Chapter 8 – End of the Beginning
May 15, 1990 – Tuesday – Langdell Library Study Room – 11:17 p.m.
The room was nearly empty, except for Logan and Thomas, surrounded by open books, scattered papers, and empty coffee mugs. The windows showed a cold, rainy night. A typical late spring in Boston, where the weather seemed to follow the students' fatigue.
Thomas rubbed his eyes and sighed.
"I swear to God… if I read one more line about due process, my head will explode."
Logan, staring at a handwritten summary, answered in the hoarse voice of someone who has spent the entire day in silence:
"Just one more hour. Then we'll stop."
Thomas watched him for a moment.
"You don't know how to stop, do you?"
Logan didn't answer right away. He picked up his pen, made a note in the margin of the text, and only then looked at his friend.
— I can't afford not to finish everything I can.
There was a heavy pause there. Thomas knew what this meant. It wasn't just about exams. It was about Logan's parents. About every phone call filled with love and anticipation. About every night of studying that Logan treated as a silent promise to the two faces he loved more than anything.
"Okay," Thomas said softly. "Just one more hour."
May 19 – Saturday – Room 104, Austin Hall – 8:55 a.m.
The sound of ballpoint pens scratching paper filled the room. It was the last exam of the first year: Administrative Law. Logan sat in the third row, as always, with his posture straight and his eyes slightly squinted in concentration.
The examiner handed out the papers. Time began to run.
Logan read the statement calmly, underlining key words with a yellow pencil. His breathing was controlled. He knew the content was there, in his mind. He just had to calmly access it. Like he always did.
Two hours later, when he handed in his test, he walked silently to the door, took a deep breath, and stepped out into the gray light of Boston.
Outside, Thomas was waiting with his hands in his pockets.
"So?"
"It's over."
Thomas looked at him, as if he still couldn't believe it.
"It's over. Freshman year. We survived."
Logan smirked.
"It still hasn't sunk in."
"I have a suggestion to make it sink in."
"What's that?"
"Shall we eat a ridiculously expensive burger and pretend our student debt doesn't exist for one night?"
Logan laughed.
"Only if it's now."
May 20 – Gropius Dormitory – Room 216 – 9:43 p.m.
The sound of the pay phone in the hallway rang. Logan, already in his pajamas and reviewing an old letter from his parents, stood up and answered it.
— Hello?
— SON!
It was Clara, her voice trembling, as if she had been holding back tears for days.
— Hi, Mom.
— You did it. You did it. We're so happy for you.
Richard came on the line right after.
— Logan... my boy... you did it.
Logan sat on the floor in the hallway, leaning against the wall. He felt the weight of everything he had held in all year slipping from his shoulders. The sleepless nights. The fears. The pressures. The feeling of inadequacy that sometimes insisted on appearing.
— I did it... — he said softly. — And I only did it because you were always with me. Even from afar.
— We're always with you — Clara said. — Always.
— You're my anchor.
They talked for half an hour. About plans. About the summer. About the hope that Logan would be able to visit them in July, even if it was just for a week.
Before hanging up, Richard said:
— We love you, son. Never forget that.
— I love you too. With everything I am.
May 25 – Langdell Library – Quiet Room – 4:30 p.m.
Logan was alone. The library was almost empty. Most of the students had already left or were resting in their dorms. But he needed to be there. Alone. With his thoughts.
He pulled a letter from his backpack. Not just any letter. It was the first letter he had written to his parents in September, and they had returned it with loving notes.
He read it in silence. And then he wrote a new one.
Harvard Law School – May 25, 1990
Dad, Mom,
Today, I sat alone in this library to reflect. The first year is over. And, even though I was tired, my heart is at peace.
I remember when you accompanied me to the station in New York, with my backpack on my back and my dreams in my suitcase. I remember the first night in Boston, the fear of not measuring up.
But I did. And I still do. Because in every line I studied, in every answer I gave in class, there were your voices reminding me of who I am.
The road is long, but I'm ready. Because you taught me that winning isn't about being the best in the class—it's about being someone who doesn't forget where they came from.
With all my love,
Logan
He folded the letter and put it in the envelope. Tomorrow, he would mail it.
May 27 – Gropius Dormitory – Room 216 – 11:08 p.m.
Thomas was sprawled on the bed, listening to jazz on a small radio.
Logan was organizing his notebooks in a box.
"Man," Thomas said, "you get the idea that you don't have to live like you're about to go to war every day."
— Habit.
— You're a legend among the professors. I overheard two of them talking about your response to the Chevron case. One of them said you "have a mind shaped by the steel of ethics." The other just shook his head and said, "That kid's going to go far."
Logan laughed, still organizing.
— They exaggerate.
— No, Logan. They only see what I see every day. You were born to do this.
Logan looked at him, serious.
— Thank you for being with me this year. I couldn't have done it without you.
Thomas smiled.
— Brothers in arms.
— And in coffee.
May 30 – Last day before summer vacation – Back Bay Station – 10:00 a.m.
Thomas was traveling to spend the summer with his grandparents in North Carolina. Logan still didn't know if he would be able to visit his parents or if he would have to stay in Boston to work on legal research.
On the platform, the two embraced.
— Take care, bookworm.
— You too. Call if you need me. Or if you don't.
— It'll be weird not hearing you mumbling about jurisprudence at two in the morning.
— Enjoy the silence.
The train arrived. Thomas boarded. Logan stood there, watching as the train departed.
And then, he walked slowly through the city.
June 1st – Harvard Square – 6:12 p.m.
Logan walked with a coffee in his hands, observing the university buildings that no longer seemed gigantic to him.
They were still imposing. But he had grown enough to look at them as equals.
He passed by the library. He stopped in front of the entrance.
He smiled.
— One year.
And there, standing in front of the door he had passed through hundreds of times, he understood:
That wasn't the end.
It was just the end of the beginning.
Chapter 9 – The Silent Sower
June 9, 1990 – Saturday – Langdell Library – 7:52 AM
The city seemed suspended in time.
Boston in June was warm, but it still carried that chilly breath that came off the Charles River. The Harvard library, normally full of voices, footsteps, and urgency, now sounded like an old church—empty, echoing only the ticking of the clock on the wall.
Logan walked between the stacks with the same precision as always. He wore a white cotton shirt, dark jeans, and his inseparable black sneakers. The lights were dim, the sun had not yet touched the stained glass windows. The silence was almost sacred.
He carried three books: Model Penal Code and Commentaries, Principles of Criminal Law, and The Federalist Papers.
He sat at his usual desk, the fourth in the east wing, next to the window. He took out a ballpoint pen and a notebook and began to read.
He didn't have an internship. He didn't have the money to go back to New York. But he had time. And he had learned to turn time into a weapon.
June 10 – Langdell Reading Room – 4:14 p.m.
The clock seemed to be ticking at a different pace. Logan was already on his third reading session. He had summarized almost two chapters on mens rea (culpability) and was now analyzing the fundamentals of due process in criminal trials.
Then he heard footsteps. Slow, steady, not a student's. Someone older. More restrained. He glanced discreetly. It was Professor Matthew Leland, a specialist in criminal law and former legal counsel to the Department of Justice. A man in his early sixties, with gray hair neatly combed back and a gaze that silently surveyed the world.
"Moore," he said, his voice low but firm.
Logan stood up immediately. "Professor Leland. Good morning, sir."
Leland looked at the open books. He read the titles. He lightly touched the spine of one of them.
"You're studying criminal law… in June?"
Logan nodded discreetly.
"I want to start my sophomore year prepared. Sophomore year is when I'll start to focus. I've already decided that I'm going to specialize in criminal law."
Leland crossed his arms, curious.
"And what about my junior year?"
"National security law. I've already started reading about the legal aspects of balancing civil liberties and state security. Patriot Act, FISA… I know it's still early, but I want to be ready when the opportunity arises."
Leland was silent for a few seconds. Then he pulled up a chair.
"May I?"
"Sure, Professor."
Leland sat across from him.
"Logan… you know I read all the professors' reports, right?"
Logan looked surprised.
"I didn't know, sir."
— Well, I read them. Every year. Especially from first-year students. Because sometimes, among the notes and observations, something rare comes up. A name that appears repeatedly, in discreet but consistent ways.
— I... thank you, professor.
— You don't need to thank me. You need to answer me something: why Criminal Law? Why not Tax, Corporate, Environmental? These are areas with more prestige, more money.
Logan took a deep breath.
— Because I believe that Criminal Law reveals what is most human — and most flawed — in our system. It deals with pain, with loss, with fear, with the failure of society. But also with dignity. It is where law meets real life.
Leland kept his eyes fixed on his.
— And National Security?
— Because protecting a nation cannot mean forgetting the rights of the individual. The balance between force and justice is fragile. And I want to be on the side that fights for that balance.
Leland leaned back, impressed.
"How old are you, Moore?"
"Eighteen, sir. I'll be nineteen in August."
"And you already think so?"
Logan smirked.
"I can't afford not to think. I come from a family that fights for everything. My parents sacrificed everything they could for me to be here. I have to honor that."
Leland nodded. He stood up.
"Keep studying. And come visit me in my office next week. I want to show you something."
"Yes, sir."
The professor walked away. Logan followed him with his eyes until he disappeared between the columns.
June 13 – Professor Leland's Office – 2:02 p.m.
The office smelled of old leather, coffee, and wood. There were books up to the ceiling, frames with old photos of the Supreme Court, and a folded flag on the bookshelf.
— Come in, Moore — Leland said, his back to her, as he placed two cups of coffee on the table. Logan entered, tense but attentive. — Have a seat.
They drank their coffee in silence for a few seconds.
Then Leland said: — Twenty years ago, I worked at the Department of Defense as a legal consultant. I have friends who are still there. One of them heads the legal analysis team for homeland security operations. They are always on the lookout for young talent who can be molded with time, patience... and vision.
Logan was silent.
— I didn't call you here to promise you anything — he said. "But I wrote to this friend of mine. I mentioned you. Your name. Your conduct. Your ethics. Your mind."
Logan felt his heart beat faster. "Sir… I… I don't know what to say."
"Don't say anything. Not now. Just keep on the path. Don't lose focus. And when the time is right, the right doors will open."
"Why are you doing this for me?"
Leland stared at him. "Because you know when you find someone who isn't here just for themselves. You carry your family on your shoulders. Your name. Your heritage. And yet you don't complain. That's rare, Moore. That's… strength."
Logan looked down for a moment, touched. "I won't let you down."
"I hope not. But even if you stumble… get up quickly. Justice waits for no one."
June 17 – Langdell Library – 6:45 p.m.
Logan returned to his usual desk. He reopened his books. But something had changed.
He didn't know exactly what Leland had written. He didn't know if anyone would actually notice him in Washington. But for the first time since he'd stepped foot in Harvard, he felt like he'd been seen.
Not for his grades.
But for who he was.
And that…was bigger than any degree.
June 25 – Gropius Dormitory – Room 216 – 9:17 p.m.
Thomas called from his trip. The line was noisy, but clear enough.
"What's up, genius? Surviving boredom?"
"Studying."
"You never stop. But tell me…I heard a rumor that Leland called you into his office. Is that true?"
"Yeah."
"So?"
"He talked about my future. Said he mentioned my name to someone at the Department of Defense."
Thomas was silent for two seconds.
— Fuck... sorry. But... fuck, Logan. This is big!
Logan smiled, still in disbelief.
— I know. But... it's nothing concrete yet.
— But it's the beginning. You're on the radar.
— I'm trying to focus. Stay strong.
— I knew it. Since that first day. You weren't just another student. You were the man.
June 30th – Letter sent by Logan to his parents
Dear Mom and Dad,
The summer has been different. A little lonely. But I'm fine. Studying. Growing.
I wanted to tell you something new: one of the teachers called me to talk. He said he recommended my name to a government contact. I don't really understand what this will mean... but I felt like something changed.
And I immediately thought of you. Because if I ever get to where I dream... it will be because you never let me forget who I am.
I love you with all my soul,
Logan
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