The training room was a cramped space with a conference table, a desk, complete with desktop computer and phone setup, and a whiteboard that took up one entire wall.

“Okay,” Wendy said, gesturing for her to sit at the table. She plunked a thick loose-leaf binder onto the surface in front of Drue. “Policies and procedures. Basic best legal practices. Company policy.” She consulted her watch again. “Read it, digest it, memorize it.”

Drue opened the cover and scanned the first typewritten page.

“What kind of sandwich do you want?” Wendy said. “I mean, you’re not a vegan, right?”

“Huh?”

“Sandwich. For lunch,” Wendy said, rolling her eyes. “You can have a fifteen-minute break. I’ll have Geoff order something in for you. I’m sorry, Drue, I know Brice means well, but things will go much smoother here for all of us if you’re treated exactly the same as your coworkers.”

“Right. Turkey on rye. Tomato, no lettuce, mustard, not mayo. Unsweet tea.” She turned back to the page, willing Wendy to disappear, which she finally did, after drilling Drue on the importance of discretion and nondisclosure in all things regarding the firm’s clients.

After three straight hours of reading and note-taking, the type began to swim around the page. Drue stood, walked around the room, then sat and did some stretches.

Wendy walked into the room with a white paper sack and a Styrofoam cup.

“What are you doing?”

“Stretching my knee,” Drue said, feeling guilty for slacking off. She eyed the bag hungrily. She hadn’t eaten since leaving Lauderdale the previous day.

Wendy placed the bag on the table and pointed at Drue’s knee. “I was wondering about the brace. What happened?”

“Sports injury,” Drue said. She opened the bag, took out a sandwich wrapped in waxed paper, took a bite and nearly spat it out.

She pried the sandwich apart and glanced over at her supervisor. “Mayonnaise.”

Wendy shrugged. “That place never gets orders right. I keep meaning to tell Geoff to find a new deli.”

Drue lifted the top layer of bread and set it aside. Using a single leaf of lettuce she managed to scrape most of the mayonnaise aside. She ate four bites, then set it aside in disgust. Mayonnaise taint.

“What kind of a sports injury?” Wendy asked.

“Torn ACL, torn meniscus, torn medial collateral.”

Wendy regarded her with disbelief. “You don’t look like a runner.”

“I’m not. I hate running.”

“So, what then? How did you hurt your knee? Jesus, Drue, why are you so angry and hostile? Your dad and I are just trying to help you.”