uncomfortable. It was the fact that I knew how shocked they were that I was leaving—and the reasons for their shock. Anyone perusing the firm’s attorney profiles would have spotted me as the one who was luckiest to be there .
The hardest part was telling Mark. How long had it taken me to get used to calling him Mark instead of Mr. Schumaker? When we met, he was an alumnus doing Fordham a favor by serving as a moot court judge my 3L year. The topic was the constitutionality of GPS searches. I felt so awkward, participating in the contest even though I was ten years older than the other students. But he told me afterward that my brief was one of the best demonstrations of appellate advocacy he had ever seen from a young lawyer. I was shocked when he invited me to interview .
Mark never hid the fact that my personal background had played a part in his decision to go to bat for me. My written work had been good enough to get me through the door. But he told me it was my answer to the question “How have you dealt with any adversity in your life?” that got me the offer .
I nearly made the mistake of declining to answer, never wanting to be anyone’s charity case. But then Mark pointed out the backgrounds of the other recent hires: the son of a senator, the niece of the White House chief of staff, nearly everyone from private schools from kindergarten on. There’s no such thing as merit separated from biography, he had told me. The only question is whether you’re going to let your biography hold you down or help you up .
Tonight, I had to remind him of his words when I broke the news that I was leaving to work for a big-haired, big-mouthed, grandstanding lawyer like Linda Moreland .
He had laughed at first, assuming I was joking. Just the previous week at P.J. Clarke’s, we had caught a glimpse of Linda screaming at Nancy Grace on the television. Mark made a joke about the two of them being the Road Runner and Wile E. Coyote of the criminal justice system. He was surprised to learn that just a few years ago, Linda Moreland had been the visiting professor in charge of CUNY’s criminal trial advocacy program when I was a 1L there, before I transferred to Fordham .
But last week’s surprise didn’t come close to matching his shock when I told him that I was leaving Russ Waterston to work for the woman .
It’s like you said, I told him. Biography is part of merit. I know that, objectively, working for Linda Moreland is a step down from a job at Russ Waterston. But she has a case that I just can’t walk away from. This is the case that made me want to be a lawyer. It’s like it was meant to be .
She felt the warmth of the tequila still in her stomach, definitely still in her brain. The words were flowing, straight from her mind to her fingers to her pen.
I have always believed that Donna was different. “She was exactly like those other girls,” my mother used to say. Even my father, when he was still alive, told me that there were things about Donna that he wished weren’t true—things that put her in danger .
But I’m not a child anymore. I know the difference between wishful thinking and instincts rooted in fact. Not only was Donna different as a person; her case wasn’t like those other victims ’.
I have spent my whole life trying to do what was expected of me, never taking risks. I panicked tonight at dinner because I was scared I had made the wrong decision, but big decisions require risk, and this was a decision I made from instincts—instincts that I have never really learned to trust. But from Utica to Cornell, back to Utica, to Cortland State, to CUNY and Professor Moreland, to Fordham and Mark Schumaker and Russ Waterston: It was all leading me to this job .
I will finally find out what happened to my sister. I will find out who killed Donna .
Carrie closed her journal and tucked it into her briefcase. She did not know it yet, but for the first time since
The hardest part was telling Mark. How long had it taken me to get used to calling him Mark instead of Mr. Schumaker? When we met, he was an alumnus doing Fordham a favor by serving as a moot court judge my 3L year. The topic was the constitutionality of GPS searches. I felt so awkward, participating in the contest even though I was ten years older than the other students. But he told me afterward that my brief was one of the best demonstrations of appellate advocacy he had ever seen from a young lawyer. I was shocked when he invited me to interview .
Mark never hid the fact that my personal background had played a part in his decision to go to bat for me. My written work had been good enough to get me through the door. But he told me it was my answer to the question “How have you dealt with any adversity in your life?” that got me the offer .
I nearly made the mistake of declining to answer, never wanting to be anyone’s charity case. But then Mark pointed out the backgrounds of the other recent hires: the son of a senator, the niece of the White House chief of staff, nearly everyone from private schools from kindergarten on. There’s no such thing as merit separated from biography, he had told me. The only question is whether you’re going to let your biography hold you down or help you up .
Tonight, I had to remind him of his words when I broke the news that I was leaving to work for a big-haired, big-mouthed, grandstanding lawyer like Linda Moreland .
He had laughed at first, assuming I was joking. Just the previous week at P.J. Clarke’s, we had caught a glimpse of Linda screaming at Nancy Grace on the television. Mark made a joke about the two of them being the Road Runner and Wile E. Coyote of the criminal justice system. He was surprised to learn that just a few years ago, Linda Moreland had been the visiting professor in charge of CUNY’s criminal trial advocacy program when I was a 1L there, before I transferred to Fordham .
But last week’s surprise didn’t come close to matching his shock when I told him that I was leaving Russ Waterston to work for the woman .
It’s like you said, I told him. Biography is part of merit. I know that, objectively, working for Linda Moreland is a step down from a job at Russ Waterston. But she has a case that I just can’t walk away from. This is the case that made me want to be a lawyer. It’s like it was meant to be .
She felt the warmth of the tequila still in her stomach, definitely still in her brain. The words were flowing, straight from her mind to her fingers to her pen.
I have always believed that Donna was different. “She was exactly like those other girls,” my mother used to say. Even my father, when he was still alive, told me that there were things about Donna that he wished weren’t true—things that put her in danger .
But I’m not a child anymore. I know the difference between wishful thinking and instincts rooted in fact. Not only was Donna different as a person; her case wasn’t like those other victims ’.
I have spent my whole life trying to do what was expected of me, never taking risks. I panicked tonight at dinner because I was scared I had made the wrong decision, but big decisions require risk, and this was a decision I made from instincts—instincts that I have never really learned to trust. But from Utica to Cornell, back to Utica, to Cortland State, to CUNY and Professor Moreland, to Fordham and Mark Schumaker and Russ Waterston: It was all leading me to this job .
I will finally find out what happened to my sister. I will find out who killed Donna .
Carrie closed her journal and tucked it into her briefcase. She did not know it yet, but for the first time since
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