"...Big Sky National Park, Sam. Your president's single environmental achievement since taking office sixteen months ago."
Sam met Liz Hannaford's piercing dark eyes over the expanse of her paper-covered desk and tried not to think of the law school professor she reminded him of. He knew Liz's resemblance to a woman he had detested was unfairly affecting his opinion of her. "First of all, Liz, he's not just my president, he's yours, too. And secondly, what did the last guy achieve during his eight years in office?"
"Lassiter didn't pretend to be an environmentalist!" she shot back, pushing a lock of red hair out of her eyes. "God knows we're going to be fighting his legacy for the next twenty years. What I'm saying is that, for someone who had a detailed environmental plank in his platform, Bartlet should be doing a hell of a lot more."
"I don't disagree," Sam returned evenly.
She blinked. "You don't."
"That's one of the reasons I was interested when Jeff called. Other things have taken precedence over the issues the President campaigned on. As far as I'm concerned, the environment is a big part of that."
Leaning back in her chair, Liz took off her glasses and dropped them on her desk. "Although preventing strip-mining in Montana is not a bad thing," she allowed.
Sam nodded although he had been the one counseling the President to accept the land-use rider two Republican Congressman had attached to the Banking Reform Bill, believing the bill was too important to sacrifice. Josh and Toby had both recommended the President veto his own bill. This isn't about the environment. It's about retribution. In the end, Josh had come up with the Antiquities Act and circumvented the rider. It had not been a brave or noble attempt to save that land. It had been politics and the message they wanted to send to Congress.
"Sam, tell me. Other than yourself, who has the President's ear on the environment?"
It's 'you', not 'yourself'! Sam could hear Toby snarl, and he bit back a smile. He shifted in the chair, easing the growing ache in his back. The furniture was handsome, no doubt eco-friendly, and uncomfortable.
"The Secretary of the Interior."
She waved off his answer. "I meant who on the senior staff. For example, who thought of using the Antiquities Act? You?"
No, I was writing a birthday message. "That was Josh Lyman."
Liz leaned back in her chair, running a pen between her fingers. Her nails were broken and unpolished, her cuticles torn. My God, Sam, did she claw her way out of a grave? CJ's voice crept into his thoughts, and once again Sam found himself trying not to smile.
"Lyman, huh? That surprises me."
Sam raised his eyebrows in polite interest. "Why is that?"
"He's not known for having much interest in environmental issues. I didn't think they had high enough profiles for him."
"Josh and the President have spent hours discussing national parks," Sam told her. He was always the first one to contradict Josh when he referred to himself as outdoorsy, but something about Liz was egging him on. And, he reasoned, it was not a lie. The President routinely tortured Josh with his encyclopedic knowledge of all fifty-four — now fifty-five — parks.
As she jotted a note on a legal pad, there was a light knock on the door of her office. Jeff Malloy poked his head in.
"Liz, are you almost done? Michael's ready for him." he asked, running a hand over his wild blond hair before straightening his tie. Although he was a partner in a major Washington law firm, he still looked more like the mad scientist Sam had mistaken him for at Duke.
She looked at Sam. "I'm done — unless you have some questions for me?"
He stood up and shook hands with her. "Thank you for sitting down with me. I appreciate it."
She handed him her business card. "Feel free to call me."
"Thank you." He followed Jeff down the hall.
"How was it? Liz can be a little intense at times."
Sam shot him a look. "'At times'?"
"Okay, all the time."
"She reminded me of Professor Corbin," Sam confessed.
Jeff stopped walking. "Oh my god, she could be her sister! How did I not put that together?"
"I don't know how you could miss it."
Jeff grinned. "You still haven't forgiven Corbin for that B+ in Labor Relations, have you?"
"Is this the young man we're luring away from the White House?" a man with a shock of thick white hair asked as he stepped off the elevator, aided by a cane.
"Michael, we were just on our way upstairs," Jeff said. "This is Sam Seaborn."
Sam took the hand Michael Casey extended. His handshake was firm, his gaze direct.
"How do you do, sir?"
"I'm very well." He dismissed Jeff with a nod. "Walk with me. I want to show you something," he said, leading Sam past the open staircase.
After the hum of the West Wing, Sam had almost forgotten the hush inherent to the law firms. The ever-present drone of televisions and the sounds of too many people crowded into too little space were absent here. Instead, the sound of water in the lobby's fountain carried up the three-story atrium. A phone rang nearby, the sound muted. He nodded at the administrative assistant who walked by, her arms full of folders. She darted a nervous glance at Beckman-Casey's managing partner before smiling slightly.
Sam wondered what his father's evaluation of this repurposed space would be. The building had been a dilapidated factory when Beckman-Casey had purchased it. It had taken almost three years, but now it was a light-filled space with exposed brick walls and polished wood floors Jeff told him had been salvaged from a school in Maryland.
They stopped in front of a darkened office. The wall that fronted the hallway was glass, as were the other offices on this floor. The space was twice the size of his office at Gage Whitney, three times the size of his office in the West Wing. A small conference table sat at one end, a desk at the other with floor-to-ceiling shelves behind it.
"This is your office," Michael said. He pointed farther down the hall with his cane. "There's a cubicle over there for your secretary. You mentioned to Jeff that you'd like to bring yours from the White House, didn't you? No one here has any problem with that."
Sam nodded. In the letter he had sent to Cathy with the bracelet, he had told her that he wanted to continue their working relationship — if she was interested. It had bothered him that she had not responded until CJ had gently told him that Cathy had refused to open the envelope.
Now he wondered how happy she would be here. He thought of the sudden bursts of laughter in the Communications bullpen. On the busiest and most stressful days, Cathy, Ginger and Bonnie had always found something to amuse themselves. And from time to time, he had gotten up from his desk to be part of those moments.
"Sam?"
"This is... this is great," Sam told him. "Thank you."
Michael folded his hands on top of his cane. "It might not carry the prestige of the West Wing, but we're doing important work here as well."
"I'm very aware of that, sir."
Michael led him back to the elevator, and they went up to the third level. The silence here was almost tangible, even the fountain was hushed. They walked slowly toward his office, the only one on this level.
"The partners' dining room," Michael announced, pointing at it with his cane as they passed. "You'll have access to that, and to the library, of course. We use the boardroom mainly when clients come in. I'm a firm believer in bringing them to Washington and introducing them to key players."
"Is that Peter Beckman?" Sam asked as they passed an almost life-size oil painting. It looked strangely formal and out of place.
Michael nodded, but did not stop. "Peter and I started this firm in the early seventies. He realized the importance of environmental law well before most of the larger firms even knew what potential it held. When he died ten years ago, I took over as managing partner, but it's his vision that we follow."
Sam followed him through a glass door into an office with floor-to-ceiling windows. Behind the desk was a woman a little older than his mother. Her hair was neatly, almost severely styled; her posture perfect.
"Sam, this is Evelyn. She's been with the firm since we started. If you need anything, please contact her directly."
Sam smiled and offered his hand. "I'll try not to bother you unnecessarily."
"It's no trouble, Mr. Seaborn."
Michael winked at Sam. "In addition to being my secretary, Evelyn's our resident political junky. You can't pry her away from the television on Sunday morning. I know she must have something to ask you."
"Mr. Casey!" she protested, her face pink with embarrassment. "It wouldn't be appropriate."
"I'll answer any question I can," Sam told her.
"Here's your chance!" Michael teased her.
She looked from him to Sam and back. After another moment's hesitation, she took a deep breath and plunged in. "Why on earth does the White House continue sending Daniel Elliott to debate with Trent? The man is ineffectual."
Sam laughed. "My father asked me the same thing, and I didn't have an answer for him either."
"I think it's time they start sending Josh Lyman again. It's been long enough since that episode with Mary Marsh." She sniffed. "And it's certainly not as if that woman didn't deserve it."
"Josh shares that opinion as well."
Michael laughed and motioned Sam into his office. It was the only one Sam had seen without a glass wall. Late afternoon sunshine poured through the windows behind the oversized desk, and Michael closed wood blinds with a remote.
"I love the light this time of day, but my visitors are blinded by it," he explained as he dropped into his chair.
Sam sat down as well, relieved that this chair was more comfortable than the ones he had encountered in the offices of various partners.
"Sam, let me be blunt. We want you, and we'll do whatever we have to to bring you on board. You're an excellent litigator, and even Jack Gage speaks highly of you and your credentials."
"You spoke to Jack?"
"We've know each other for a long time, and we've certainly faced off enough in court." Michael frowned and tapped the polished surface of the desk with a fingertip. "I called him when Jeff said you might be interested in coming on board. Jack regrets that your tenure at Gage Whitney ended so... abruptly. In fact, he said the door is always open if you want to go back."
"That won't happen."
Michael smiled. "Good! From everything I've found out about you, I wouldn't want one of my lawyers facing you in a courtroom. Jack said your deals were always airtight."
Sam thought of Kensington Oil. He regretted the work he had done to protect the company from litigation. There were still nights when he laid awake thinking about that deal. If he had suggested buying better boats sooner, would anyone have listened to him? He doubted it, and now only time would tell if the oil tankers they had purchased would remain seaworthy.
"Sam, I've done my research. I know all about Kensington."
Sam was not sure if he was relieved or embarrassed. "You do."
"If you can put together something like that, I have no doubt that you can take it apart just as well. It might not be easy, of course, but that's the challenge, isn't it?" Michael leaned back in his chair. "So what do you say? Are you still interested in Beckman-Casey, or have we scared you off despite our best intentions?"
"I'm very interested, sir."
"Then why don't I give you a couple of days to think things over? I'm sure you'll have some more questions. We should sit down together later this week, have some dinner and discuss the cases I'd like to see you handling for us."
Sam, recognizing a dismissal, rose to his feet. "Thank you, sir. I'll be in touch."
Michael shook hands over the desk. "Look, I know Jed Bartlet must have an offer on the table as well. He'd be a fool not to, and that's the last thing I think he is. I want to go on record as saying that, whatever he's promised you, I will better. Just keep that in mind, all right?"
"I will."
With a brief good-bye for Evelyn as he walked through the outer office, Sam headed for the elevator. He leaned against the back wall, trying not to think of anything in particular. He was tired after the hours of interviewing, worn out from pointed questions and the continual discussion of the Administration's environmental policies. He did not disagree with these people, but they did not have the knowledge he did about the factors — political and otherwise — that swirled around every issue. Nothing was black and white in the West Wing, and the shades of grey were staggering.
The air was cool as he walked to his car. Pulling the keys from his pocket, Sam unlocked the door and opened it. He looked back at Beckman-Casey. Late afternoon sunshine reflected off the glass and warmed the old brick. It was a beautiful building in a city full of them, a testament to the firm's belief in reusing existing resources. But is it where I should be right now? Sighing, Sam slid into the driver's seat and started the car. After one more look at the building, he pulled into traffic.