The fluorescent lights of Vance & Steele buzzed with a frequency that felt like a drill boring directly into Lauren Hayes' skull.
She walked through the glass corridors of the thirty-fourth floor, her heels striking the floor with a rhythm that was too fast, too frantic. Every associate she passed looked at her, or at least, it felt like they were looking at her. They were sharks smelling blood in the water. They knew she was on the blacklist. They knew she was one mistake away from being erased.
But they didn't know about the silk rope. They didn't know about the slap. And about the sex tape.
Lauren clutched her resignation letter in her hand. The paper was crisp, white, and final. She hadn't slept. Every time she closed her eyes, she saw Grey Knight's face. She saw the red mark her hand had left on his cheekbone. She felt the phantom pressure of his thumbs on her chest.
It was insane. The whole thing was insane. She was a lawyer, an officer of the court, and she had assaulted a client who was already accused of violent murder. There was no defense strategy that could fix that. There was no coming back from the way her body had betrayed her, heating up under the touch of a man who might be a monster.
She had to get out. Now.
She reached the corner office at the end of the hall. The nameplate on the door read Petra Steele – Senior Partner.
Lauren didn't knock. She pushed the door open.
Petra was sitting behind her massive glass desk, looking like a queen on a throne of ice. Her red hair was coiffed into a sharp, architectural style that defied gravity. Her face, smooth and tight from recent injections, was an unreadable mask. She was on the phone, but the moment Lauren walked in, she hung up without saying goodbye.
"You don't knock anymore?" Petra asked. Her voice was light, but her eyes were dead. "I suppose manners are the first thing to go when one is desperate."
"I'm not desperate, Petra," Lauren said, marching up to the desk. She slapped the letter down on the glass surface. "I'm done."
Petra didn't look at the paper. She just picked up her coffee cup, taking a slow, deliberate sip. "Done with what? Lunch? Your nail appointment?"
"The Knight case. I'm resigning as lead counsel. I'm resigning from the firm." Lauren's voice shook, but she forced herself to maintain eye contact. "I can't represent him. The client is… volatile. The dynamic is unethical. I am removing myself before I do something that compromises the firm's integrity."
Petra set the cup down. The ceramic made a sharp clack against the glass.
"Integrity," Petra repeated, tasting the word like it was spoiled milk. She finally looked at the resignation letter. She reached out with a manicured hand, picked it up, and then, without breaking eye contact with Lauren, she slowly ripped it in half.
Then she ripped it again.
"Sit down, Lauren."
"I'm not sitting. I'm leaving."
"I said, sit down." The command lashed out like a whip.
Lauren hesitated. The conditioning of three years under Petra's thumb was hard to break. Her knees hit the edge of the guest chair, and she sank into it, hating herself for the obedience.
Petra leaned forward, lacing her fingers together. "You think you have a choice here? That's adorable. You think you can just walk away because things got a little… complicated?"
"He's dangerous," Lauren whispered. "You didn't tell me what he was like. He's manipulative. He… he touched me."
Petra didn't blink. She didn't gasp. She didn't ask if Lauren was okay.
"And?" Petra asked. "Did you lose a limb? Did he confess to the murder? No? Then I don't care."
"He crossed a line!"
"He is a billionaire, Lauren!" Petra slammed her hand on the desk, the veneer of calm cracking. "He is worth three billion dollars. Do you know what that buys? It buys the right to cross lines. It buys the right to be eccentric. It buys the right to be whatever the hell he wants to be."
"He wants me to do things that aren't legal defense," Lauren argued. "He wants me to participate in… simulations. It's twisted."
Petra let out a dry, humorless laugh. "Grey Knight called me this morning at 6:00 AM. Do you know what he said?"
Lauren went still. A cold dread settled in her stomach. "What?"
"He said that he will not work with anyone else. He said that if I replace you—if I send Steve, or Marcus, or even go myself—he will fire the firm. He will pull his retainer. And, more importantly, he will pull the funding for the Steele Foundation's annual gala, which, as you know, keeps this firm's reputation afloat in high society."
"Why?" Lauren breathed. "Why me? I slapped him, Petra. I literally slapped him in the face and ran away."
Petra's eyebrows shot up. For a second, she looked impressed. "You slapped him?"
"Yes."
"Well," Petra mused, a cruel smile touching her lips. "That explains it. He told me you had 'fire.' He said he's tired of sycophants. He wants a fighter."
"I am not fighting for him. I can't."
"You can, and you will." Petra stood up, walking around the desk. She looked small next to Lauren, but her presence was suffocating. She leaned against the edge of the desk, crossing her arms. "Because if you walk out that door, Lauren, I'm not just going to blacklist you from the legal profession. I'm going to bury you."
"You already threatened that," Lauren said wearily. "I'll work at a coffee shop. I don't care."
"I'm not talking about your job," Petra said softly. "I'm talking about the Davidson file."
The room seemed to tilt. The air was sucked out of Lauren's lungs.
The Davidson file. It was two years ago. A pro-bono case Lauren had taken for a friend of a friend. A young kid caught with possession with intent to distribute. Lauren had found a dashcam video that implicated the kid—it showed him handing off the bag. It was damning. In a moment of panic, wanting to save a nineteen-year-old from ten years in prison, she had 'misplaced' the file. The drive had been corrupted. The evidence vanished. The kid walked.
It was the only time she had ever broken the law. She thought no one knew. She thought she had covered her tracks.
"I see you remember," Petra purred, watching the blood drain from Lauren's face. "You thought the IT department just wiped the server by accident? I authorized that wipe, Lauren. And I kept the original copy. I have the logs. I have the timestamps. I have proof that you, a sworn attorney, destroyed evidence in a felony narcotics case."
Lauren felt like she was going to be sick. "You… you kept it?"
"I keep everything. Insurance is expensive, but necessary." Petra leaned in close, her perfume smelling of lilies and formaldehyde. "If you walk away from Grey Knight, I send that file to the Bar Association and the District Attorney. You won't just lose your license. You will go to prison. Obstruction of justice carries a heavy sentence, doesn't it?"
Tears pricked Lauren's eyes—hot, angry tears of helplessness. She was trapped. She was completely, utterly trapped.
"You're a monster," Lauren whispered.
"I'm a managing partner," Petra corrected. "Same thing."
Petra checked her diamond-encrusted watch. "You have a meeting with Mr. Knight at 6:00 PM tonight. At his residence. He was very specific about the time."
"Petra, please," Lauren begged, her pride shattering. "Don't make me go back there. He scares me."
"Good," Petra said, turning back to her computer. "Fear makes you sharp. Be punctual, Lauren. The DA's office closes at five, but I have the District Attorney's personal cell number. Don't make me use it."
Lauren sat there for a long moment, staring at the woman who owned her life. Then, without a word, she got up, turned and walked out.
She didn't go back to her desk. She went straight to the elevator, went down to the lobby, and walked out into the blinding midday sun. She felt numb. The city noise washed over her, but she didn't hear it.
All she could hear was the clock ticking down to 6:00 PM.