Anna arrived five minutes early for her first mentorship meeting with David Chen, her partner mentor.
She didn’t sit down immediately. Instead, she stood by the window in the small conference room, watching people cross the street below, all seemingly heading somewhere. She noticed how often she moved through her days without a clear sense of direction, busy and capable, relied upon, but never quite sure where it might lead.
When David Chen entered, she straightened up instinctively.
He smiled quickly and politely. “Sorry, back-to-back calls.”
“That’s okay,” Anna said immediately, too quickly.
David closed the door behind him and paused briefly. He agreed to be a mentor because Margaret asked him and, in theory, because he believed in developing people. In practice, he wasn’t sure what that really involved beyond staffing well and answering questions as they arose.
He had gone through the Mentor Guide the night before, mostly out of obligation. One line had stopped him mid-page: Don’t treat this as a get-to-know-you conversation. Treat it as the first real conversation you’ll ever have about her development. He picked it back up.
This meeting felt… different.
They sat opposite each other at a small table. No laptop or legal pad was present. Anna had brought a notebook and pen, neatly arranged in front of her. Next to the notebook was her copy of the Mentee Guide, the cover slightly creased, folded open to a page near the middle.
He wondered what she expected him to say and what what he was supposed to say that he had never said before.
“So,” David began, then stopped.
Anna waited.
He tried again. “Before we discuss anything specific, I want to ensure we’re aligned on what this meeting is and isn’t.”
Anna nodded, bracing herself.
“This isn’t feedback,” he said slowly. “And it’s not an evaluation. I’m not here to tell you how you’re doing.”
She relaxed slightly.
“What this is,” David continued, “is a discussion about how your work is interpreted, sometimes without anyone realizing it.”
Anna blinked, surprised by what she wasn’t expecting.
She anticipated questions about her goals or where she saw herself in five years and had prepared neutral, safe answers.
The Mentee Guide warned her specifically about this. Give honest answers, not safe ones. Your mentor can’t work with what you don’t share. She emphasized this point. Still, she prepared safe answers anyway.
The interpretation felt more risky.
David watched her process. He realized how little room associates had to remain uncertain about what was coming next.
“Let me start with something simple,” he said. “What do you think the firm cares most about at your level?”
Anna answered automatically. “Responsiveness. Quality. Efficiency.”
He nodded. “And what do you believe the firm assumes you’re developing right now?”
She hesitated.
“I assume… leadership,” she said. “Eventually. And business development, but later.”
David felt a familiar discomfort rising. It was the answer he had given himself years ago.
“And how,” he asked, “do you think you’re supposed to develop those things?”
Anna smiled, but it didn’t reach her eyes. “By watching. By doing good work. By… figuring it out.”
David leaned back slightly. He hadn’t meant to say what came next, but the pilot made one thing clear: silence no longer felt neutral.
“Can I tell you something candidly?” he asked.
Anna nodded, cautious.
“The firm expects you to be developing those things now. Not perfectly or publicly, but intentionally,” he said.
She frowned. “But no one’s ever said that.”
“I know,” David said. And for the first time, he realized how condemning that sounded.
He grabbed his pen and sketched two rough boxes on his notepad, leaving them unlabeled for now.
“You’ve probably been acting as if all your value comes from being excellent at your work. That if you just keep executing, everything else will reveal itself,” he said.
Anna felt exposed. That was precisely how she had been thinking.
“The firm,” David continued, “has been operating as if you’re building something else alongside that work.”
He labeled the boxes.
Execution\
Investment
Anna leaned forward.
Most associates devote almost all their energy to execution.
He tapped the second box.
But the firm assumes you’re dedicating some of your time consistently to things that don’t appear on a bill.
Anna felt her stomach tighten.
“You mean networking,” she said carefully.
“Sometimes, but more often, it’s things you’re already doing without realizing they matter,” David said.
He paused, choosing his words.
When a client asks for you by name. When you anticipate an issue before it becomes urgent. When you involve another practice group because you see around corners. When you take the time to explain your thinking instead of just delivering the answer.
Anna felt heat rise in her chest. She had always treated those moments as incidental, nice, but not real work.
David observed the change in her expression.
“The problem,” he said quietly, “is that you’ve assumed those moments don’t matter unless someone explicitly tells you they do.”
“And they do?” she asked.
“Yes,” he said. “They’re the start of everything that comes after.”
He muttered almost to himself, “We just haven’t been saying that out loud.”
Anna looked down at the notebook she hadn’t opened yet.
“So what happens,” she asked, “if someone never makes time for that second box?”
David didn’t rush his answer.
“They stay excellent,” he said. “And eventually… they stall.”
The word landed.
Anna thought about Sam and how calm his departure appeared.
David saw recognition cross her face. He felt an unanticipated pang of responsibility.
“This pilot,” he said, “isn’t about asking you to do more. It’s about recognizing that the firm has been expecting something it never clearly defined.”
He slid the notepad toward her. Beneath the boxes, he wrote:
85 / 15
Anna paused for a moment. She had seen that in the Mentee Guide—a line tucked into the preparation section: Your mentor may introduce a framework called 85/15. It describes how the firm understands your time and your trajectory. She hadn’t understood what it meant when she first read it. She might now.
“Roughly speaking,” he said, “eighty-five percent of your time will always be spent on client work. That’s the job. But the firm also expects you to dedicate the remaining fifteen percent to becoming the kind of lawyer who can lead, build relationships, and sustain a practice.”
Anna stared at the numbers.
“I thought that fifteen percent was… extra,” she said.
David exhaled slowly. “So did I, at your stage.”
Something shifted. Permanently.
Anna didn’t feel reassured; she felt oriented.
As the meeting ended, David got up and realized something he hadn’t expected: this conversation had changed his view of development just as much as hers had.
He slipped his copy of the Mentor Guide into his bag—he had brought it without fully intending to. One line from it had stuck with him since the night before: The associate will leave having learned something. Whether you do is up to you. He hadn’t believed that possible. He was starting to change his mind about that.
Anna took longer than she needed to gather her belongings.
“Thank you,” she said. “For saying it so plainly.”
David nodded. “You shouldn’t have had to wait this long to hear it.”
Anna returned to her office. The work that the work waiting for her hadn’t changed. The deadlines were still there, and the pressure remained, but the silence had shifted.
For the first time, she knew exactly what the firm expected of her.
She was seeing it.
David sat back down at his desk, staring at the notepad he hadn’t intended to fill out.
He realized, that he had just told a mid-level associate the truth he himself had learned too late, and that the pilot wasn’t just changing associates.
It was asking mentors to finally discuss the firm’s expectations.
The MSL Saga™, MLARD™, and the 85/15 Model™ are trademarks of Susan B. Silverman Consulting. The MSL Saga and all episodes © 2026 Susan B. Silverman Consulting. All rights reserved. Unauthorized reproduction or distribution is prohibited.
