The call came Tuesday morning. Rachel Zane, voice tight with stress.
"Scott. The firm is exploding."
"Define exploding."
"Huntley. The FBI investigation. Jessica just found out that Edward Darby knew Huntley arranged those murders and covered it up. She's furious. Harvey's threatening to quit if Darby stays. Partners are choosing sides. The whole merger is collapsing in real time."
I set down my coffee, processing implications. "How bad?"
"Emergency partner meetings. Shouting in hallways. Clients asking if they should take their business elsewhere. Darby flew in from London, locked in conference room with Jessica for three hours yesterday. Nobody's working—everyone's just waiting for the next explosion."
"How's Mike handling it?"
"Mike's overwhelmed. He's trying to maintain caseload while the firm implodes. Harvey barely talks to him—too consumed by Huntley situation and firm politics." She paused. "I'm calling because you should know. Your civil case—our firm's civil defense is basically unmanned right now. Nobody's focusing on it."
"Ava's defense is suffering?"
"Everything's suffering. The criminal case gets attention because Harvey's obsessed and it's media spectacle. The civil case is just... there. Unmanaged. Jessica's too busy fighting merger dissolution to coordinate defense strategy."
After we hung up, I pulled up case files. Trial was four weeks away. If Pearson Darby's civil defense was distracted by internal warfare, that created tactical advantage. But it also meant the case wouldn't get the opposition it deserved—wouldn't be tested properly before trial.
Thursday afternoon, Louis texted asking for coffee. We met at our usual place, neutral ground where we'd had so many crucial conversations.
He looked exhausted. Suit wrinkled, tie slightly askew, the particular wear of someone fighting battles on multiple fronts.
"How bad is it?" I asked after we'd ordered.
"Worse than Rachel probably told you. Jessica's filing dissolution paperwork to break the merger. Darby's fighting to maintain control through contract provisions. Harvey's threatening to take clients and form his own firm if Darby stays. I'm caught in the middle managing my caseload while everyone above me wages war."
"What do you need?"
"Perspective. Sanity. Someone to tell me this isn't career-ending chaos." He stirred coffee he wasn't drinking. "I helped expose Huntley. I gave information to FBI that started this investigation. If Darby finds out—"
"He won't. The information came through proper investigative channels. You're protected by the reporting chain."
"Maybe. But if the firm dissolves, I'm looking for work anyway. So are fifty associates who didn't do anything wrong except join a firm that imploded."
I thought about Louis's position—talented lawyer caught in merger politics, penalized for doing the right thing, facing professional uncertainty through no fault of his own.
"Focus on what you control," I advised. "Your cases, your clients, your integrity. Firm politics are partner-level problems. You're associate—you maintain your work, build your reputation, ensure that wherever you land, people know you're reliable."
"That's what you did. At Hardman's firm."
"Exactly. When that firm collapsed, my clients followed me. My reputation survived. My career continued. Because I'd built relationships independent of letterhead."
Louis nodded slowly. "Thank you. I needed reminder that firm chaos doesn't have to be personal chaos."
"It doesn't. You're good lawyer, Louis. Better than you give yourself credit for. Any firm would be lucky to have you."
After he left, I returned to the office and met with Zane for strategy session. Laid out everything I'd learned about Pearson Darby's internal crisis.
"They're self-destructing," I explained. "Huntley investigation proved Ava probably didn't order the murders, which strengthens her criminal defense. But their firm chaos means nobody's effectively managing civil defense. Jessica's distracted by merger dissolution. Harvey's consumed by criminal case and firm politics. Their coordination is nonexistent."
"How does that affect our case?"
"Tactically, it's advantage. Distracted opposition makes weaker defense. But strategically, it concerns me. The case won't get proper adversarial testing. We might win by default rather than on merits."
Zane considered that. "Your job is winning for your clients, not ensuring opposing counsel is adequately focused. Their internal problems are their problems."
"I know. But easy victories feel hollow."
"Then make sure your case is strong enough to win even if they were fully focused. Build argument that stands regardless of opposition quality." He smiled slightly. "That's what good lawyers do—prepare as if facing strongest possible defense, then benefit if opposition is weaker."
Back in my office, I reviewed trial preparation. Opening statement, witness list, exhibit organization, closing argument outline. Everything built to win against fully engaged Pearson Darby defense. If they were distracted, that just made victory more certain.
But Zane was right—building case that could withstand best opposition was professional obligation. Anything less was unprofessional regardless of opponent's circumstances.
That evening, Donna came home late. We'd been in the apartment a week now, routines still forming, but "home" already felt natural.
"How's the chaos?" I asked, reheating dinner I'd made earlier.
She collapsed on the couch. "Exhausting. Harvey's working twenty-hour days on Ava's criminal defense while fighting to expel Darby. Jessica's managing clients who are threatening to leave, partners who are choosing sides, associates who are panicking about their futures. The whole place feels like it's collapsing."
"Do you want to leave?"
She was quiet for a moment. "Not yet. But I'm thinking about it more seriously. I've been Harvey's secretary for twelve years. Maybe it's time for something different."
"Like what?"
"I don't know. Consulting. Operations. Firm management. Something where I'm building rather than just supporting someone else's career." She looked at me. "Is that crazy? Walking away from secure position because I want more?"
"No. It's growth. Recognizing when you've outgrown a role and being willing to risk change for something better."
"Says the man who's changed firms twice in two years."
"Exactly. And each change was improvement. Pearson Hardman to Hardman & Associates taught me about principles versus pragmatism. Hardman & Associates to Zane taught me about values alignment. Change enabled growth."
"But you changed because you were forced out or firms collapsed. I'd be choosing to leave."
"That's even better. Proactive choice instead of reactive necessity."
She moved closer, head on my shoulder. "Thank you. For making leaving feel like growth instead of failure."
"Always. We're partners. Your career matters as much as mine."
Tomorrow would bring more developments. The investigation would progress. The firm politics would intensify. My case would march toward trial.
But tonight was just us, in our home, supporting each other through professional chaos.
That stability—domestic normalcy amid career turbulence—was worth more than any tactical advantage or strategic victory.
The System could calculate probabilities and assess outcomes. But it couldn't quantify the value of coming home to someone who understood the work without being consumed by it.
That was beyond calculation.
And that was exactly the point.
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― DECREE ―
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