New York – Logan's Apartment
June 12, 2011 – Sunday, 6:42 p.m.
The city lights reflected in the windows of Logan's apartment, in an orange tone of late afternoon. The quiet of the environment contrasted with the hustle and bustle of Manhattan in the background. He was sitting at the table in the living room, his laptop closed in front of him, a cup of coffee still warm beside him, untouched for at least twenty minutes.
On the wall to his left, discreetly hung a frame with a small silver plaque that read:
Department of Defense – Office of General Counsel
Dr. Logan R. Moore – Senior Legal Advisor (TS/SCI)
He looked at it as if observing a chapter about to end.
The last 72 hours had been a succession of flights, meetings in Washington, classified documents and opinions personally delivered to Dr. Rowe. He had gone, done what he had to do with surgical precision as always and come back. But this time, the weight seemed heavier. Responsibility was starting to share space with exhaustion.
He took a deep breath, picked up his cell phone and typed the name: "Mom".
Video call — 6:45 p.m.
The shaky image of the camera revealed Clara Moore, sitting on the couch in the house in Queens, with the apron still tied around her waist and a dish towel on her lap.
"Son!" she said, smiling broadly. "We were just talking about you. Your dad's here!"
Richard appeared behind, with a beer in his hand, smiling too.
"Hi, champ! I was waiting for you to call. Are you back yet?"
Logan nodded.
"Yes, I'm back. I got back last night. Today was the first day I've been able to stop."
"You look tired," Clara commented, worried.
"Yeah... a little. But I'm fine." He hesitated for a moment. "Actually, I wanted to talk to you. Something important."
— Did something happen? — Richard stepped forward, looking more serious.
— It's nothing bad. I'm just... thinking about leaving the DOD.
The silence on the other end was immediate. Clara broke it first.
— Leaving... after everything you've built?
Logan smiled, understanding.
— Yeah. I've been thinking about it for a while. It's not that I don't like the job. But it's a lot of pressure, you know. It's been 17 years of this. Missions, reports, absolute secrecy. Sometimes it feels like I live in the world and outside of it at the same time.
Richard nodded slowly.
— And do you have something in mind?
— Jessica. Pearson. The partner at the office here in Manhattan. She's been offering me a position for years. She always said that when I wanted to leave the government, there would be a place there. A good place.
— And do you want to accept?
Logan took a deep breath.
— I think so. The salary is excellent. Much more than I earn at the DOD, even with the benefits. Plus, it would be more stable. No emergency travel. No nights reviewing JSOC operations. I could focus on criminal law, which has always been my passion. And I would be close to you.
Clara leaned against her chest.
— You already help so much, my son. You send money every month, you paid for our health insurance, you helped fix the roof... And yet you are always far away, isolated.
— I want to change that. Work here, have a life here. Go out to dinner with you, see you more often. That alone is worth everything.
Richard crossed his arms and looked at his wife. Then he looked back at his son.
— If you think it's time, then it is. You've always been sensible. And to tell you the truth, we miss you. A lot.
Logan swallowed. The lump in his throat arrived unexpectedly.
— Thank you. I needed to hear that.
Pearson Hardman – Jessica Pearson's Office
June 13, 2011 – Monday, 10:12 AM
Jessica was sitting with her reading glasses halfway down her nose, reviewing a contract when she heard a knock on the door.
"Come in."
Logan appeared, wearing a navy suit and his usual leather briefcase under his arm.
Jessica looked up and immediately noticed: something was different.
"Logan," she said, putting down her glasses. "What a surprise. Did something happen?"
He calmly closed the door behind him, walked to the chair in front of her desk, and sat down.
"I came to give you an answer."
Jessica was silent for a second. Then she folded her hands.
"I'm listening."
"I want to accept the offer. To work with you. Here."
She smiled, but not with surprise. With a quiet satisfaction, of someone who had been waiting for this for years.
"I had a feeling this day would come." Are you ready to trade the shadowy world of national security for the jungle of corporate law?
"As long as I can continue to practice criminal law, I'm more than ready. And don't worry, the DOD has been informed. Dr. Rowe understands. She said that if I ever want to come back, the door is open."
"I figured it would be like that. She has a lot of respect for you."
Jessica stood up, walked to her cabinet, and pulled out a black folder embossed with the firm's logo.
"Your contract. It's written just as we discussed: salary commensurate with a senior partner, full health insurance, annual bonus, and fredoom to decline cases that conflict with your ethics or previous experience.
Logan picked up the folder, flipping through it quickly, checking the key clauses.
"Everything is in order."
"Will you be maintaining any ties to the government?"
"Only as a citizen. I will be turning in my credentials in two weeks. My clearance will be deactivated. I… I'm ready to turn the page."
Jessica smiled, then extended her hand.
"Welcome to Pearson Hardman, Dr. Moore."
He shook her hand firmly.
"Thank you, Jessica. For believing in me all along."
Logan's Apartment—Night
Later that evening, Logan sat on the balcony of his apartment, a glass of wine in his hand, the signed contract resting on the table beside him.
He looked out at the New York skyline, feeling, for the first time in many years, a sense of belonging.
The previous chapters of his life were closing with dignity. The new began with purpose.
And for the first time, the future was not a minefield of codes, passwords, and war zones.
It was a possibility.
It was home.
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