conversations.from: human
conversations.value: What is a description for a book titled The Associate about Daniel, Daniel's, Ames with the genre: Mystery, Thriller & Suspense, Thrillers & Suspense?
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: Daniel Ames, a blue-collar associate at a preppy, white-shoe law firm, gets snookered by a pretty colleague into reviewing thousands of pages of documents. The client, a pharmaceutical company, is charged with falsifying test results on a new drug that appears to cause horrendous birth defects. Daniel is sure the company didn't do it, but among all the documents he overlooks a letter that could destroy his client's defense. The opposing counsel gets hold of it, and the next thing you know, Daniel's smack in the middle of a murder as well as the attendant legal fraud and chicanery. Who else, besides its manufacturer, wants the truth about the drug trials covered up? Whose body, charred almost beyond recognition, was found in the lab along with a score of dead test monkeys? And what's the connection between a double kidnapping and murder that happened years ago in Arizona and the headline-grabbing lawyer that's trying to pin the blame on Daniel's client for the drug's terrible effects?
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Delete the last sentence.
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: Daniel Ames, a blue-collar associate at a preppy, white-shoe law firm, gets snookered by a pretty colleague into reviewing thousands of pages of documents. The client, a pharmaceutical company, is charged with falsifying test results on a new drug that appears to cause horrendous birth defects. Daniel is sure the company didn't do it, but among all the documents he overlooks a letter that could destroy his client's defense. The opposing counsel gets hold of it, and the next thing you know, Daniel's smack in the middle of a murder as well as the attendant legal fraud and chicanery.
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: What is the first five paragraphs for this book?
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: The Associate
  The law firm of Finley & Figg referred to itself as a "boutique firm." This misnomer was inserted as often as possible into routine conversations, and it even appeared in print in some of the various schemes hatched by the partners to solicit business. When used properly, it implied that Finley & Figg was something above your average two-bit operation. Boutique, as in small, gifted, and expert in one specialized area. Boutique, as in pretty cool and chic, right down to the Frenchness of the word itself. Boutique, as in thoroughly happy to be small, selective, and prosperous.
  Except for its size, it was none of these things. Finley & Figg's scam was hustling injury cases, a daily grind that required little skill or creativity and would never be considered cool or sexy. Profits were as elusive as status. The firm was small because it couldn't afford to grow. It was selective only because no one wanted to work there, including the two men who owned it. Even its location suggested a monotonous life out in the bush leagues. With a Vietnamese massage parlor to its left and a lawn mower repair shop to its right, it was clear at a casual glance that Finley & Figg was not prospering. There was another boutique firm directly across the street—hated rivals—and more lawyers around the corner. In fact, the neighborhood was teeming with lawyers, some working alone, others in small firms, others still in versions of their own little boutiques.
  F&F's address was on Preston Avenue, a busy street filled with old bungalows now converted and used for all manner of commercial activity. There was retail (liquor, cleaners, massages) and professional (legal, dental, lawn mower repair) and culinary (enchiladas, baklava, and pizza to go). Oscar Finley had won the building in a lawsuit twenty years earlier. What the address lacked in prestige it sort of made up for in location. Two doors away was the intersection of Preston, Beech, and Thirty-eighth, a chaotic convergence of asphalt and traffic that guaranteed at least one good car wreck a week, and often more. F&F's annual overhead was covered by collisions that happened less than one hundred yards away. Other law firms, boutique and otherwise, were often prowling the area in hopes of finding an available, cheap bungalow from which their hungry lawyers could hear the actual squeal of tires and crunching of metal.
  With only two attorneys/partners, it was of course mandatory that one be declared the senior and the other the junior. The senior partner was Oscar Finley, age sixty-two, a thirty-year survivor of the bareknuckle brand of law found on the tough streets of southwest Chicago. Oscar had once been a beat cop but got himself terminated for cracking skulls. He almost went to jail but instead had an awakening and went to college, then law school. When no firms would hire him, he hung out his own little shingle and started suing anyone who came near. Thirty-two years later, he found it hard to believe that for thirty-two years he'd wasted his career suing for past-due accounts receivable, fender benders, slip-and-falls, and quickie divorces. He was still married to his first wife, a terrifying woman he wanted to sue every day for his own divorce. But he couldn't afford it. After thirty-two years of lawyering, Oscar Finley couldn't afford much of anything.
  His junior partner—and Oscar was prone to say things like, "I'll get my junior partner to handle it," when trying to impress judges and other lawyers and especially prospective clients—was Wally Figg, age forty-five. Wally fancied himself a hardball litigator, and his blustery ads promised all kinds of aggressive behavior. "We Fight for Your Rights!" and "Insurance Companies Fear Us!" and "We Mean Business!" Such ads could be seen on park benches, city transit buses, cabs, high school football programs, even telephone poles, though this violated several ordinances. The ads were not seen in two crucial markets—television and billboards. Wally and Oscar were still fighting over these. Oscar refused to spend the money—both types were horribly expensive—and Wally was still scheming. His dream was to see his smiling face and slick head on television saying dreadful things about insurance companies while promising huge settlements to injured folks wise enough to call his toll-free number.
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: What is another paragraph?
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: David's head was spinning. He heard Al's voice but didn't comprehend what he was saying. Lurch was a few feet away, staring, puzzled, as if watching a car wreck. The elevator pinged again, a different sound, and the door began to close. Al said something else, even reached out a hand as if to help. Suddenly David spun and his leaden feet came to life. He bolted for the elevator and made a diving reentry just as the door slammed shut. The last thing he heard from the outside was Al's panicked voice.
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Swap the first and the last sentence.
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: The last thing he heard from the outside was Al's panicked voice. He heard Al's voice but didn't comprehend what he was saying. Lurch was a few feet away, staring, puzzled, as if watching a car wreck. The elevator pinged again, a different sound, and the door began to close. Al said something else, even reached out a hand as if to help. Suddenly David spun and his leaden feet came to life. He bolted for the elevator and made a diving reentry just as the door slammed shut.David's head was spinning.
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: What is the last two paragraphs?
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: David put down his phone, sucked hard on the straw, then announced, "I'll have another." Abner frowned and said, "You might want to pace yourself."
  Abner slid the third Bloody Mary across the counter and said, "Looks like you're on the right track, pal. Cheers."