The wall was wrong.
Harvey Specter didn't think that often—thinking was for people who hesitated—but the moment he stepped off the elevator, the thought landed with absolute certainty.
The wall was wrong.
Pearson.
Hardman.
Names carved into glass and legacy, earned through decades of war—courtrooms that smelled like sweat and blood, settlements that crushed companies, victories that rewrote precedent.
Harvey had fought for that wall.
Bled for it.
And now—
His eyes narrowed.
There was a new name.
Ace Charles.
It wasn't the name itself that bothered him. It was the placement. The symmetry. The fact that it didn't look like it had clawed its way there.
It looked… inevitable.
Harvey stopped walking.
Donna, a step behind him, followed his gaze. She felt it too—an instinctive tightening in her chest.
"That's new," she said carefully.
Harvey didn't answer.
He turned slowly toward Jessica Pearson's office.
"Jessica," he said as he pushed through the glass doors, "why is there a name on the wall that doesn't belong?"
Jessica didn't look up from her tablet.
"That depends," she said calmly. "What do you think belongs?"
Harvey scoffed. "Someone who earned it."
Jessica finally lifted her eyes.
"He did."
Harvey's jaw tightened. "I don't recognize him."
"That's not a requirement," Jessica replied.
Harvey stepped closer. "You don't put someone's name up there unless they've proven—"
"Harvey," Jessica interrupted, standing now, "do you know how old he is?"
Harvey hesitated. "Mid-twenties?"
Jessica shook her head.
"Eighteen."
The room went silent.
Harvey laughed once, sharp and humorless. "That's not funny."
"I'm not joking."
"That's impossible."
Jessica walked to the window overlooking the bullpen.
"Then watch him," she said.
Harvey followed her gaze.
And that's when he saw him.
The bullpen didn't slow when Ace Charles walked through it.
It adjusted.
Six foot seven, broad-shouldered, every step measured—not arrogant, not rushed. A perfectly tailored suit wrapped around a physique that suggested discipline, not vanity. Golden hair caught the morning light, not styled for attention, but impossible to ignore.
People moved.
Not consciously.
Instinctively.
Ace wasn't scanning the room.
He was reading it.
Microexpressions. Posture shifts. Breathing patterns.
Every lie.
Every fear.
Every ambition.
When he turned his head slightly, Harvey caught his eyes.
Gold.
Not metaphorical.
Not poetic.
Gold.
Harvey felt something he hadn't felt in years.
Assessment.
Not admiration.
Not curiosity.
Judgment.
"That's him?" Harvey muttered.
"Yes," Jessica said. "Ace Charles."
Across the bullpen, the elevator doors slid open again.
Mike Ross stepped out, clutching a file, nervous energy radiating off him like static. He didn't notice Ace at first. He was too busy trying to look like he belonged.
Ace noticed him immediately.
He changed direction.
Mike felt it before he saw it.
A shadow.
A presence.
He looked up—and froze.
Ace stopped in front of his desk.
"Michael Ross," Ace said calmly.
Mike blinked. "Uh—yeah?"
Ace tilted his head slightly.
"You're lying."
The bullpen went quiet.
Mike's heart slammed against his ribs. "I—I don't—"
"You're lying to survive," Ace continued. "Not to deceive maliciously. That distinction matters."
Harvey straightened sharply from across the room.
Donna's breath caught.
Ace raised a hand, cutting Mike off before he could spiral.
"Relax," Ace said. "If exposure were my goal, you wouldn't still be here."
Mike swallowed hard.
Ace's gaze flicked briefly—just briefly—to Harvey.
A challenge.
Then he turned and walked away.
Mike sat there, shaking.
"What the hell was that?" he whispered.
Donna didn't answer.
Because she already understood.
Ace Charles didn't guess.
He knew.
Harvey stormed into Jessica's office moments later.
"That was reckless," Harvey snapped. "You let an eighteen-year-old intimidate my associate?"
Jessica didn't flinch. "Your associate shouldn't lie."
Harvey clenched his fists. "You don't hand power like that to a kid."
Jessica stepped closer, voice low.
"He isn't a kid."
She tapped her tablet.
"Perfect recall. Identical memory. Predictive reasoning beyond measurable limits. IQ estimates stopped at ten thousand because the metrics broke."
Harvey stared. "That's not real."
"It is when the results are."
Jessica met his eyes.
"He got his name on that wall the same day Mike Ross joined this firm."
Harvey felt something twist in his chest.
"Before me?"
"Yes."
Before Louis.
Before Harvey.
Before anyone else his age had even passed the bar.
"That's why Hardman hates him," Jessica added quietly. "Ace broke the timeline."
Harvey turned back toward the glass.
Ace was at his office now—already assigned one, already furnished. He hadn't sat down yet.
He was standing.
Looking out at the city.
Not admiring it.
Owning it.
Inside Ace's mind, systems aligned effortlessly.
Legal precedent flowed alongside economi