papers."
Pennington glowered at him, but remained silent. Thomas also said nothing, but
for a different reason. His attention seemed to be focused entirely upon Joyce.
And not as a prospective member of the firm.
"Not at all," she said, ignoring Barbereau's barb. "Karl was very organized. They
were easily accessible."
Pennington had taken a copy of the partnership agreement. He thumbed
through the pages until he reached the key language. Pointing with his index finger, he
went through one particular paragraph several times. "It does say that." He looked toward
his partner. "Larry, he expressly asks us to honor his wishes."
"How do we do that?" Barbereau asked, making a show out of pretending to be
perplexed. "The partnership agreement--and our licensing requirements--prevent anyone
who isn't a CPA from being a partner in the firm. Joyce," he said, in what he apparently
thought was a sympathetic tone, "this just
said, "Good morning, Joyce. I'm afraid I was a bit ungracious yesterday afternoon. I
apologize. This has been quite a strain on all of us."
She smiled politely, but said nothing.
I noted that Pennington was watching the exchange intently. I had a feeling he'd
put Barbereau up to the apology, in order to change the tenor of the discussions with
Joyce.
Thomas pulled his hand out of his pocket and shook mine. His mannerisms
reminded me vaguely of Conan O'Brien.
Pennington said, "I thought we could meet in the conference room," and
gestured toward a large room that was visible through a wall of glass wall at the rear of the
reception area. Beyond the glass, I could see the front range of the Rocky Mountains,
gleaming under a clear blue sky. The more distant peaks were still domed with snow.
We started toward the conference room. I hadn't noticed it, but Barbereau was
carrying a small stack of envelopes in his left hand. He let all of us pass, while he paused at
the reception desk and slammed them down in front of the receptionist.
"Vicki, you got my mail mixed up with Mr. Pennington's." He leaned forward, his
face roughly six inches from hers, and said, "Again."
Before she could respond, he turned away and headed toward the door of the
conference room. Being the last one inside, he pushed the door closed behind him as he
told Pennington, "I don't know why the hell you don't get rid of her. She can't even keep the
mail straight."
Pennington just shrugged. They'd obviously had this conversation before. "The
clients like her. For what we pay her, she does fine." He took the seat at the end of the
conference table, which seemed fitting since he was the managing partner of the firm.
Barbereau sat to his left and Thomas next to Barbereau. I took the chair on the other side of
the table, across from Barbereau, with Joyce next to me. She set the file folder down on the
shiny wooden tabletop.
Pennington said, "Joyce, before we get down to business, I just want to tell you
again how sorry we are about Karl's death. This is almost unfathomable."
She smiled and reached out to pat his hand, but she was too far away to make an
actual connection. "Thank you, Conner. I appreciate that."
He turned to me. "You understand that these are just discussions, and that any
agreement we reach needs to be done in writing?"
"Of course. In fact, I have an ethical duty to suggest that you have your attorney
present during--"
He flipped his hand in a dismissive gesture. "We're just talking concepts here.
After we've worked things out, we'll leave it to you legal types to handle the details. Joyce,
you said yesterday that Karl's will contained a provision to the effect that he wanted you to
join PMTB as a partner."
"It does. I brought a copy for you. The original is with the lawyer who drafted it."
She pulled the document out of the file folder and slid it across the table. "The part about
PMBT is on page five."
Barbereau commented, "Well, you've certainly wasted no time going through his
papers."
Pennington glowered at him, but remained silent. Thomas also said nothing, but
for a different reason. His attention seemed to be focused entirely upon Joyce.
And not as a prospective member of the firm.
"Not at all," she said, ignoring Barbereau's barb. "Karl was very organized. They
were easily accessible."
Pennington had taken a copy of the partnership agreement. He thumbed
through the pages until he reached the key language. Pointing with his index finger, he
went through one particular paragraph several times. "It does say that." He looked toward
his partner. "Larry, he expressly asks us to honor his wishes."
"How do we do that?" Barbereau asked, making a show out of pretending to be
perplexed. "The partnership agreement--and our licensing requirements--prevent anyone
who isn't a CPA from being a partner in the firm. Joyce," he said, in what he apparently
thought was a sympathetic tone, "this just
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