Tweed’s eyes swept over the crowd. “We are here today,” he said after a long moment, “to honor Chief Justice Malburg for her tremendous contributions to the court and to our law.” Applause filled the hall. Tweed turned to Malburg, his hands clapping, encouraging the extended show of appreciation for the popular justice.
“But before we begin,” Tweed said after another long pause, “the dean has given me the honor of announcing the creation of a new award—the Malburg Advocacy Award—that the Law Center will present each year to the lawyer who best exemplifies the gold standard in advocacy and professionalism we have long admired in the chief.” Tweed’s glance cut through the crowd, landing on Sean. “This year, it is my great pleasure to present the first Malburg Award to an old and dear friend of mine.”
Oh no.
Tweed smirked.
Don’t fucking do it, Jon.
“It is my honor,” Tweed said, stretching out the words and still smirking, “to present the first annual Malburg Award to Sean Serrat.”
At this, the room grew loud. Sean felt his face flush and he gave a modest shake of the head.
Tweed continued, “Few lawyers ever have the chance to argue even one case before the Supreme Court. Sean’s argued a remarkable fifty-two cases, each time representing our government with humility and dignity. Now, everyone knows that the Office of the Solicitor General lost a great advocate when Sean left to join the private sector, but I say the office also lost something else: a little piece of its heart.” Tweed sipped from a glass of water and gave the crowd a contemplative look. “Before I became a law professor, I spent a decade at OSG and I’ll never forget my first day on the job there. I was welcomed by this deputy SG who, frankly, scared the hell out of me.” Tweed grinned and the crowd tittered.
“He was tall and intimidating and had this piercing gaze. He corrected me twice for mispronouncing his name. ‘It’s sur-rot, not sur-rat, I’m not a rodent,’ he said.” More laughter. “He was kind enough, however, to warn me that I might want to stay late that night since tradition was for the president to call and welcome all new members of the office.” Tweed paused again. “How nice of him, I thought. And sure enough, at seven-thirty I got a call: ‘Would I hold for the president? Well, of course, yes.’ I did what I think most people do when they get a call from the president of the United States and I stood up. Ten minutes passed and I said, ‘Okay, that’s understandable, the president is probably finishing up negotiations with China or something.’ Another ten minutes. ‘Okay, I’ll wait.’ Then another ten. That’s when I heard something outside my office door. Muffled laughter. I set down the phone and opened the door. And there was Sean Serrat and five of my new colleagues. They’d made the prank call and had a betting pool on how long I would stay on hold. Sean won.”
The room boomed with laughter. Sean accepted the award without remarks, just a mock bow.
As the rumble of applause faded, Tweed stared out at the audience. He dropped the grin and his expression turned serious. “Of course, the most important reason we are here today is to honor Chief Justice Malburg. I’m sometimes asked about my most memorable argument at the court. Inevitably I think of the chief. I like to say that I made three oral arguments for every case: the one I planned to make, the one I made, and the one on the car ride home I wished I’d made. Those rides home usually left me thinking of all the great responses I should have given to Chief Justice Malburg. She usually left me feeling even more battered than I look today.” Tweed gestured to his bandage and the audience laughed again.
Tweed introduced Stanton Jones, a veteran Supreme Court advocate and president of the Washington National Opera. Jones presented Chief Justice Malburg, an avid opera fan, with a signed poster from the Richard Strauss opera Ariadne auf Naxos. And then two women from the National Opera performed for the elderly justice.
During the beautiful serenade, Sean’s eyes searched the room for his daughter. No Abby.
CHAPTER 5
Sean slipped into the backseat of the cab and gave the driver the address for his new office. The sedan smelled of whatever the cabbie had for lunch. Something with onions. Sean took out his phone and called Emily.
“Hey there,” he said when she answered. “Did you track down Abby? She wasn’t at the reception.”
“She wasn’t there? She’s not responding to my texts. I’m getting worried.”
“I’m sure she just got caught up with school. Finals are coming up. You know how she—”