Chapter Three: The Billable Hour
The "bullpen" of Blackwood & Thorne was not a place for the faint of heart. It was a sprawling open floor of glass partitions, the air thick with the hum of high-end ventilation and the frantic clicking of mechanical keyboards. To Elena, it looked like a high-stakes war room. To Leo and Mia, who were currently being ushered toward the elevators by a very reluctant junior paralegal named Gary, it was a "shiny playground" they were being unfairly evicted from.
"I'll be done by six!" Elena called out, blowing a frantic kiss as the elevator doors slid shut on Mia's pouting face and Leo's confused wave.
She turned back to the bullpen. Every head was turned toward her. The news had traveled faster than a high-frequency trade: The woman with the toddlers just got hired by the Ice King.
"Vance, right?"
A man with perfectly gelled hair and a smirk that suggested he owned at least one yacht slid into her peripheral vision. He looked like he was barely twenty-five, but his eyes had the cynical exhaustion of a fifty-year-old.
"I'm Marcus. Welcome to the trenches," he said, pointing to a desk that was barely larger than a TV tray, tucked between a filing cabinet and a water cooler. "Thorne sent over the Miller vs. Sterling files. All twelve boxes."
Elena looked at her desk. It wasn't just a stack of papers; it was a mountain. "Twelve boxes? He said a summary of inconsistencies by six."
Marcus checked his watch. "It's 10:15. If you read at a thousand words a minute and skip lunch, you might finish the first three boxes. Thorne doesn't give 'starter' tasks. He gives 'succeed or die' tasks. Good luck, Mom."
Elena ignored the jab. She sat down, kicked off her heels under the desk, and opened the first box.
The Midday Grind
By 2:00 PM, Elena's world had shrunk to the size of a legal pad. The Miller vs. Sterling case was a nightmare of corporate embezzlement disguised as "consulting fees." She was hunting for a needle in a haystack made of other, sharper needles.
Her phone buzzed in her pocket. A text from the temporary sitter she'd managed to scramble together on her lunch break—a college student from her old neighborhood.
Sitter: Mia won't nap. She says the "mean man" (Thorne?) stole her juice box. Leo is trying to flush a Lego. Help?
Elena closed her eyes for a split second, a sharp pang of "mom guilt" hitting her harder than the legal jargon. She typed back a quick: Give them the extra fruit snacks. I'll be home soon. You're a hero.
She looked up and saw Julian Thorne walking through the bullpen. The room went silent. It was like a predator entering a field of tall grass; every associate suddenly looked twice as busy. Julian didn't stop at the glass offices of the other partners. He walked straight toward the water cooler—and Elena's tiny desk.
He stopped, peering down at her progress. She had sticky notes color-coded by "Accounting Error," "Perjury Risk," and "Outright Theft."
"Box four already?" Julian asked. His voice was quiet, but it carried.
"Box five," Elena corrected, not looking up from a spreadsheet. "I found a recurring payment to a shell company in the Cayman Islands that doesn't match the CEO's testimony on page 402 of the deposition."
Julian leaned over, his hand resting on the edge of her desk. The scent of sandalwood and expensive espresso drifted over her. "The Caymans? That's the obvious bait, Vance. Everyone finds the Caymans. Look deeper."
Elena finally looked up. His face was inches from hers. He wasn't mocking her; he was challenging her.
"If the Caymans are the bait," Elena whispered, her legal mind spinning, "then the real money isn't leaving the country. It's being laundered through the domestic payroll."
A slow, genuine smile spread across Julian's face. It transformed him from an intimidating statue into someone devastatingly handsome. "Exactly. Check the 'janitorial services' for the Chicago office. They're paying three million a year for floor wax."
He straightened up. "And Vance? Tell your daughter I didn't steal her juice box. It was a security forfeiture. She didn't have the proper clearance for a beverage in the lobby."
Elena blinked. "You... you talked to her?"
"She was crying," Julian said, his tone turning indifferent again as he adjusted his cufflinks. "It was distracting the reception desk. I handled the situation."
He turned and walked away before she could ask how he handled a sobbing three-year-old.
The 5:55 PM Deadline
The bullpen was thinning out. Most associates were heading to dinner before returning for their "second shift," but Elena was still hunched over her desk. Her hair, once a perfect professional bun, was now a chaotic nest of curls held up by a stray pen.
She typed the final sentence of her memo: Conclusion: The 'floor wax' is actually a series of kickbacks to the Board of Directors.
She printed the document, grabbed the folder, and marched toward Julian's office. She didn't knock; she just walked in.
Julian was standing by the window, looking out at the sunset painting the skyline in shades of bruised purple and gold. He turned, surprised by her entrance.
"The summary," Elena said, thumping the folder onto his obsidian table. "Inconsistencies found, fraud identified, and I even drafted a preliminary cross-examination for the CEO."
Julian picked up the folder. He flipped through the pages, his eyes scanning her work with terrifying speed. After a minute, he set it down.
"Six minutes early," he noted.
"I have two toddlers waiting for a trip to the zoo," Elena said, reaching for her bag. "I don't do overtime unless it's an emergency."
Julian walked around the desk. He didn't look angry; he looked intrigued. "You realize that in this firm, 'emergency' is the default setting."
"Then I'll be the one to change the settings," Elena said, her exhaustion giving her a surge of boldness. She stepped toward the door, but paused. "Why did you help her? With the juice box?"
Julian looked back at the window. "Because she has your eyes, Ms. Vance. And she looked ready to sue me for emotional distress. I figured it was cheaper to give her a fresh juice from the breakroom than to face her in court in twenty years."
Elena laughed—a tired, genuine sound that made Julian's shoulders relax just a fraction.
"Goodnight, Mr. Thorne," she said.
"Julian," he corrected softly. "If you're going to be the only person in this building who talks back to me, you might as well use my name."
Elena felt a spark—a dangerous, unprofessional thrill—shoot through her. She nodded, tucked her hair behind her ear, and headed for the elevators.
As she stepped out into the cool evening air, her phone rang.
"Mama! Zoo now?" Leo's voice screamed through the speaker.
"Not now, buddy," Elena said, hailing a taxi with a practiced flick of her wrist. "But soon. Mama just won the first round."
Behind her, high up in the glass tower, a single light remained on in the corner office. Julian Thorne was still standing by the window, watching a yellow taxi pull away from the curb, wondering when "efficiency" had started looking so much like "enchantment."
End of chapter 3