trans=demic

Trans-demic
Chinese Flu
Sam Wong read the email from Josh Epstein, the partner in charge of the fiendishly complicated real
estate deal that had consumed the last three months of their lives.
“You’re going to have to close this deal without me. I’m sick as a dog, and my wife just called an
ambulance to take me to Bellevue. I just hope it’s not that fucking Chinese Flu. Do whatever it takes to
get this done.”
Sam flinched at the slur but was used to minority bashing that goes on behind closed doors of politically
correct law firms like Knight & Knight, the Wall Street sweatshop where Josh was Sam’s supervisor. Josh
wielded all the power as the head of K&K’s real estate department, and he always assigned Sam to his
biggest and most complex deals. Sam searched the documents for Josh’s signature pages
“You have three missing signatures, plus the firm signature on the closing opinion.”
Only partners could sign closing opinions, and the trajectory of Sam’s legal career had missed that mark.
“Copy and paste them from archival documents, I’ll give you ink signatures when I’m out of the
hospital.”
“Can you send me an email directing me to do that?”
“Yeah, I will, but just do it!”
Josh was the partner; Sam was his underling, in no position to argue, much less refuse.
“No problem, Josh, I’ll make it happen.”
Sam heard coughing, a thud as his phone dropped, then nothing.
She googled “Chinese Flu.” It was a cruel name that the President had tagged the on the SARS-CoV-2,
the new coronavirus that had surfaced in Wuhan, China. After killing thousands in China and Italy, it was
rampaging through the New York City suburb where Josh lived.

Big Law
Sam spent most of the next week in K&Ks office high above Downtown LA, billing eighteen hours a day,
handling all the calls, pretending to consult Josh, and inventing commentaries in his distinctively profane
Brooklyn idiom, pretending he was on top of the deal, when in reality, he was fighting for his life on a
respirator.