Chapter 7

Years Two and Three of Law School and Beyond

My next two years continued the coursework from my first year of law school. The curriculum built upon what I had learned earlier, adding specialized classes, clinical work, and further studies in my chosen area: business law. I was also required to take classes in constitutional law, evidence, and civil procedure, which formed the core curriculum that all law students must complete.

In addition, I took classes in corporate law, which focused on the structure, management, and operations of businesses. To become a successful corporate lawyer, it was important to understand these concepts. I also took courses in torts, intellectual property rights, and international law. These courses rounded out my legal expertise and would enable me to advise my clients in ways that best served their interests.

I also volunteered at small business clinics, where I could apply the skills I had learned to advise small business owners under the supervision of experienced lawyers. Through this volunteering, I gained practical experience in basic business procedures and ethics.

Along with the core classes and practical experience gained from working at these clinics, I took advanced courses in tax law, labor and employment law, environmental law, and advanced trial advocacy. As an attorney, I may be called upon to use my litigation and oral argument skills to represent a client. Without these skills, I would lack credibility as an attorney.

Outside the classroom, even when I wasn’t at law school, I was still undergoing a learning process. I was learning how to navigate social situations among the upper class, with Karen as my guide. I followed her instructions closely because there was much to learn, and not all of it was comfortable for me. I had always been straightforward and direct, which wasn’t always acceptable in most social circles. So, I stayed close to Karen, followed her lead, and let her do the talking for both of us.

There was a lot of snobbery that made me uncomfortable. I absolutely hated it, especially the snarky comments people would make after others left the room. If they did that to others, I couldn’t help but wonder what they were saying about Karen and me. I was always uneasy in social settings because of this and chose to remain aloof. I’m sure many thought I was looking down on them when, in reality, I was just socially inept. There were so many unwritten rules to navigate at these events. Where I excelled was in one-on-one conversations. I could hold my own in discussions about sports, business, and current events, but I steered clear of politics—and one person in particular: Michael Stanley. He was the political protégé destined to take over his father’s legacy when the time came.

Michael Stanley, to me, was the ‘turd in the punch bowl’—the one who nearly ruined Karen’s and my lives with his truck-stop marriage stunt. If it hadn’t been for Karen’s dad and his knack for persuasion, we probably would have annulled the marriage, which would have destroyed what had become a great partnership.

Several times during my time in law school, his name came up in connection with some sort of scandal. The situation would eventually fade, followed by rumors of payoffs made to make the problem go away. It got so bad that we started declining invitations to events if he would be there or if his name was associated with them. We didn’t want to risk him causing a scene due to his prior relationship with Karen. She didn’t deserve the negative attention, and, as my father-in-law had once told me, situations like this would reflect poorly on the family business and our reputations. Plus, I was still angry about what he had almost caused—me not getting into law school and my unjustified termination from one of the most prestigious law firms in the Midwest. I probably would have used him as a punching bag if I had seen the weasel.

The second semester of my third year of law school was when things really started to get crazy, as I was taking classes in preparation for the bar exam. If I thought I had studied hard before, nothing could have prepared me for what I was about to endure. I was facing 60-hour weeks and a virtually nonexistent social life.

With all my studying and bar exam prep, Karen was essentially living the life of a single woman. We occasionally had meals together, but going out was off the table. I hated it, but Karen accepted it as one of the sacrifices we had to make for me to become an attorney. She went to social engagements without me, and when asked where I was, the answer was always the same: I was home studying for the bar exam.

It was at one of these social events that Michael Stanley tried to reconnect with Karen. He had been drinking and approached her while she was with a small group of friends. Drunk, Stanley made lewd remarks about Karen and insisted on telling a story about how she had actually gotten married. He was the only one who found his story funny, and the group turned their backs on him, trying to ignore him. Being ignored only fueled his anger, so he reached out and groped Karen. In response, she hauled off and struck him, causing him to spill his drink all over himself. Things only got uglier from there, and Michael Stanley was escorted out of the gathering, admonished not to attend again.

Karen came home upset and told me what had happened. I had her report it to the police the next morning. However, Michael Stanley, being the Teflon son of a sitting U.S. senator, faced no consequences. The situation was quickly swept under the rug by local politicians. Nothing I or her dad said had any influence, and, as far as the authorities were concerned, it never happened.

Needless to say, Karen and I became homebodies. When I wasn’t studying and she wasn’t at work, we spent our time together listening to music or watching something special on cable. It was amazing how many movies made by a certain romance novel company had the same dialogue and themes. I would purposely annoy Karen by reciting the lines along with the characters. It was rare for me to say something that wasn’t also uttered by the male lead. Karen would look over at me, roll her eyes, and we’d both laugh about it.

In May, I officially graduated from law school, finishing in the top five percent of the graduating J.D. class. My mother, Karen, and my father-in-law were there for the ceremony. It would have been a wonderful day, except for the graduation speaker: Senator Stanley. I made it clear that I would not accept my diploma from him. Instead, I would accept it from the law school dean, citing bad blood between the extended family and the Stanleys. I told them that if they didn’t want a scene on stage, they would honor my wishes. My request was granted, and the senator didn’t get any closer than twenty feet to me. We did exchange glares as I passed him on the stage.