The Exchange: After The Firm

In the vast universe of Scully, there was only one Luca. Twenty years earlier, when American Big Law went on a merging binge and gobbled up firms around the world, Scully had managed to convince Luca Sandroni to join forces. He had built a sterling international firm in Rome and was widely respected throughout Europe and North Africa.

“How is Luca?”

“Not good. He was not specific, rather vague actually, but he had a bad trip to the doctor’s office and got some unwelcome news. He didn’t say what it was and I didn’t ask.”

“That’s awful.” Mitch knew him well. Luca was in New York several times a year and enjoyed a good time. He had dined at Abby’s table and the McDeeres had stayed at his spacious villa in central Rome. That the young American couple had lived in Italy and knew the culture and language meant a lot to him.

“He wants you in Rome, as soon as possible.” Odd that he didn’t contact Mitch directly with the request, but Luca was always respectful of the chain of command. By going through Jack, the message was being delivered that Mitch should drop everything and go to Rome.

“Of course. Any idea what he wants?”

“It involves Lannak, the Turkish construction company.”

“I’ve done some work for Lannak, but not much.”

“Luca has represented the company forever, a great client. Now there’s another dust-up in Libya and Lannak’s in the middle of it.”

Mitch nodded properly and tried to suppress a smile. Sounded like another great adventure! In his four years as a partner he had established a reputation as a sort of legal SWAT team leader sent in by Scully to rescue clients in distress. It was a role he relished and tried to expand while guarding it as his own.

Jack continued, “As usual, Luca was light on the details. He still doesn’t like the phone and hates email. As you know, he prefers to discuss business over a long Roman lunch, preferably outdoors.”

“Sounds dreadful. I’m leaving Sunday.”

Chapter 6

Scully & Pershing was known for its lavish offices wherever it ventured. Now in thirty-one cities on five continents and counting, because for Scully the numbers were important, it leased prime space in the most prestigious addresses, usually taller and newer towers designed by the trendiest of architects. It sent in its own team of decorators who filled each suite with art, fabrics, furnishings, and lighting indigenous to the locale. Enter any Scully office and your senses were touched by the look, feel, and expensive taste. Its clients expected as much. For the hourly rates they paid, they wanted to see success.

In his eleven years with the firm, Mitch had visited about a dozen of its offices, mainly in the United States and Europe, and, truthfully, the shine was wearing off. Each was different but all were similar, and he had reached the point of not slowing down long enough to appreciate the serious money on the walls and floors. After a while, they were beginning to blur together. But he reminded himself that the opulence was not for his benefit. It was all a show for others: well-heeled clients, prospective associates, and visiting lawyers. He caught himself mumbling like the other partners about the expense of maintaining such a facade. Much of that money could have trickled down to the partners’ pockets.

Things were different in Rome. There, the offices, as well as every other aspect of the practice, were under the thumb of Luca Sandroni, the founder. For over thirty years he had slowly built a firm that was housed in a four-story stone building with no elevators and limited views. It was tucked away on Via della Paglia near the Piazza Santa Maria, in the Trastevere neighborhood of old Rome. All of the buildings around it were four-storied stucco with red-tiled roofs, and tastefully showed the wear and tear of being built centuries earlier. Romans, new and old, never cared much for tall buildings.

Mitch had been there many times and loved the place. It was a step back in time and a welcome break from the relentlessly modern image of the rest of Scully. No other office in the firm had such history, nor did they dare say “slow down” when you entered. Luca and his team worked hard and enjoyed the prestige and money, but they were Italians and refused to succumb to the workaholism expected by the Americans.

Mitch stopped in the alley and admired the massive double doors. An old sign beside them read: Sandroni Studio Legale. The merger with Luca allowed him to keep his firm’s name, a point he would not concede. For a moment, Mitch thought of the law offices he’d seen that week, from his own shiny tower in Manhattan, to the grungy Pontiac place in Memphis, to Lamar Quin’s sleepy little suite upstairs above the town square, and now this.