“Too late for that,” Joyce said, checking her phone. “I just got word three more companies filed termination letters this afternoon. That makes 26 total. Twenty-six of forty-one in just under 3 weeks.”
The phone in the conference room rang. Martin’s assistant.
“Mr. Bailey—William Peterman is on line one. Says it’s urgent.”
We all looked at each other. The founder himself.
“Put him through,” Martin said, hitting speaker.
“Martin.” The voice was older but commanding. “Is Ms. Miles there?”
“I’m here, Mr. Peterman,” I said. “Rachel.”
A long pause.
“What would it take to make this stop?”
“I’m not sure I understand the question.”
“Don’t play games. My firm is dying. My son is an idiot. But it’s still my name on the building. What do you want?”
I looked at Martin, who nodded.
“I want nothing. Mr. Peterman, your clients are making their own choices.”
“This is coordinated. This is revenge.”
“This is consequences,” I said. “Your son fired me to give my job to his girlfriend. Did you know that? Did you know Tori doesn’t even have a law degree?”
Silence. Then:
“I’ll handle Jake. Come back. Name your terms. Full equity partnership. Your own division. Whatever you want.”
“It’s too late for that.”
“It’s never too late. I built this firm from nothing. I won’t watch it die.”
“You should have thought of that before you retired and left it to someone who thinks law is about disruption and synergy.”
“Rachel.”
“Goodbye, Mr. Peterman.”
I hung up.
The room was silent. Then Joyce started laughing.
“Oh, that was beautiful. The old man himself begging.”
“He’ll fight harder now,” Janet warned. “Wounded pride is dangerous.”
“Let him fight,” I said. “Every lawsuit, every threat, every desperate move just proves what everyone already knows. Peterman Legal is finished. They just haven’t admitted it yet.”
My phone lit up with notifications. More clients reaching out. More companies joining the consortium. More dominoes falling.
Jake Peterman had wanted to transform his father’s firm.
Mission accomplished.
The call came at 11:45 p.m. on a Sunday—Joyce Brennan sounding uncharacteristically excited.
“Rachel, are you awake? Check your email now.”
I was in bed, laptop already open, working on a contract review. The email was from someone I didn’t recognize—a mid-level attorney at Peterman Legal.
“Ms. Miles, I’m taking a significant career risk contacting you, but you deserve to know what’s happening. Peterman is about to sign Thorn Industries to an exclusive 5-year representation agreement—20 million in guaranteed billings. The contracts are based on your old templates, but they haven’t been updated for the new federal trade regulations that took effect last month. If Thorn signs these, they’ll be exposed to massive penalties. I thought someone should warn them.”
Thorn Industries. One of the three clients who’d stayed with Peterman, mainly because their CEO, Robert Thorn, was William Peterman’s golf buddy.
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