Read Novel Full Chapter 194: Five Names in the Directory
Chapter 194: Five Names in the Directory
"The Bar Association puts out a directory every year."
He Xiufen crouched in front of the filing cabinet, pulling out the bottom drawer. The smell of paper came first. Downstairs, someone was chopping filling—two in the afternoon, still too early for the lunch rush.
"Red is the year before last, green is last year, the two gray ones are this year." She reached deeper, pulled out a blue-covered volume from the bottom. "You want three years ago—this one."
"How do you remember it so clearly?"
"Other stuff I throw out once a year. This I don't." She slapped the book onto the table, dust rising under the lamp. "Names on paper—a year later, some of them aren't in the directory anymore. I keep them for myself."
Shen Zhixia opened to the table of contents. The directory was organized by firm, one entry each: name, address, phone number, managing partner—below that, the names of practicing lawyers, each followed by a practice certificate number.
"Tongsheng" appeared just past the middle.
She pressed a finger to that entry and read top to bottom: address, Old Town District; one phone number; the managing partner column held a name; below it, five people—Li Huilan, Qiu Mingda, Luo Jianping, Fu Zhensheng, Yu Hong.
She pulled the Complaint Letter over and compared, name by name, against the complainant column.
When she finished, she set the pencil down.
"No."
"None of them?"
"All five are different." She turned the directory halfway around. "These are the firm's last five practicing lawyers, listed line by line. The name on the complaint isn't one of them."
"What about the certificate number?"
"Five people in the directory, each with a number after their name." She flipped to the last page of the complaint. "This column—not a single number."
"So all five names are copied down."
"Along with the certificate numbers."
"Why copy the certificate numbers?"
"Whatever's in the directory is missing from the complaint." She tapped the pencil tip on the paper twice. "I'm noting every discrepancy, one line at a time. When the day comes to use them, I'll pick."
[Thud. Not in the roster; not in the directory either.]
He Xiufen flipped through the three pages, then stood up to lift the pot lid. Steam came up from downstairs, carrying the smell of scallions.
"Keep digging." She had her back to Shen Zhixia. "The people scattered, but the files are still here. Find me where all five went—every last one."
Shen Zhixia powered on the office computer. Half a minute to boot, the cursor jumping twice before settling. She spread the blue-covered directory beside the keyboard and typed the first name into the Public Information Registry search box: Qiu Mingda. One result. The practice institution column read: Jiangzhou Hengzheng Law Firm. She went back, typed the second, third, fourth names. Same.
The fifth: Li Huilan. Practice institution: Jiangzhou Chongzheng Law Firm. Address listed in Chengdong.
She copied all five names into her notebook, pausing at the fourth—four people, one firm, all saying Hengzheng.
Then she typed "Jiangzhou Hengzheng Law Firm" into the search box.
This page was longer than the others. Name, address, responsible person, number of practicing lawyers—she read down, line by line. Further down was a section labeled "Office Premises Filing," listing three addresses. The first two were Hengzheng's own offices. After the third, the name column read: Jiangzhou Tongsheng Law Firm. The remarks column had two characters: Original Address. One column further: number of practicing lawyers—
0.
She scrolled to the top, then back down to that cell, read it a second time, and only then hit print.
[Thud. The firm's been deregistered three years, and its name still hangs under someone else's entry.]
[Thud. Zero people under its name.]
The printer spat out paper from beneath the cabinet. He Xiufen clamped the lid back on and came over, wiping her hands. She held the page at arm's length, reading, stopping at "Original Address."
"The firm was shut down. The name stayed."
"Why keep it?"
"I don't know why." He Xiufen pushed her glasses up. "I know what keeping it lets you do. Put it in the letterhead column, and the paper has an origin—run it against the roster, it matches; go looking for the people, nobody's there."
"So the paper carries no seal."
"No seal means no fingerprints." She set the printout back on the table. "Stamp a seal, and the paper lands in someone's hands. What stands behind this piece of paper now is a firm with no one in it."
"That step's a guess on my part."
"Guess or not, write it down." He Xiufen said, "Fifth name on the list—Chongzheng over in Chengdong. I know Li Huilan. Ran into her a couple times on the labor arbitration circuit years ago. She talks slow. She owns up to things. You go."
"What should I note?"
"Note how she says it." He Xiufen said. "Write it down after you leave."
* * *
May 20th, morning, Chengdong.
Chongzheng had the third floor of a street-facing building. A Legal Aid duty roster was pinned next to the door; Monday and Thursday had names, the rest of the slots blank. The door was open. Inside, one long table, two people seated, one working on documents. Li Huilan sat at the window end, gray threaded through her short hair, one arm of her glasses wrapped in tape, tea leaves settled at the bottom of the enamel mug by her hand.
"From Zhengping Firm, here to see Lawyer Li." She looked up. "Sent by Director He?"
"Trainee lawyer Shen Zhixia, Jiangzhou Zhengping Law Firm. Supervising lawyer, He Xiufen." Shen Zhixia placed her Internship Certificate on the corner of the desk. "There's something I'd like to ask you about."
Li Huilan picked up the certificate, looked it over, pushed it back. "Sit."
"The Bar Association received a complaint letter using the Tongsheng Law Firm name on the letterhead, with the complainant's name on the page as well." Shen Zhixia said. "I can't find this person in the roster, and I can't find any record of the firm being registered."
"Complaining about whom?"
"About me."
Li Huilan swirled the settled tea leaves. "Who'd you offend?"
"I'm still looking into it."
"Why bother looking into it?"
"The Bar Association wants a written statement from me," Shen Zhixia said. "How this letter got submitted—I need to lay that out clearly."
"People who spell things out clearly end up worse off." Li Huilan studied her for two seconds, then leaned back in her chair. "November 19th, three years back. Hengzheng sent two vans. One hauled case files—box after box, numbered and tagged, unloaded until dark. The other one was empty. Waiting for people."
"Waiting for people to sign."
"Two stacks of forms." She said. "One stack was the transfer-into-Hengzheng filing forms; four people signed. The other stack was for transferring out. I signed the second stack."
"Why didn't you join Hengzheng?"
"I was fifty-one that year." Li Huilan said. "A big firm's queue—I wasn't getting to the front of it. This firm's small. Here, the cases actually land in your hands. Qiu Mingda signed fastest. Didn't even uncap his pen before pressing his thumbprint."
"The forms that day—do you still remember what was on them?"
Li Huilan set the mug down. "There was one. Middle of the page, a column. I remember the heading was 'Whether to Retain the Original Name.'" She said. "When I signed, that column was blank."
"Who filled it in later?"
"I don't know." She said. "I never looked at that form again after signing. Our managing partner handed in the firm's seal—he quit after the merger, passed away the following winter."
Shen Zhixia took out yesterday's printout from her bag and turned it around. "On the platform, your firm's name is still there."
"In the firm?"
"Attached under Hengzheng's entry." She pointed at that line. "Office Premises Filing, third address, says Tongsheng Law Firm. Remarks column: Original Address. The practicing lawyers cell shows zero."
Li Huilan picked up the page and read it. She set it down and pressed her finger over "Original Address."
"A deregistered firm's name can be kept."
"It can be kept."
[Thud. That column she signed—it was blank back then.]
Li Huilan pulled a kraft paper envelope from the desk corner, smoothed it, and fished out a photocopy. The edges were worn white; the signature line held her own name—three characters, tight strokes. "This is the copy of my form." She said. "Kept it three years, thought I'd never need it. If it's useful to you, take it. Bring me a fresh copy later."
"I'll copy it and bring it back to you."
"One more thing." She pressed the envelope back to the desk corner. "When you're ready to write my name on anything, ask me first."
"Before I write your name, I'll definitely come ask."
Li Huilan nodded, lifted the mug for a sip—cold tea. "Does Director He still take cases to court herself?"
"She does."
"Good."
* * *
Back above the noodle shop, dusk falling.
Three pages laid out side by side: the deregistration record; the photocopy from Li Huilan with the blank "Whether to Retain the Original Name" column in the middle; and the freshly printed page showing the third premises filing under Hengzheng's name.
He Xiufen put on her glasses, looked first at the filing form, then at the premises page, back and forth twice.
"That column being blank means the name wasn't wanted back then." She said. "Three years later, it's been hung up. Who hung it, what day—the Bar Association's got the report on file."
"The Bar Association's side."
"Someone who can get to the premises filing page can get to other things, too." He Xiufen took off her glasses. "Those three pages from the Medical Affairs Office—not just anyone could make copies of those."
"That step—"
"Last time I said it was a guess." She folded her glasses. "Guesses don't go into formal statements."
Shen Zhixia slipped Li Huilan's photocopy into a hard-shell folder and wrote a line at the bottom of the first page of her draft statement: Date of service, May 18th; fifteenth day, June 2nd.
Her phone buzzed at the corner of the desk.
"Got the Notice of Acceptance?"
"Yes."
"Guan Min." The voice was low, a printer running in the background. "The notice says fifteen days. Counted from the date of service. Written statement, line by line, with evidence attached and submitted together. Don't send things in piece by piece—the Discipline Department numbers everything when it comes in."
"Understood."
"One more thing." Guan Min said. "Your internship assessment materials—the Discipline Department wants to review them at the same time. The evaluation form, the supervising lawyer's opinion, your case log, court appearance records. All of it, no exceptions."
"Assessment should be assessment."
"Procedurally, they should be separate." Guan Min paused. "This time, they're not."
"What's the deadline?"
"Same day as your statement."
The call ended. She set the phone face-down on the desk and pulled her Internship Registration Form from the drawer, flipping to the last page. The "Court Appearance Record" column was empty. Below it: "Supervising Lawyer's Opinion" and the signature line.
She slid the form over.
"This column needs your input."
He Xiufen glanced at it. "I'll fill it in."
"Who reads it after that?"
"Not my call." He Xiufen closed the blue directory, wiped the dust off its cover, and slid it back into the bottom drawer of the filing cabinet. "I'm keeping the set. They'll keep printing one every year."