Advanced chapters at:
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Liam's Pov
"This way, Mr. Harper."
We walked down the hallway, the hum of phones ringing, the shuffle of paper, and the occasional clipped voice of lawyers debating points of law bleeding from half-open office doors.
The air carried that faint mix of burnt coffee and old paper—smelled like work that never really ended.
Anna stopped in front of a modest-looking desk outside an office door. Sitting there was a woman who carried herself with the kind of composure only years in the job could give. Her red hair—half fire, half silver—was tied neatly back, and her sharp hazel eyes flicked up from a stack of papers with quick assessment before softening into a polite smile.
"Mr. Harper," Anna said smoothly, "this is Beth Potts. She'll be your secretary for now. Beth, this is Liam Harper."
Beth stood partway, extending her hand with the kind of confidence that made me feel like I was being introduced to her office, not the other way around.
"Pleasure, Mr. Harper. Welcome to the District Attorney's office. Don't worry, the walls aren't as unfriendly as they look."
Her handshake was firm, steady. Someone who'd probably seen a dozen hotshot lawyers come and go.
I gave her a small, respectful nod. "Pleasure's mine, Beth."
Anna glanced at them and nodded saying "I'll let you get him settled. Thanks, Beth."
Anna gave me a final professional smile and left, her heels clicking down the hall until she disappeared around the corner.
Beth then gestured for me to follow. "Come on, Mr. Harper. Let's get you inside."
She led me through the office door, pushing it open with a practiced ease like she'd been doing this for years.
The office wasn't glamorous—it wasn't meant to be. Not a corner room with sweeping city views, but not a broom closet either. A single window looked out onto the street below, the view modest but enough to bring in light that spilled across the desk. The space smelled faintly of paper and polish, the kind of place where work got done, not admired.
At the center was a desk—solid oak, scratched but sturdy—with a leather chair behind it. A filing cabinet stood tucked against the wall, shelves above waiting to be filled. On the desk sat a small nameplate, neat and plain:
L. Harper
Beth stepped aside, letting me take it in. Her tone was light but carried a layer of experience, almost motherly. "Not the biggest office, but trust me, I've seen worse. You've got a door, a window, and your name on the desk and office door. Around here, that's a win."
I set the light case box down on the desk, resting a hand on it. "I'll take it."
Beth chuckled, folding her arms. "Good answer. You'd be surprised how many rookies complain on day one. Those ones usually don't last long."
Eve's voice slid into my ear, dry and amused. [She's testing you and you're passing it. I think she'll be your best ally in this building.]
I didn't doubt it.
Beth arched a brow. "So, Mr. Harper… first day nerves?"
I just gave a faint smile and shook my head. "Not really. Just ready to work."
She gave a knowing little smirk, like she'd heard that line before but appreciated it anyway.
"Well," she said, tapping her desk outside with her finger, "you'll be seeing a lot of me before you see anyone else. So if you need something—files, coffee, or which lawyers to avoid when they're in a mood—you come to me first."
"Beth," I said, tone steady but not overbearing, "can you hang back a second?"
She paused at the door, studying me with that half-smile of hers. "Of course, Mr. Harper. What do you need?"
I flipped the lid off the box. Light. Too light which told why Cameron called a sure-lose case.
Inside, only a few papers, neatly bundled, but not much else.
I pulled the main file free and scanned the header, my eyes settling on the name of the prosecutor who'd handled the matter before me.
"Prosecutor Daniel Briggs," I read under my breath, then looked up at Beth.
Her expression flickered just slightly at the name, but she kept her professional mask in place.
"Alright," I continued, leaning back against the desk, the file in hand. "This is the skeleton of the case. What I need is the muscle. Everything Briggs had on Marcus Hale.
Beth arched a brow, clearly weighing my tone. Not demanding. Not flustered. Just direct. Confident.
"You're not asking for much, are you?" she teased lightly, but her voice carried respect beneath it. "Briggs wasn't exactly the best prosecutor in this office…"
I gave a small shrug, flipping open the file as if daring it to give me answers it didn't have. "Then that explains the box. Either he nailed it, or didn't follow through. I don't like working blind any information is appreciated"
Eve's voice purred in my ear, amused. [Smooth. Now she knows you're serious]
Beth tilted her head, then smiled knowingly. "I'll find him. I've been here long enough to know if any files were buried, so you don't have to worry about any buried documents."
I gave her a nod of genuine gratitude. "Perfect. You just became my favorite person in this office."
She smirked. "Careful, Mr. Harper, I might hold you to that."
With that, Beth slipped out, leaving me alone with the deceptively light box and Hale's name glaring at me from the file.
I sat down at my desk, the box of Hale's "case file" sitting like a joke in front of me.
A couple folders, loose sheets, nothing that screamed substance.
I reached for the pen stand, pulling out a yellow legal pad and a ballpoint.
For a moment, I tapped the pen against the pad—ready to jot—but then paused. My hand froze midair before slowly setting the pen and legal pad back in place.
[What's wrong?] Eve's voice slipped into my head, calm and curious.
'Notes on paper can walk away. Anyone with access to this office could flip through my game plan. But in here—' I tapped my temple lightly, '—no one can steal info from you, Eve.'
[True] she replied warmly, almost proud.
I smirked faintly and leaned back. 'Good. Then let's get to work. Open a new case file. Title: Marcus Hale.'
In my HUD, a fresh digital folder blinked into existence, crisp letters spelling out the name.
I pulled the first folder from the box and my Sharingan slipped into place. Scarlet eyes with one tomoe turned every page into slowed, dissected detail.
My eyes scanned and devouring text, cross-referencing facts, photos, court dates, police reports—all meshed into memory.
One minute. That's all it took to process the entire contents of the box.
I leaned back, letting out a quiet breath and my fingers started to lightly drum against the desk
'Alright, let's start with the story. Type this into Hale's file as a baseline.'
My HUD filled with Eve's neat columns.
'Marcus Hale. Right Now: Celebrity trainer. Once respected in pro sports coach, now catering to Hollywood and musicians. Recently stopped for reckless driving—arresting officers confirmed DUI (Driving Under the Influence). A vehicle search turned up a bag of Cocaine—Weight:150 grams and some unknown white powder. Lab tested, came back as lactose powder.'
Eve broke in, skeptical. [Milk powder? Why the hell would a trainer be carrying that around? And why would Cameron call this a sure-loss case? Cocaine and milk powder? If they prosecuted, there is a chance they would be laughed out of court.]
I kept my face blank 'You're right. A simple possession case, weak enough to fold under cross. But Hale lawyered up immediately. His public statement? "I was framed." And the public believed him. Worse—his celebrity clients stood by him. Social media is already lined with hashtags and sympathy and looks like we don't even have anything the make the Cocaine stick on Hale. Report say traffic cam's didn't pick up anything on how the Cocaine came into his possession.'
The notes filled my HUD as Eve typed in real-time. She paused, then asked, [So, what's the plan? You've got almost nothing.]
I leaned back, steepling my fingers. 'Then I start at the beginning. The arresting officers, their reports, their body cams. If there's a hole, I'll find it and one more thing—' I tapped the word "lactose powder" in the report, locking it in bright yellow on my HUD. 'Highlight the milk powder.'
Eve almost laughed. [Milk powder. Grocery-store common. Why even care?]
'Because it doesn't add up' I answered without hesitation. 'Getting pulled over for DUI and he is keeping lactose powder along with Cocaine in his car. Either it's nothing—or it's everything. My money's on the latter.'
The highlight burned into my HUD. I felt the grin tug at the corner of my mouth.
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Advanced chapters at:
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