Read Novel Full Chapter 195: The Filing Column
Chapter 195: The Filing Column
The morning of May 21, outside the Municipal Bar Association building.
A row of electric scooters stood at the foot of the steps, access passes hanging from every handlebar. The security guard slid the visitor log toward her. In the "Department to Visit" column she wrote Discipline Department; in the "Purpose" column she wrote submitting materials; and at the end she noted the time: 8:52.
A standing sign sat at the end of the fourth-floor corridor, two name lists pinned side by side. On the left, the Disciplinary Committee. On the right, the Intern Assessment Committee. She waited outside the intake window, reading down the right-hand list from the top, stopping at the second name.
Han Chongli.
A line of small print at the bottom of the list read: Current term, three years.
Midway down the corridor, a meeting room door hung ajar. Five white porcelain cups sat on the long table, rims up, untouched. Someone inside the intake window was checking page numbers of a stack of materials page by page, got halfway through, then started over from the beginning.
Guan Min came down the corridor carrying a stack of unmarked papers, the corners neatly aligned.
"Come to count the days."
"The Notice of Acceptance says fifteen days, starting from the date of service. That runs to June 2."
"June 2, before the intake window's clock."
"And if it's late?"
"Then it gets filed as a new matter." Guan Min shifted the stack higher. "Send everything in your statement of defense at once. If you bring it piece by piece, I won't accept it."
"Noted."
"The five photocopies from the 19th—what's the reference number?"
"Receipt series one, item one. The number follows the item." She said, "Quote that number the day you submit your defense. Saves me digging through files."
"The three items for your assessment."
"The firm is filling them out. The court appearance record column is blank—Director He's doing that one. The supervising lawyer's opinion column is hers too."
"Keep it short," Guan Min said. "If it runs long, we're required to ask questions."
"The filing materials aren't in this office."
"I know they're not here."
"Then why come up."
"To ask where to submit them."
"First floor, Membership Affairs Department. Get the form at the window." She said, "The Discipline Department only reviews complaint matters."
"That list on the signboard—this year's."
"Rotated in an election year."
"The one from the Assessment Committee—does he sit in on hearings?"
Guan Min shifted the stack to her other shoulder. "I told you once before."
"Procedurally they should be separate."
"Remember that." She said, "Remember it, and keep moving."
* * *
First floor lobby. A glass frame on the west wall, running from the baseboard all the way to the ceiling.
Pressing against the glass, a line of text: Municipal Bar Association Office Premises Filing Public Disclosure (Updated Through May).
Inside the frame, rows upon rows of cards, white with black text, arranged by firm name. In the lower right corner of every card, a line of small print: Filing date. Some read March, some May.
Three windows on the left. Membership Affairs was the third.
She set her hard-shell folder on the counter and pulled out the firm's letter and her internship certificate. A neat stack of "Association Filing Materials Inquiry Application Forms" sat on the counter. She took one. Five fields on the form: Applicant, Practicing Institution, Inquiry Item, Purpose, and Signature and Date.
In the Inquiry Item field, she wrote: Jiangzhou Tongsheng Law Firm name and office premises filing materials (including filing date, handling officer, and receipt column).
In the Purpose field, she wrote: Evidence collection for a statement of defense in a case before the Municipal Bar Association Discipline Department.
The young woman at the window took the form and read it through once.
"The respondent in a case looking up materials from their own matter—that's allowed."
"When will I get them."
"Five business days, written response."
"The handling officer column on the materials—does that come too?"
"We provide whatever there is."
"The filing paper—signed at the window, or signed inside?"
"Signed in the intake register." The woman said, "At the window, we sign our own names."
"The originals?"
"The Association archives them." She capped her pen. "If you want to see the originals, wait for the response."
"I want photocopies."
"Fifty fen per page. Remember to bring change."
The woman placed the form into a box to her left, the box divided by day of the week. Today's slot pressed on top of the rest.
She stepped back to the middle of the lobby to study the board.
Hengzheng occupied three rows. The first two were its own two office locations, the card edges yellowed, the lower right corners reading February on one and March on the other. The third row bore a new card attached at the end, its paper so white it gleamed—
Jiangzhou Tongsheng Law Firm.
The registered address column copied the door number of Hengzheng's third office. A two-character note: Former address. In the box for number of practicing lawyers, a 0 was printed. The small print in the lower right corner: Filing date, April 26.
She opened her notebook and copied it down field by field: name, address, note, headcount, date. When she finished, she pulled out the page she'd printed the day before and laid it against the glass to compare. The printout had three addresses, the note, the 0. It did not have a date.
April 26.
That morning, she'd been in the Chengbei District Court reading three stacks of paper aloud. First the paper, then the drugs. She finished past noon, and when she came out, Peng Weidong was waiting at the foot of the steps, his hand gripping the hem of that shirt.
[Thud. This date—do you recognize it.]
She photographed the card and sent it to He Xiufen.
A moment later, two lines came back. The first: Copy it down, don't just photograph it. The second: What number.
She replied: April 26.
He Xiufen replied: That day, you were in court.
"Attorney Shen."
Someone called her from behind. Not fast, not loud.
She turned. Dark navy suit, the thin booklet tucked under one arm. The young man following behind carried a briefcase, standing two paces back, not stepping forward.
"Chairman Han."
"Come to look at the board." He moved to stand before the glass, studying the section inside. "The Association changes these cards once a year. This piece of paper—swapped out last month."
"Who swapped it."
"The person who changed the card signed the materials." He shifted the booklet from his right arm to his left. "You want the materials, the Association will provide them."
"I've submitted the application."
"Good that you did." He nodded. "The Association's paper—anyone can check it, and no one can block it."
"That name signed on the complaint—have you heard it?"
"The Bar Association receives several hundred complaints a year." He said, "The name isn't mine to examine."
"Then the filing papers—who should examine those?"
He looked at her, longer than the glance a moment before. Someone pushed through the door behind them, and the draft lifted the disclosure date on the glass frame. When the wind passed, he turned.
"Director He didn't come today."
"She's at the firm filling out forms."
"Good that she's filling them out." He tucked the booklet under his arm. "That case in Chengbei last month—cleanly decided. Six hundred eighty thousand. Has it arrived?"
"It's within the payment period."
"Payment periods are long." He said, "I've seen one that took three years and still wasn't finished."
She didn't respond.
"Last time, upstairs at your home, I said something."
"I remember."
"I won't raise old accounts today." He drew the booklet closer. "Let's talk about the certificate. Lose a case, you can fight again next year. But if your certificate gets held up—once, twice—miss this round and you'll be waiting."
"I saw that list on the fourth floor."
"A name posted on a wall is there for anyone to see."
"The second name."
"Second place is a good place to stand." He smiled, the smile staying at the corner of his mouth. "Second place—no need to raise your hand."
"The day of the hearing, which room will you be in?"
"Discipline Department matters—I don't interfere."
"Your name is on that list."
"There are many names on that list." He said, "Many are just names. Few raise their hands."
"Yesterday afternoon," she suddenly said.
"Hm."
"That piece of paper in the display case was swapped last month. The filing date is printed in the lower right corner—April 26."
"I can see that." He put his hands behind his back. "The field for 'whether to retain the original name'—it was blank the year of the merger. Yesterday afternoon, someone called the Association asking which year that form was printed."
She didn't respond.
"You have paper in your hands now." He said, "Don't rush to post it. Once it's posted, that column becomes what you're saying."
"Paper is paper."
"Paper is paper." He repeated it, as if straightening the sheet for her. "Which is exactly why you must choose carefully what to put up."
He adjusted the booklet under his arm, took two steps toward the door, then turned back.
"Attorney Shen, the board is there to be seen."
The door closed behind him. The rows of cards in the lobby sat silent. She looked down at the printed page in her hand, the corner creased from her grip.
* * *
Guan Min came down the stairs carrying an insulated lunch bag and, seeing her, slowed a half step.
"Application's in."
"It's in."
"Five business days. Don't call every day—pushing won't speed it up."
"I won't push."
Guan Min took two steps toward the door and stopped.
"There's one thing I shouldn't say."
"Go ahead."
"The complaint has three pages of attachments. You have a copy; I have a copy." She switched the bag to her left hand. "Each of the three pages has a square seal in the lower right corner, five characters in the middle: Consistent with the original."
"I've seen it."
"The Discipline Department will ask, as a matter of procedure: where did these three pages come from." She said, "Asked of the respondent."
"I don't want to wait for you to ask."
"Then put it in your defense." Guan Min said, "Write it clearly. Don't write 'probably.' Write down which day you received them, who gave them, and what these three pages have to do with you."
"These three pages aren't in the court file."
"I know." She paused. "If I didn't know, I wouldn't have said this."
"You've said plenty today."
"The plenty comes later." Guan Min carried her bag toward the door. "I'm going up to number the files. Nothing counts until the number's recorded."
Below the steps lay the road, and at lunch hour, everyone passing looked both ways. She opened her hard-shell folder and pulled out the three attachment pages.
Each of the three pages bore a square seal in the lower right corner. Red, stamped over black text. The five characters in the center circle were perfectly clear: Consistent with the original. The ring of characters around the outside had blurred, the strokes squeezed together, only half of the character "section" legible.
She raised her phone and photographed the seals first, then the header of each page, one by one.
When she finished, she sent a message to that number she'd never saved: On the Bar Association's board, there's a deregistered firm listed under Hengzheng's name. The date in that box is April 26.
The crowd at the crosswalk changed over before her phone buzzed.
The four characters were short: Check the receipt column.
"Receipt column." She said the phrase once under her breath, put her phone away, and looked back through the glass door. The board faced the entrance directly. The characters in Tongsheng's box were newer than all the rest.