Chapter 1
Nina Riley sat in her five-year old Prius. She stared at the Department of Justice building across the parking lot. Today’s the day. She rubbed her hands together, interlaced her fingers, then pressed to release the friction between her phalanges. It was an un-ladylike gesture, but it alleviated her tension.
She sighed, reached for her purse and briefcase, and got out of the car. She walked toward the building, with clenched teeth. Her fingers tightly wrapped around her purse strings.
In the elevator, she stared at the closed door, only nodding toward the four other people. The mechanical sound of the elevator going up was the only noise. It was 7:30 a. m. and no one was in the mood for small talk. The enclosed space smelt of coffee breath, perfume, hairspray. She knew her elevator companions only from the occasional run-in in the hallways. Three months of employment wasn’t enough time to make friends. And it was the probationary period. She may not have a job by the end of this day. Better not to get attached to people that might not be there the next day. The only person that had embraced Nina from day one was her supervisor.
In about five minutes, she’ll learn if she had a job as an attorney with the Department of Justice, Juvenile Division, State of Oregon. Or not.
The elevator door opened at the fifth floor. Nina nodded toward the others and made her way to her office at the end of the hallway. It was a small space with a front office for support staff and a glass door leading into her office. Both barely big enough for a work desk and a chair. As she approached, she realized someone was in the front office. The door was open, and men were talking.
“Ms. Nina, early, as usual.” A husky voice greeted her. She smiled, or tried to, but she thought it probably looked more like a grimace.
“Good morning, Mr. Albright.” She greeted her supervisor. She clasped her briefcase and her purse with both of her hands, hoping he wouldn’t want to shake her hand. Mr. Albright loved to shake hands. He claimed it was a left-over habit from his German ancestors that immigrated to the US via Ellis Island decades ago. Or so he kept saying.
Nina was in luck. Her supervisor’s hands were busy arranging donuts and coffee cups. She stared at the spread that cluttered the small desk in her front office. A desk that should belong to a secretary, or maybe even a legal assistant. Except support staff was only provided to permanent attorneys, not probationary ones.
“Gifts to celebrate your employment now being permanent.” Mr. Albright grinned. The light dusting of powdered sugar on his upper lip indicated he taste-tested the donuts before her arrival.
“And I got you something else.” Mr. Albright turned and smiled at the man standing next to the desk.
Nina’s fingers clutched her purse strings further. She inhaled, the sound of her breath thundering in her ear. Next to Mr. Albright stood a man, medium height, skinny and pale, dressed in a black suit, black tie, and gray shirt. Colors so drape and boring Nina wondered if he was in mourning. And yet, not a suit from a rack. The precise fit of the jacket and the exact crease of the pants telltale signs of the exquisite work of a skilled tailor.
Mr. Albright motioned him forward. “Ms. Nina, meet your paralegal, Marcus Taghlia. He’s been with the DoJ for a year up in Portland and now transferred to our county. He’ll be able to get you settled in.”
Marcus stepped toward Nina. But his hands remained in his pant pockets, making no attempt at shaking hers.
“Good morning.” He nodded. Nina noticed his green eyes in stark contrast to his jet-black hair, cut short, hugging his scalp.
Nina gripped her purse strings, again. She didn’t know what to say. I have the job. She swallowed. And my own paralegal. Nina realized neither man said anything, waiting for her response.
“Ah, wow, I don’t know what to say …” She fumbled her words. She inhaled, smiled, feeling awkward. “Mr. Albright, I don’t know what to say. Thank you.” She meant it. She may not have grace under social pressure, but she meant every word.
Mr. Albright nodded. “I know, you don’t do that nice social stuff, just the legal fighting stuff.” He grinned at her, stepping aside, motioning at the donuts and coffee. “Let’s have a donut. You look like you could use it. And we can give Marcus a chance to get to know us.” He pulled up a chair. “Your schedule is light for the next couple of days. Come Monday though, you’ll be a full attorney and your job begins in earnest. Let’s use this time to get this machine oiled and ready.”
Nina nodded. She had wondered about her light schedule. Up until now, Mr. Albright determined what cases to work, which attorneys to shadow. Except I thought they kept it clear because they didn’t want me near any of their cases.
“Marcus, you too, sit, let’s get to know each other.” Mr. Albright patted the chair next to him. “You’ve done juvenile justice work up in Portland. I hear they’re busy up there. You’ll find we do things a bit differently in this county.”
Nina desperately wanted to excuse herself for a minute to stop by the restroom, but she hesitated. Would it be proper? Her brand-new paralegal beat her to it.
“I’ll talk your ear off in a minute, but I’ll have to excuse myself for a moment.” Marcus grinned, revealing even, pearl white teeth. “With your permission, of course.”
Mr. Albright huffed. “Of course, by all means.” He inspected the donuts and reached for the one with chocolate glazing. “I brought three Latte’s; I know that’s Nina’s favorite.” He grinned at her. Nina watched as Marcus walked past her. He winked at her. Nina gasped and she watched after him as he made his way to the men’s restroom.
She cleared her throat. “Let me put my things away and I’ll join you.” She glanced at her supervisor. He leaned back in his chair, one hand holding the donut, the other on the table, his index finger tipping on the table.
“One of these days I’ll figure you out, Ms. Nina.” He leaned forward. She frowned at him. “I’ve seen you at court, seen you interact with the consortium attorneys, and I know you can handle anything. But as soon as you’re at this office, you’re shy, apprehensive. Is it something I said?” He looked at her.
“No.” She glanced toward the door. “No, it’s not you.” She wanted to explain, she trusted him in a way she hadn’t trusted anyone in a long time. Still, she hesitated.
He sighed. “That’s okay.” He leaned back in his chair. “What I’m telling you here is that it’s okay for you to ask for what you need.” He nodded toward the door. Nina blushed, worriedly looked at her hands, wondering if he could tell that she had sweaty palms.
Mr. Albright raised his eyebrows, shook his head. “I raised three daughters. I can always tell when they’re uncomfortable about something.”
Nina stared at him, unsure what he was trying to say. “I’ll be right back.” She pressed the words out, turned and walked into her own small office. She put her things into the cabinet and reached for antiseptic wet wipes. She plucked down into her chair and rubbed her hands with the alcohol smelling wipes. She closed her eyes, took three breathes, calming herself, reciting her mantra. No one is your enemy, no one is your enemy, no one is out to hurt you. Especially not Mr. Albright.
Marcus Taghlia, her own paralegal, had stepped back into the front office. Nina heard the two men talking. She stood up, ran her hands over her slacks and joined them.
“I’ll have you meet with Kayla Henderson. She’s our senior paralegal here and she’ll get you familiar with everything. If we have any emergency placement hearings today or tomorrow, I’d like you to shadow the paralegals and the attorney of the day.” Mr. Albright droned on while Nina reached for one of the coffee cups and a cream filled doughnut.
Marcus glanced at her. “If?” He frowned. “Don’t you have emergency placement hearings every day?”
Nina moved one of the visitor chairs that stood in front of the desk to the side, sat down and nibbled on her donut.
Mr. Albright shook his head. “Not in this county. Remember, we’re not as big as Multnomah or even Clackamas, and we don’t have as many social workers. Mind you, the Department of Social Services investigates every call. But in this county, more emphasis is on preventing removal.”
Marcus shook his head. “It’s the same state, how can counties have different procedures?”
“Money.” Nina chimed in. The men turned. “The more you spend, the more money you can ask for. It’s actually expected that your next budget proposal will be higher than the previous year. It’s a tricky snow-ball effect that won’t be sustainable long term.” She shrugged.
Marcus frowned at her, the tucking of his skin revealing slight scars around his nose. Nina observed this with interest. She knew what these scars meant. Rhinoplasty. Not sure I can manage a vain man in my office.
“The reason more money is needed is because more people need help. It’s not a matter of budgets.” Marcus glared at her, offended by her matter-of-factness. Nina shrugged.
Mr. Albright squinted at her. “Anyway,” he continued, “normal procedure is this: ODHS has one unit that investigates complaints and removes children, if necessary. If removal is needed, I get a call, I’ll contact the DoJ attorney that’s signed up for that day. For your edification, when we say ‘attorney of the day’ that means any state or defense attorney that has signed up to be present at court that specific day.”
Mr. Albright sipped his coffee before continuing. “The ODHS worker in charge of letting us know these things is Andrew Watkins. We’ve learned some time ago that it’s easier when we have one person responsible for communication. Especially in the beginning stages of a case. He sends over the names of the minor, the parents’ information and the reason for removal. We’ll also get any supporting documents, such as police reports, if there are any. Then, we get to work. We type up the shelter declaration of facts and petition, one for each child. This gets send to the court, the case worker that initiated the removal and a host of other parties. Including the attorneys that will be assigned to the case.” He paused, taking a bite of his donut, giving Marcus a change to chime in.
“I assume the system for the attorney assignment is the same here.” Marcus offered. “The consortium fills out the shelter day sheets months in advance. Then submits it to the court and the DoJ. Whoever is signed up for that particular day, gets assigned to the case. Each party gets their own attorney. That means three attorneys: One for the child, one for the mother, one for the father.”
Mr. Albright nodded. “Barring a conflict or a prior involvement, of course. If it is a come-back case, the previously assigned attorneys get re-assigned.”
Marcus nodded. “And what time are these hearings usually set for? At 1:30 p. m. or later?”
Mr. Albright wiped his mouth with a napkin. “We stack them, starting at 1:30 p. m., in 15-minute intervals. If there’s more than one, of course.” He took a sip of his coffee. “And we do have days with two or more cases.”
Nina, having quietly finished her donut and almost done with her coffee, chimed in. “And like the consortium attorneys, the DOJ likes to keep their attorney on the same case. Which means, we’ll have the settlement and trials and all review and permanency hearings after the placement hearings.”
“Except if the child is returned to one or both parents. Then the case gets closed, of course.” Mr. Albright added. Nina nodded in agreement.
Marcus glanced at them. “Sounds like some small details are different, but I’ll manage.” He grinned. “Except, if this is to be my office, I don’t see a computer, printer, scanner, or any of the equipment I’ll need to do any of my work. Or do we still use typewriters here?” His grin turned into a wide smile.
Mr. Albright sighed. “I notified IT, they should be bringing hardware up and set you up with access codes. Although,” he scratched his head, “they’ve been a bit behind the last few weeks and might need a gentle nudge. I submitted the requisition forms two weeks ago. But with the newest Covid scare, we have a large number of staff work from home.” He raised his eyebrows, glancing at Nina. Marcus wasn’t sure what had passed between them, but Nina nodded as if she understood.
Without another word, she stood up and walked into her office. Within moments, a dial tone rang through the open door.
“What …” Marcus began, but Mr. Albright shushed him.
“IT, Pete speaking, what can I do for you?” A young-sounding male voice answered the phone. Nina had put the call on speaker phone, and both men could hear every word.
“Pete, this is Nina Riley, fifth floor, Juvenile Division. I have a new paralegal here that needs a computer, printer, scanner, phone, and access codes for OECI, case law and e-court filing systems.”
Marcus flinched. The female voice that came out of the other office sounded like Nina’s. But her tone was different. The Nina that walked into this office less than an hour ago was demur, nervous, shy.
This Nina, the attorney that took charge in her own office, was clear, professional and, Marcus suspected, not a push-over.
“You’ll have to do a requisition form and it needs to be signed off by your supervisor.” Pete said in a monotone voice, as if he was reading it off a card. “The average time is …” He didn’t get further.
“Pete.” Nina interrupted his monologue. “Mr. Albright, my supervisor, sent this request two weeks ago. My paralegal is here, today. Now, two weeks’ notice is a decent amount of time. Unless you can give me a good reason, like there’s a shortage on computer terminals? Do we have another chip shortage that I don’t know about? Is the production in China at a standstill, again?” She paused, giving the IT technician time to consider his response.
Pete didn’t say a word for a full minute. Nina didn’t interrupt the silence. Marcus listened, raising his eyebrows at Mr. Albright. The supervisor grinned, put a chubby index finger to his lips, mouthing ‘wait for it’ to Marcus.
“I’ll have to find the request form and get back to you.” Pete lost the non-verbal jousting.
“No.” Nina said. “Madden Albright, supervisor of the DoJ Juvenile Division, sent this request. That’s THE supervisor of the Juvenile Division. My name is Nina Riley, attorney. My office is 522 and the new paralegal is Marcus Taghlia. Now you know what we need and where to deliver it to. I’ll be here in my office until 3 pm today so you may come by any time. If there’s an issue with getting this done today, I’m asking that you tell me exactly what the issue is.”
There was silence on the other end of the line. “Ms. Nina.” Pete sighed. “I remember you.” Another sigh. “The hardware isn’t the issue; I’ll be happy to get this set up for your new paralegal today.” Pete said the word ‘paralegal’ with a slight sneer. “Half of my department is out with either a cold or this damned Covid, self-quarantining, working from home. We both know what that is code for.” Another sneer. Nina suppressed the urge to role her eyes.
“Then that’s not an issue. The codes can be set up remotely. I remember Thea from your department did that for me. And she didn’t even need to talk to me. She got the employment information from HR and, voila.” Nena pushed. A pause, Pete said nothing, and she pushed further. “Matter of fact, HR is supposed to have sent you the employment information already.” Another pause. “Of course, I could make my next call to HR, if you chose …”
“I’ve been texting Thea; she’ll get it set up right now.” Pete barked. “And Martin is on his way up to look at your paralegal’s office. That’s what you wanted, isn’t it?”
Nina grinned. “Thank you.” Pete hung up without another word.
Nina sighed and walked back into the front office. She sat back in her chair, reached for her half-finished coffee. “Oh, look, it’s still warm.” She smiled mischievously at the two men.
“Yes, very impressive.” Mr. Albright smiled at her, clearly smitten.
So was Marcus. “Last time it took IT a week to get me set up. I had to desk-hob.”
Nina nodded. “I know. That’s why I didn’t wait.” She sat up straight. “Now is the time to get you to Ms. Henderson so you can shadow the paralegal while they’re doing the paperwork.” She turned to her supervisor. “Mr. Albright, do you want to give him the tour or should I?”
Mr. Albright stood up. “I’ll do it. What else do I have to do than show the newbies around?” He turned to Marcus. “Ready to go?”
Marcus nodded, stood up and turned toward Mr. Albright.
“So, you’re first name is Madden? Or do I stick with Mr. Albright?”
Nena snickered. Mr. Albright frowned. And Marcus wondered if what he perceived as a casual atmosphere was just a front, and he made a mistake by assuming it was mutual.
Then, the supervisor, his supervisor, broke out in laughter and clasped Marcus on the shoulder. “Nina is the only one that calls me ‘Mr. Albright’. Hell, if I know why.”
Marcus sighed with relief.
