“So when is our last day?” I ask, keeping my voice light and if not managing a smile, at least a nice grimace.

Oscar sits back down. Tears, he decides, he can handle.

“We’re going to give you two weeks’ pay, but the majority of the partners voted that we don’t want either of you even going back to your office. A couple of years ago we had an associate who was discharged take some clients with him. It caused us a major problem. I’ll need your keys right now.”

The bastards! Martha gasps. My heart begins to race, and I feel my mouth go so dry I can hardly swallow. We are being treated like employees caught stealing. I am furious. After paying bills last night, I have maybe a hundred dollars in my bank account. My hands shake as I pull apart my key ring and hand it to him. God, I hope Andrew Chapman isn’t a figment of my imagination. Solo practice, here I come.

“I’m obligated to remind you,” Oscar says, placing my key in a plain white envelope and then looking at me, “that taking any clients you have dealt with here is a violation of your employment contracts.”

Automatically, I shake my head up and down, wondering what kind of specialty Chapman has. If I’m going to be treated as if I’m incapable of loyalty, I feel few qualms about displaying any. Am I a thief? It depends on the definition.

However, I doubt that this is a story I’ll brag about to my grandchildren some day.

“Personally I think this is ridiculous,” Oscar says, more to Martha than to me, his wild white eyebrows wagging up and down in a show of concern. He says, “I’m sure everyone here will give y’all a good reference.”

I glance over at Martha, who is finally getting herself under control. She is inspecting the damage in her compact mirror (now I know why she carries her purse everywhere).