My Son’s Girlfriend Screamed At Me Over 42-degree Water And Ordered Me To The Kitchen. Then A Supreme Court Justice Walked In And Called Me “Judge Martinez.” How Should I Handle Their Professional Ruin?
Mistaken Identity in the Marble Halls
The marble halls of the Princeton Law School reception area gleamed under crystal chandeliers around me. Catering staff in crisp black uniforms rushed with trays of hors d’oeuvres, none of them realizing that the woman in a modest navy suit was about to preside over half their children’s future cases.
“First time working the honors reception?” a kind server named Maria asked, noticing my quiet observation of the room. “The Blackwells can be quite demanding.”
“Ah yes, the Blackwells.”
My son James was dating their precious daughter Catherine, whose father happened to be a managing partner at one of New York’s most prestigious law firms. The same man who’d been questioning my son’s pedigree at every turn.
“Something like that,” I said, adjusting my simple pearl earrings—the ones I’d worn while sentencing their firm’s former client in a landmark corruption case last month. They hadn’t recognized me then, either.
The Kitchen Incident
The kitchen was chaos incarnate. In the center, Catherine Blackwell stood in a designer dress that probably cost more than a public defender’s monthly salary, berating a trembling server.
“No, no, no! The Supreme Court justices specifically requested their water at exactly 42°. This is practically room temperature!”
Her voice carried that particular tone of practiced disdain only old money could perfect.
“Is there a problem?” I asked mildly, stepping forward.
Catherine spun around, her perfectly styled hair swishing.
“Who are you? Where’s your uniform?”
“Sarah Martinez. James’s mother.”
I watched recognition flash across her face, followed quickly by barely concealed contempt.
“Oh yes, James mentioned you might come early to… help.” She looked me up and down. “The staff entrance was supposed to direct you to the kitchen.”
“They did an excellent job,” I said, enjoying her confusion at my lack of embarrassment. “Though I admit, I expected to be greeting the justices with my son.”
A Father’s Assumptions
Richard Blackwell, Catherine’s father, chose that moment to stride in, his Italian leather shoes clicking against the tile. I recognized him from the countless society pages he graced, usually while announcing another high-profile case win.
“Katie darling, Justice Williams has arrived and—oh.” His smile could have frozen hell. “You must be James’s mother. The one from… where was it again?”
“The Bronx Supreme Court,” I supplied helpfully, watching him misinterpret my answer exactly as expected.
“Yes, well,” he waved dismissively. “Catherine, we’ve arranged for the help to stay in the kitchen during the main reception. Wouldn’t want to overwhelm the justices with too many unfamiliar faces.”
I bit back a smile, remembering him making the exact same nervous expression during his firm’s arguments before my bench last month.
“How thoughtful.”
“Mother?” James’s voice carried across the kitchen.
My son, handsome in his graduation robes, looked every bit the future legal star he was destined to become. Unlike the Blackwells, he earned his place through merit rather than money.
“James darling!” Catherine rushed to him. “I was just helping your mother find her place.”
My son’s face darkened in the kitchen light. “Kate, we talked about this.”
“It’s fine,” I said softly. “I’m quite comfortable here.”
Richard Blackwell straightened his tie.
“Yes, well, given your background, we thought you’d prefer something less formal. After all, not everyone is equipped to handle conversations with Supreme Court justices.”
James stepped forward, but I caught his eye. The slight shake of my head was enough; he recognized my courtroom face, the one that had preceded countless guilty verdicts.
“Perhaps,” I said, “we should focus on the reception. I believe I hear Justice Williams discussing the Martinez decision from last month’s federal circuit.”
The Tables Turn
Right on cue, through the kitchen doors came the distinguished voice of Justice Williams.
“Where is Sarah? I was hoping to congratulate her on that brilliant opinion. Completely revolutionizes our approach to corporate accountability.”
Richard Blackwell’s face froze.
“Sarah? Judge Martinez?”
A young clerk poked his head into the kitchen. “Justice Williams is asking for you. He wants your input on the corporate fraud guidelines.”
The look on Catherine’s face was priceless.
“Judge? Federal Judge Sarah Martinez?” I corrected gently, smoothing my suit. “Though I do appreciate your concern about my ability to handle conversations with the Supreme Court. I only argue before them, oh, every other month or so.”
Richard Blackwell had turned an interesting shade of gray.
“But you… the Bronx Supreme Court…”
“Was where I started 20 years ago,” I finished. “Before becoming the youngest federal judge in the Second Circuit. Your firm appears before me quite regularly, Mr. Blackwell, though you seem to send your junior partners more often than not.”
Catherine’s perfect composure cracked. “But you let us think you were the help!”
I raised an eyebrow. “Yes, I did. Consider it a lesson in judgment and the dangers of assumption. Now, shall we join the reception? I believe Justice Williams is waiting.”
As I walked past the shell-shocked Blackwells, Maria the server caught my eye and gave me a subtle thumbs up. I winked back, making a mental note to recommend her daughter for our court’s internship program.
Lessons Learned
James fell into step beside me. “You knew this would happen.”
“Sometimes,” I said, straightening his graduation robes, “people need to learn their lessons in memorable ways. Besides, watching Richard Blackwell realize he’s been condescending to the judge who’s about to hear his firm’s biggest case next week? Priceless.”
“And Catherine?”
I studied my son’s face carefully. “That depends on whether she learns from this. Though I suspect she’ll need more than one lesson about judging books by their covers.”
As we entered the main reception, Justice Williams boomed.
“Sarah! Brilliant opinion on the Martinez case, simply brilliant. Tell me, how did you anticipate the corporate structure loophole?”
I smiled, feeling the Blackwell stares burning into my back.
“Actually, Bill, that insight came from my early days working as a night janitor at the courthouse while putting myself through law school. Sometimes the best understanding of the law comes from seeing its effects on every level of society.”
The gathered legal luminaries nodded appreciatively, while behind me I heard Catherine whisper to her father.
“Daddy, I think I made a terrible mistake.”
“Indeed you did,” I thought, accepting a glass of champagne from a passing server. “But perhaps there was hope for her yet. After all, I didn’t become a federal judge by believing people couldn’t change.”
