The most consequential lateral move in Big Law memory unfolded over breakfast at Nougatine near Central Park in late May, when Gibson Dunn litigator Orin Snyder — whose client roster includes LeBron James, Bob Dylan, and Lady Gaga — persuaded Wachtell co-chair William Savitt to abandon the firm where he'd spent two decades. The offer included compensation of at least $20 million a year, a substantial raise, and what Snyder framed as unlimited upside at a global platform with 2,200 lawyers across 20-plus offices. Savitt, who had just won a landmark trial for OpenAI against Elon Musk and previously clerked for Justice Ruth Bader Ginsburg, took the deal — and brought five other Wachtell partners with him.
The departure shattered an image Wachtell had carefully cultivated for more than half a century. Until 2020, the firm had lost only one partner to a rival in over 50 years. Now it has shed roughly 16 partners since last year alone. When Savitt disclosed his plans, senior leaders made emotional appeals but declined to match the compensation offer. The news triggered a feeding frenzy, with rival firms immediately reaching out to remaining Wachtell lawyers and partners quietly calling competitors to weigh their options.
The rupture reflects a tectonic shift in the legal industry's power structure. New York's old-guard white-shoe firms — built on lockstep pay tied to seniority, small partnerships, and gentlemanly non-poaching norms — are losing ground to Chicago- and LA-rooted mega-firms like Gibson Dunn, Kirkland & Ellis, and Latham & Watkins, which generate as much as $10 billion annually and pay their top earners up to $35 million. Kirkland chair Jon Ballis put it bluntly: compensating lawyers based on years since law school graduation rather than contribution is not viable in a capitalist economy. At firms still using strict lockstep, the ceiling can be as low as $7 million.
Wachtell's situation is compounded by internal tensions. Savitt had been pushing for more resources for the litigation group and clearer succession planning at a firm still shaped by 95-year-old founder Marty Lipton and 79-year-old dealmaker Ed Herlihy. The week's drama was amplified further when one partner expected to join the Gibson Dunn move was placed on a leave of absence after being filmed kissing a junior lawyer in Central Park — a video that went viral on TikTok. A separate relationship between Savitt and another departing partner, first reported by the New York Post, was apparently not disclosed to Wachtell leadership.
Cravath, the other firm at the top of the prestige pyramid, is navigating similar pressures. Its share of major deal work by value has collapsed from nearly 25% in the 1990s to just 7% last year, while Kirkland and Latham together now handle roughly 30% of all deal value. Still, Cravath's leader Faiza Saeed is defiant, comparing the firm's model to a luxury craftsman — Brunello Cucinelli to Kirkland's Lands' End. Wachtell, for its part, insists it is having a record year and remains atop all league tables. Whether that narrative survives the talent hemorrhage is the question now hanging over elite law.
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