Chapter 43 – Strategic Connections
Pearson Hardman – Main Meeting Room, 8:30 AM
The sound of the antique clock on the wall reverberated discreetly through the glass-enclosed boardroom. Jessica Pearson sat at the head of the long mahogany table, impeccable as always: a tailored dark blue blazer, her hair tied in an elegant bun, her gaze fixed on the leather briefcase in front of her. The morning sun streamed in through the windows, gilding the metal of the chrome chairs and the glossy sheen of the paper reports.
She was waiting for Logan Moore.
This was no ordinary meeting. Jessica had received an informal invitation almost a whisper for a private conversation with one of the founding partners of Vireon Analytics, a Big Tech company specializing in data intelligence and predictive modeling for the public sector. The executive's name? Elias Kincaid, one of the few with free movement between the private sector and the spheres of national security.
And there was only one person capable of opening that door for her: Logan.
The door opened promptly at 8:31. Logan walked in wearing his usual dark gray suit, understated and sober, a light blue shirt, and a minimal patterned tie. He carried a small folder with handwritten notes one of his trademarks. Most people typed everything. He didn't.
"Good morning, Jessica," he said with a slight nod.
"Logan." She smiled, closing the folder. "Do you know why I asked to speak with you?"
"I can imagine. Vireon. Elias Kincaid."
Jessica arched an eyebrow, pleased with his quick thinking.
"Did he mention you?"
Logan sat down, folding his hands on his desk.
"He sent me an encrypted message on Monday. Said he was considering leaving his current firm and was looking for a firm with more 'strategic intelligence.'"
Jessica laughed.
"That sounds like a fancy definition for 'someone who understands DOD and private sector code at the same time.'" — Basically. And you know he doesn't trust easily.
She leaned forward, resting her elbows on the table.
"And he trusts you."
Logan didn't smile, but his gaze softened.
"We worked together from 2009 to 2013 on a task force with DARPA. He was the CTO of a private consortium. I was advising on data security issues. Elias delivered solutions that saved the Department of Defense $2.4 billion over five years."
Jessica nodded slowly.
"And now he's trying to renegotiate contracts with DHS, but he wants a firm that can shield him. He's afraid a malicious investigation will destroy his reputation before the bidding is even over."
"That checks out," Logan said. "And you want me to bridge the gap?"
"I want more than that," she said. "I want him to choose Pearson Hardman because he trusts you." I want him to know that he'll be more protected here than anywhere else.
Logan opened the folder and pulled out a sheet of coded notes.
"He will be. But we need to approach him in the right place. Elias doesn't respond to corporate dinners or secretarial calls. He needs direct contact. I need to talk to him face to face."
Jessica smiled.
"I've already scheduled the dinner. Tomorrow, 7:30 p.m. Private room at The Modern."
Logan raised his eyebrows, mildly impressed.
"You're ahead of schedule."
"I'm Jessica Pearson."
Private Dinner – The Modern, Manhattan, 7:32 p.m.
The private room was elegant but not ostentatious. It felt more like an extension of MoMA than a restaurant. A central metal sculpture and wood paneling softened the low light. Elias Kincaid sat across from Logan, in a fine wool suit, with neatly trimmed gray hair, a piercing gaze, and the posture of a retired military man even though he'd never served.
"Logan Moore," Elias said with a half smile. "It's been a while."
"Five years since the last ForceNet meeting," Logan replied, shaking his hand firmly. "You haven't changed much."
"You have," Elias replied. "Did you leave the DOD?"
"After almost two decades, I thought it was time to use my skills in a different way."
Elias raised his wine glass.
"Jessica Pearson is a smart woman."
"And loyal," Logan added. "She understands that real power comes not from rhetoric, but from anticipation. She knows how to protect a name. And she'll protect yours."
Elias studied Logan for a few seconds. Then he leaned back a little in his chair.
"You know what I fear, Logan?"
"That politics will contaminate algorithms. That security will give way to convenience."
"Exactly."
"Then you need someone who can translate binary code into legal defense." And someone who, when the DOJ comes knocking, knows exactly how to respond.
Elias smiled.
"And you would do that?"
Logan looked him in the eye, straight and unhesitating.
"I already have."
The silence that followed was thick but comfortable. Elias took another sip of his wine.
"Pearson Hardman has my interest. I'll send you the preliminary contract tomorrow. With one clause: you'll be my lead attorney. No replacements.
Logan just nodded.
— Deal.
Next Day – Jessica's Office, 9:45 AM
Jessica received Elias's email while she was still reviewing other documents. She read it twice, as if she couldn't believe the "yes" had come so quickly.
She rang the phone on her desk.
— Donna, please get Logan here.
Two minutes later, Logan walked in.
— He signed it, she said, holding up the paper. "You brought him here."
Logan just nodded.
— Now you have Vireon. And that will open the doors for four other companies that orbit the same axis.
Jessica got up from her chair, crossing her arms in front of the window.
— I wanted to ask you something, Logan.
— Sure.
— Why did you accept to work here?
Logan thought for a moment.
— Because here, I can protect people who are trying to do the right thing — he replied. — And because you gave me freedom. Trust.
Jessica turned to him, with a slight smile.
— And you gave me something no one else could. Not just a client... but a future. With security.
Logan only responded with a slight nod.
And in that moment, Pearson Hardman was not just another elite law firm. Now, it was a strategic hub, capable of dealing with the invisible forces that move the gears of national security and the private sector.
All because Logan Moore with his calm demeanor, lethal intelligence, and quiet loyalty had chosen this place as his new mission.
And for Jessica Pearson, this was just the beginning.
Chapter 44 – When Pride Must Listen to Reason
Pearson Hardman, 6:12 p.m. – Harvey Specter's Office
Golden late afternoon light filtered through the partially open blinds, casting thin lines across the dark wood of the shelves and the impeccably organized glass table. Harvey Specter leaned against the windowsill, tense, arms crossed over his chest. His dark gray suit looked like armor, but at that moment he carried the weight of a decision he did not want to make.
"I hate this," he said after a long silence.
Mike Ross sat on the black leather couch next to the coffee table, with the worried expression of someone who had already reviewed the court records for the third time that day.
"Harvey, I know. But the prosecutor's accusation is based on parallel conduct and connections to international bank fraud. This is getting too far into criminal territory.
"And I can handle it," Harvey snapped, stepping away from the window. "I've won cases like this before."
"Not like this," Mike said firmly. "The client was associated, albeit indirectly, with transactions made by a Hong Kong-based shell company that has a history of influence peddling and tax evasion. If the prosecution can tie him to that with any circumstantial evidence, we lose."
Harvey huffed. He ran an impatient hand through his hair and began to pace.
"You want to call Logan, is that it?"
Mike hesitated.
"I'm saying… maybe it's time to ask someone who's been through this firsthand. Someone who's handled federal cases, who understands how the DOJ and DOD think."
Harvey stopped pacing.
"He's a criminal consultant. And he's new here."
"But you saw what he did on the Vireon case." He dismantled the case before we even got to the first full hearing. Rachel told me his arguments sounded like something out of a movie.
"And maybe I'd prefer a script that's less Hollywood and more Specterian," Harvey teased with a half-smile.
Mike responded with a skeptical look.
"Even if it costs the case?"
The door opened with a soft click.
"Are you two going to keep weighing who's right, or are you finally going to accept the obvious?" Donna Paulsen said, walking in with a glass of scotch and the sharp look of someone who had foreseen this impasse since the beginning of the week.
Harvey took the glass from her hand without question, taking a sip.
"It's not a matter of pride," he murmured.
"Of course it is," Donna replied, crossing her arms. "You always thought you were the best lawyer here. And most of the time, you are. But now we have someone with 17 years of experience in military criminal law, national security, and federal secrecy. If anyone can read the fine print of this case before the prosecution builds a sandcastle, it's him."
Harvey didn't answer right away. He sat on the edge of the desk, staring at the glass in his hand.
"Have you talked to him yet?"
"No," Mike replied. "I waited for you."
"What if I said I didn't want to bring him into this?"
"Then you're putting your client at risk out of vanity," Donna added without hesitation. "And you've never been that kind of lawyer, Harvey."
Silence fell again.
Finally, Harvey took a deep breath. His jaw clenched before he looked at Mike.
"Okay. But I'll talk to him."
Next Day – Logan Moore's Office, 9:05 AM
The space was meticulously organized. A corkboard with hand-drawn markings, two monitors, a bookshelf with volumes on Criminal Law, Counterintelligence, and Legal Analysis of Conflicts of Interest in Government Contracts. Logan was reviewing a report with headphones on when a knock on the door interrupted the silence.
"Come in."
Harvey entered without ceremony, hands in pockets and a neutral face, as if this were just another ordinary day.
"Logan."
"Harvey." Logan took off his headphones, adjusting his chair so he was facing the front. "Can I help you?"
"You can. If you want."
"I'm listening."
Harvey took a deep breath, moving closer to the chair in front of the desk.
"We're dealing with a complicated case. The CEO of a financial holding company is being charged with fraud, but the charge is based on an indirect link to transactions made by an offshore company with a history of serious crimes."
Logan said nothing. He just raised an eyebrow, signaling that there was more.
— The prosecution found records of emails exchanged between him and one of the account intermediaries in Hong Kong. They are trying to claim that he knew about the illicit origin of the money and authorized part of the transfers.
— Have you managed to prove otherwise?
— Not yet. We suspect that the emails were partially manipulated, but the private forensics team has not yet completed their report.
Logan leaned back in his chair, crossing his hands over his chest.
— And you want my help?
Harvey looked him in the eye.
— Yes.
Logan held his gaze steadily. After a few seconds, he nodded.
— All good. But I want to see everything. Records, forensics, client history, contracts, internal communications. And I want access to the server backups, if possible.
"It can be done," Harvey replied.
"And one more thing," Logan added. "I want Rachel Zane on the team. She was one of the quickest minds I've worked with here. And she has recent experience with me."
Harvey hesitated for a second.
"Done."
Meeting Room – 2:47 PM
Rachel was already seated at the table, with Mike and Logan at her side. Harvey came in last, a folder in his hands.
"The client is Charles Fairview," he said, handing out copies to everyone. "CEO of Fairview Holdings, headquartered in Manhattan. The bank statements that were attached to the indictment show transactions between subsidiary accounts and "LightBay International," a company headquartered in Kowloon, Hong Kong."
Logan opened the documents carefully, his eyes moving with practiced speed. Within minutes, he began highlighting points with a red pen.
"Here. Notice that all the transfers follow an unusual numerical rounding pattern," he pointed out. "This is typical of masked operations. Real transfers of commercial transactions always have irregular cents. Here we have exact amounts. 500,000. 1,200,000. This is laundering."
"Do you think it was intentional?" Rachel asked, leaning over the documents.
"I don't think it was Charles's doing," Logan replied. "But someone below him knew. And wanted to hide or finance something."
Mike frowned.
"And how do we exonerate Charles?"
"Let's start with the metadata of the emails. I want to see creation dates, sending IPs, cryptographic hashes. Then we'll cross-reference them with the times of the bank transactions and Charles's locations according to his work schedule."
"You want to create a timeline," Rachel said, already picking up her laptop.
— Exactly. If we can prove that he was in face-to-face meetings in New York while the emails were being sent from servers in China, we have a basis for dismantling the direct connection.
Harvey watched, silent. A part of him hated to admit it, but Logan handled the situation with a disconcerting calm as if every variable had been calculated from the beginning.
Two Weeks Later - Preliminary Hearing
The courtroom was packed. The federal prosecutor presented his arguments, trying to connect the dots between the emails, the financial transactions, and Charles Fairview's alleged involvement.
Logan stood with the cool elegance of a former government employee who knew the inside story.
"Your Honor, if you'll allow me," he began, his voice firm and unhurried. "The prosecution alleges that Mr. Fairview maintained active contact with LightBay International, aware of its illicit activities. However, we have here the original metadata of the emails presented, which clearly indicate that the emails were sent from an IP address located in Shenzhen, China, at times when Mr. Fairview was physically present at meetings in downtown Manhattan, as recorded by security cameras and witnesses."
He paused. The judge looked at the documents submitted, while the prosecutor frowned.
"Furthermore," Logan continued, "the forensic reports demonstrate obvious manipulation of the content of the emails. Some of the text was inserted later, breaking the chain of data integrity."
The murmur in the courtroom grew louder. The judge raised her hand for silence.
"Your Honor, based on this evidence, we ask that the aiding and abetting charge be dropped immediately."
The prosecution asked for time to review the data. But the damage had been done.
Pearson Hardman – 50th Floor Hallway, After the Hearing
Harvey walked side by side with Logan.
— I don't like to admit it — he said, giving a brief smile. — But you did well.
Logan didn't smile. He just nodded.
— The client will sleep soundly tonight. And that's what matters.
— We make a good team — Mike commented, joining them. — A good trio. You, me, and Harvey.
— Donna should be included in this — Logan replied. — She was the one who really brought me on board.
Harvey looked up, resigned.
— Of course it was her.
Logan stopped in front of his office.
— If you need me again... just knock.
— You bet we will — Harvey said, more serious than he seemed.
Chapter 45 – Secrets Beneath the Blazer
Pearson Hardman – Tuesday, 8:47 AM
The morning was still in its early stages, but Donna was already in full swing. Her coffee mug her second of the day was sitting delicately next to her keyboard as she sorted through Harvey's schedule updates.
The click of her heels echoed with purpose and purpose as she headed down the hall toward Jessica's office. The office was still quiet a kind of peace before the usual storm.
She turned down the hall toward conference room 3A, where she knew Logan was reviewing sensitive documents with Rachel.
The door was slightly open.
Curious, Donna slowed—not to peek, but out of habit, a mix of instinct and intuition. She was about to continue on her way when Logan rose from his chair to grab a folder from the side table. That was when she saw it.
A subtle movement. A fold of the blazer that opened just enough to reveal an outline. The subtle glint of metal. A black polymer strap. And there, for a second, Donna's world narrowed to a single point: Logan was carrying a gun under his belt, in a concealed holster.
She wasn't a cop. Or a military man. But she knew a gun when she saw one. Without making a fuss, she kept walking. She pretended not to see it. But inside, her heart was beating like a low siren.
Jessica Pearson's Office – 9:12 AM
"It's too early for that look, Donna," Jessica said, not taking her eyes off her tablet.
Donna walked in and closed the door behind her carefully. "Can we talk?"
Jessica put down her tablet. A slight sign that this was going to be serious. "Sure. What happened?"
Donna hesitated for a moment. "It's about Logan."
Jessica leaned forward slightly, interested. "Did he do something?"
"Not exactly." — Donna looked around, as if she were about to tell something confidential.
— I passed by the conference room where he was with Rachel. And... I saw it. He's carrying a gun. Hidden, but visible for a second. A waist holster, on the right side. Pistol. Probably a Glock, but I can't tell you the model.
Jessica didn't react immediately. She just looked at Donna with the serenity of someone who already knew.
— You seem too calm for what I just told you — Donna said, crossing her arms.
Jessica rested her elbows on the table.
— Because I already knew.
Donna's eyes widened.
— Did you authorize him to carry a gun in the office?
— It's not that simple, Donna.
— Explain it to me, then.
Jessica sighed. It wasn't a secret. But it wasn't something that was shared in hallway conversations either.
— Logan has a federal permit. Granted when he was still working with the Department of Defense. He still carries it today, within the rules. It's a national security carry, issued under very specific conditions. His gun is registered, legal, and he has formal training.
"But… why?" Donna asked. "Is he afraid of something?"
Jessica was silent for a moment.
"No. He's not afraid. But he knows the world in a way that most of us here don't. In 2008, during a security protocol update for TS/SCI-cleared personnel, Logan underwent training with JSOC operators. Hand-to-hand combat. Shooting. Infiltration. Everything. And he's carried it ever since, because he's learned that sometimes knowing something sensitive makes you a target."
Donna leaned back in her chair. The name "JSOC" wasn't unfamiliar. She'd heard it in news reports, war stories, black missions, covert operations.
"That's pretty heavy."
"Yeah. But Logan handles it with the coolness that only someone trained can. And I trust him. He told me when we first started discussing him coming here full time. He showed me his papers. His registration. His license. Everything legal.
Donna took a deep breath.
"I don't want to sound dramatic… but isn't it dangerous?"
Jessica shook her head.
"It would be dangerous if he were hiding it. Or if he were unbalanced. Logan isn't. He lived in the heart of the federal bureaucracy during the most unstable years of American national security. He lived through the aftermath of 9/11. He worked with SOCOM, with JSOC, with the DOJ. He doesn't do it on impulse. He does it on conviction. And honestly, if something were to happen here—which we never want—he would probably be the best person to handle it."
Donna was silent for a few seconds. There was something comforting and frightening about it.
"Don't you think the others should know?"
Jessica considered.
"They would know… if they had to." But the idea is not to make it public. It's legal, it's regulated. And he's careful. You saw why he's… well, you. Observant. Sensitive. But he's here to advocate, Donna. Not to be a security guard.
Donna nodded slowly. But the image of the gun was still burned in her memory.
"I just care about everyone's well-being. And his, too."
Jessica smiled lightly.
"I know you do. And so do I. That's why I trust him. And you can do the same."
Later that day – Logan's office, 5:21 p.m.
Donna knocked twice before opening the door.
"May I?"
Logan looked up from his papers.
"Sure, come in."
She closed the door behind her.
"I was talking to Jessica today," she began bluntly. "And… well, I saw your gun this morning."
Logan didn't seem surprised. He just took off his reading glasses.
"I get it."
"I'm not here to judge you, Logan," she continued. "But I was surprised. And worried."
Logan stood calmly, walking over to the window.
"You want to know why I carry, don't you?"
She nodded.
"Yeah."
Logan crossed his arms, looking out at the city.
— A few years ago, I was assigned to review a case involving an industrial espionage cell that had contacts with people inside private companies on American soil. One of those contacts had photos of members of my team. Addresses. Habits. One of the analysts I worked with... died. Officially it was a car accident. But I never believed that.
Donna held her breath.
— After that, Dr. Rowe recommended I take the training. I went through everything JSOC could offer to civilians with clearance. Combat. Shooting. Escape and evasion. I've been carrying it ever since. Always legal. Always concealed. Never to threaten. Just to... make sure I have a chance if the worst happens.
— Do you think the worst could happen?
— I hope not. But I learned the hard way that hoping for the best without being prepared is asking for a victim.
Donna was silent for a while. Then she said,
— You seem... very calm about all this.
Logan looked at her, with a tired half smile.
"When you spend 17 years dealing with secrecy, threats and things that will never make it into the papers... you learn to be calm. Or you break."
She nodded slowly. The image of Logan as just a brilliant lawyer now had other layers. Thicker. More real.
"Thanks for telling me."
"Thanks for caring," Logan replied, sincerely.
She smiled.
"Just don't scare me like that first thing in the morning, okay?"
"I promise to try."
Chapter 46 – The Exam That Was Never Taken
Pearson Hardman – Friday, 6:02 p.m.
It was the end of another intense week at the office, and the atmosphere, surprisingly, was relaxed. Jessica had authorized an internal competition organized by Louis Litt a sort of "legal trivia," with questions about the history of Harvard Law School, its illustrious alumni, historical cases, academic peculiarities, and life within the walls of the institution.
The reason? A way to integrate the new associates and test, in a light and fun way, the degree of familiarity with the "alma mater" that everyone at least in theory shared.
Logan, as a distinguished alumnus of Harvard Law, was there more out of courtesy than necessity. Sitting at the back of the main meeting room, he watched attentively as the pairs answered the questions posed by Louis, who got more excited than necessary, as always.
"Next question!" Louis announced theatrically. — What is the unofficial name for the underground tunnel that connects Langdell Library to Austin Hall?
Rachel raised her hand confidently.
"The Midnight Tunnel!" she said, smiling at Mike.
"Correct!" Louis applauded. "Point for the Ross-Zane team!"
Mike smiled, but Logan frowned.
Something was wrong.
Throughout the competition, he had noticed something strange about Mike Ross. He avoided the more specific questions. He hesitated when asked basic questions about professors who were legends at the college. He seemed to check Rachel with his eyes before answering. Small gestures. Too subtle for most, but not for Logan.
Logan crossed his arms, his mind already working as if he were analyzing a SOCOM dossier.
"Mike is brilliant," he thought. "But there's a gap between experience and technical knowledge that he tries to hide with charm and speed."
Logan's Office – Monday, 10:11 AM
He couldn't ignore it.
That morning, after the competition, Logan was alone in his office. His curiosity wasn't just intellectual. It was instinctive. His analytical sense, trained over the years to spot flaws and broken patterns, wouldn't let anything go by without it.
He opened his laptop, accessing his secure terminal.
"Okay… Harvard Law School graduate list, Mike Ross's class." He typed patiently.
He cross-referenced data with Mike's presumed graduation year. He checked the lists for 2009, 2010, 2011.
Nothing.
No Michael Ross. No M. Ross. No names like that.
The official list, maintained by Harvard, was restricted—but Logan still had his federal credentials for academic consultations for legal reasons, even though his clearance was technically deactivated.
"Maybe it's an alternate name…" he thought. So he used Mike's bar exam number to track the Harvard association.
Nothing.
His name was on the New York Bar Association rolls… but no institution listed.
It was impossible.
Logan sat back in his chair, processing what this could mean. He would never suspect on a whim. But now, with evidence, he knew what he needed to do.
Harvey Specter's Office – Tuesday, 3:32 PM
Harvey was deep in thought on a case when Logan walked in. No knock. No hesitation.
"We need to talk."
"Logan." Harvey looked up from the paper. "I thought you were out of the building today."
"You were. But this can't wait."
Donna, seeing Logan's face, quietly closed the door from the inside, sensing the tension in the air.
"Okay," Harvey said, setting his pen down on the table. "What's this about?"
Logan pulled out his chair, sitting across from him.
— About Mike Ross.
Harvey leaned in slightly.
— What about him?
— He didn't graduate from Harvard.
The silence in the room was almost physical. Donna swallowed. Harvey blinked, but didn't look away.
— That's a serious accusation.
— I'm not accusing. I'm asserting. I checked. His name is not on the list of graduates. Not even in variations. And to be perfectly clear, I was extremely cautious. I used only legal methods.
— That's none of your business, Logan, — Harvey said harshly. — That's internal.
— Harvey, — Donna interrupted, her voice low, — he knows.
Harvey stared at Logan for a few seconds. Then he lowered his eyes and sighed, as if carrying the weight of years in a single breath.
— How did you find out?
— Details. Behavior. The competition. He didn't know the previous dean's name or the slang of the courts. He dodged questions that any student would know. And his academic record is nonexistent.
"And why did you come to me and not Jessica?"
"Because you're his mentor. And because I respect you. But I also have a duty to ethics."
Harvey crossed his arms.
"He passed the bar. He's one of the best lawyers I've ever seen. That shouldn't matter."
"But it does. You know that. The DOD trained me to understand that integrity begins with small omissions. And you know how many things Pearson Hardman has faced in the last few years."
"He never hurt anyone," Harvey snapped. "Never used it for his own gain. He was thrown into this. I hired him."
Logan stood up.
"I didn't come here to throw him under the bus. I came to ask what you guys are going to do before this blows up. Because if I found out… someone else might."
Mike Ross's Office – Wednesday, 8:40 AM
Mike was reading a lawsuit when Logan appeared at the door. This time, he knocked.
"Logan! Come in."
Logan walked in, quietly closing the door.
"I need to ask you something, Mike." Eye contact.
Mike dropped the papers, worried.
"What happened?"
"Did you graduate from Harvard?"
The world stopped.
Mike opened his mouth, but couldn't answer right away.
"I…"
"It's either yes or no, Mike."
Mike looked at the floor.
— No.
Logan nodded slowly. No surprise on his face. Just a look of confirmation.
— Why?
Mike stood up, pacing the room.
— Because… I never had the opportunity. I had the talent. I'd been memorizing books since I was ten. But my life… was different. I got involved with the wrong things. The wrong people. Until one day, Harvey gave me a chance.
— And you passed the bar exam.
— Yes. I studied like crazy. Passed on the first try.
Logan took a deep breath.
— That's impressive. But it's also illegal, Mike.
— I know. But now… if I leave, it'll destroy a lot of things.
Logan watched him for a while.
— I'm not going to turn you in, Mike.
— You're not?
— No. But I want you to know that your presence here is only tolerable because you're good. Really good. And because you have the respect of people I respect. But don't step out of line. Because next time, I won't hesitate.
Mike nodded.
"Thank you. Really."
Logan held out his hand. Mike shook it.
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