Prologue

SUPREME COURT OF THE STATE OF NEW YORK

COUNTY OF NEW YORK: IAS PART 29

SHEILA PLATT,

INDEX NO. 1476/46

Plaintiff,

-against—

GARY KAPLAN,

Defendant

WITNESSES:

ALEXANDRA VOGEL, WITNESS FOR PROSECUTION

MICHAEL ABRAMOWITZ, ATTORNEY FOR MS. VOGEL

EXAMINATION BEFORE TRIAL OF GARY KAPLAN, taken by and before MARA HARVEY, a Court Reporter and Notary Public of the State of New York, held at the offices of MEYERS & COWLER, ESQS., 41 Kenmare Street, New York, New York, on Monday, June 6, 2019, commencing at 11:30 in the forenoon.

DIRECT EXAMINATION BY MR. ZEIGLER:

Q. Good morning, Ms. Vogel.

A. Good morning.

Q. My name is Avery Zeigler, I am with the law offices of Zeigler & Babchick. I represent the defendant, Gary Kaplan, in an action that was commenced against him by Ms. Sheila Platt.

I’ll be asking you some questions about your professional career and specifically your relationship with Mr. Kaplan. If you don’t understand my questions, please let me know and I’ll try to rephrase them.

Let’s begin with some background questions. Where did you go to law school?

A. I went to Harvard Law School.

Q. And where did you work after you graduated from law school?

A. My first job out of school was as an associate at the firm of Klasko & Fitch.

Q. And what group were you in when you joined Klasko & Fitch?

A. At Klasko, you join the firm as an unassigned associate. You list your interests in a given practice area, and in April, you match into a group.

Q. How do you match? What is the process?

A. Associates state their areas of interest. They do work in those areas. And if the group likes the associate, they allow them in.

Q. Are there a limited number of spots in every group?

A. Well, there needs to be enough work for the associates who join. A practice group can’t take an unlimited number.

Q. Is it a highly competitive process?

A. I would say some groups are more coveted among associates than others.

[Defense counsel confers with cocounsel]

Q. Did you ever feel the need to go beyond the call of duty? To become personally involved in a nonprofessional capacity with colleagues or clients?

I gave a slight shiver as my armor of high heels and a pristinely tailored suit began to crack. I was no longer in the overly air-conditioned boardroom of my attorney’s sleek Manhattan office; there was no longer sunlight streaming in through the window in gold ribbons that curled up in my lap. My manic first months at Klasko & Fitch rushed over me, soaking every inch of my body in the competition, the exhilarating feelings of success, the frayed nerves, the fear and loathing and all-consuming intensity of being an unassigned associate, trying desperately to secure a place in a prestigious group. I wiped the sweat from my brow and closed my eyes for an extended moment.

Part I

The Target List

A list of potential buyers and sellers of companies in the relevant market.

Chapter 1

“Does this look okay? Sam? Sam!”

Sam stared at the television as Morning Joe blared, his mouth slightly agape. I stomped the heel of my new nude pumps on our hardwood floor.

“What?” He turned to me, his dark eyes large and questioning above the lingering indentation from a peaceful sleep across his right cheek.

“Does this look okay? Does it look lawyerly?” I smoothed my blouse into my skirt and breathed in. “Jesus Christ. I’m so jumpy.”

He lowered his stubbly chin as he scanned me up and down. “You look really sexy.”

“Ugh!” I grunted as I turned toward the bedroom. Sam followed me sleepily, scratching at his stomach under his white undershirt, just above his flannel pajama pants.

“What? What’s wrong with that? How are you supposed to look? However you’re supposed to look, that’s how you look.”

I pulled my blouse over my head and ran to the closet. “Professional! I’m supposed to look professional on my first day as a lawyer. Obviously,” I huffed, riffling through my tops.

“You do look professional! Well, you did.” I was now standing in my heels, skirt, and a bra, and he slid into the space beside me and wrapped his arms around my waist.

“Really?”

He nodded and picked my white silk blouse up off the floor and handed it to me as a buzzing reverberated out into the room from the top of my dresser. I turned from him and grabbed for my phone.

I stared at the word “Home” for a moment, hovered my finger over the decline button, then thought better of it and pressed the green button as Sam took the opportunity to make his escape back to the couch.

“Hi Mom! I’m just rushing to get ready! What’s up?”

“We’re both on!” my mother shouted. I put my phone on speaker and pulled the blouse back over my head.

“We just called to wish you good luck!” my dad chimed in. I pictured them leaning their heads together in the kitchen and yelling into the now-yellowed receiver, the inordinately long and irreversibly twisted cord curling at their feet.

“Aw thanks, guys. I’ll call you later and let you—”

“Alex?” my dad asked.

“Hello? Can you hear me?” I checked my screen to see I had four bars.

“You hung up on her!” my mother whined.

“You have me on mute!” I yelled, immediately cursing the futility of my exclamation. I’ll give it five seconds, and then I’m hanging . . .

“Bunny?”

“Mom?”

“Hi! We thought we lost you! Are you nervous?”

“Not really!” I lied, tilting my head to the side to get a better angle to bite my thumbnail. “It’s just orientation.”

“We’re so proud of you,” she gushed. My stomach churned, and I stole a glance at the Ann Taylor suit, still with tags, hanging at the far end of my closet.

I wished I had spent one of my law school summers at Klasko. I’d know what to wear—what to expect.

“I’m wearing a skirt and top. Do you think I should wear a suit instead?” There was silence on the other end of the phone. Why am I asking for advice on business attire from a stay-at-home mom and a guy who wears scrubs to work every day?

“I’m sure you’ll look beautiful in whatever you decide!” my mother finally piped in.

I rolled my eyes. Useless.

“Thanks, Mom. And thanks for calling, guys. But I have to get going.”

“Knock ’em dead!” my father shouted.

I felt suddenly deeply inadequate. “Relax, Dad. Not like I’m curing cancer.”

“That’s why I told you to knock ’em DEAD!” my dad sang proudly. I couldn’t help but smile at the corniness of his dad joke.

My father was an oncologist, and while I knew he was proud of me, I always had the sneaking suspicion that he wished I had stuck it out at Sanctuary for Families, though he never said as much.

When I was a kid, my parents always told me, “You can be whatever you want to be when you grow up. A doctor, or a lawyer . . .” They always trailed off there. I couldn’t recall when I decided that those were my only two options. My upper lip beaded with sweat. How the hell did I get here? Do I even want to be a lawyer? Maybe I shouldn’t have taken a job in BigLaw. Sam and I could have survived on my Sanctuary for Families salary until his company started making money . . . if his company ever started making money. I looked at the large closet full of blouses and skirts, most with the tags still on, and I knew it wasn’t true. I wanted this life, my luxurious apartment, a wardrobe full of new clothes. I chose them.

“Your mother and I are off to the farmers market. We love you! Good luck!”

My phone beeped with an incoming call, and I saw the name Carmen Greyson on the screen. “Thanks guys! Have to run! Love you!” I picked up the new call without waiting for their last goodbye.

“Hi!” I sighed, relieved to hear from my law school classmate. “I’m so glad you—”

“What are you wearing?” Carmen demanded.