Pushing open the creaking law firm door, a cloud of dust—carrying the musty scent of aged paper and cheap ink—hit me in the face.
This so-called 'Jack Law Firm' was actually the most remote attic in town. In the corner stood several wooden barrels for collecting rainwater, while the bookshelf was askew with scarcely any legal texts on it—instead, drawers were stuffed with various whitewashed IOUs.
Sean closed the door with a backhand, his drunken swaying from the street instantly vanishing. He stood upright, his gaze sharp and resolute like a hawk's.
"Alright, Jack," Sean said, stretching his stiff neck from the hangover, "your body might be a leaky bellows, but I've got a decent start compared to those who died in the Manhattan ruins."
He lit a dim kerosene lamp, its flame flickering restlessly within the shade. Sean yanked off his wine-stained tie and slumped into the swaying desk. His mind was in a frenzy—this was the dopamine rush that drives elite hunters into new hunting grounds.
In this wild and unbridled 19th century, he would use the knowledge, political acumen, and a mind honed by countless tycoons to carve out a path to the pinnacle.
" clatter ——"
Shaun pulled open the bottom drawer of the bookshelf and dumped all the files Jack had been handling over the past decade onto the table.
He began to flip through the pages quickly.
This inheritance dispute... Good grief, Jack, you're stuck in a two-year logical quagmire over a single false statement from the opposing witness? All you need is the land deed's measurement discrepancy to sue them for trespassing.
Furthermore, in this personal injury compensation case, the other party was clearly a hit-and-run scammer. You actually advised the client to settle out of court and paid three pigs as compensation? Are you running a charity organization?
Sean flipped through the documents at an increasingly rapid pace, his expression growing more animated. To this legal expert who had handled billions-dollar AI algorithm infringement cases, the cases Jack had taken over were like 'easy wins' —a surefire way to score points.
"You idiot, a total legal buffoon," Sean snapped, slamming a file on the fence ownership case onto the table. "Jack, you're not cut out to be a lawyer. You'd be better off as a church priest chanting 'Amen' all day."
As the kerosene lamp's wick gradually burned shorter, Sean's initially contemptuous expression slowly softened.
He stared intently at the latest ruling on the 'Three Sheep' case, his fingers gliding over the rough pages.
" incorrect ..."
Sean closed his eyes and began to mentally examine the legal logic of the era. He realized he had been arrogant earlier.
In 1885 America, though the smoke of the Civil War had cleared, the order built upon the ruins was steeped in primal bloodshed. The law here was not cold, rigid statutes, but rather the intricate web of human relationships, local protectionism, and even de facto compromises within the reach of a revolver.
Without modern trace examination, without transparent jury screening, and without long-arm jurisdiction, in this context, a witness's voice often carries more weight than the authenticity of a piece of evidence.
"Laws are imperfect, but power is perfect." Sean opened his eyes and gave a self-deprecating laugh. "Sean, you can't bring the arrogance of Manhattan's elite to litigate here. You must learn to speak the language of this era and reason with the logic of the 21st century."
He stood up and went to the old dressing mirror.
The man in the mirror had a scruffy beard, yet his deep-set eyes burned with ambition. Tonight, he resolved not only to organize the case files but also to relearn the legal codes of this era—especially those outdated customs buried in local chronicles.
"In this town, I won back those three sheep just to settle a personal debt."
Sean picked up a tattered map on the table, a rough sketch of the local railway network. His fingers traced the town's contours before settling on a distant landmark—the rapidly expanding hub city.
If I want to witness the true gilded age, if I want to find Ivy—perhaps she's here too... I must leave this place reeking of sheep.
Sean took a deep breath and picked up a quill pen to draft his first 'battle plan' for the new chapter, on the back of a stack of discarded case files.