⇚ 6 ⇛

❚ ❙ Washed-Up Lawyer ❙ ❚

My blood went cold.

The black serpent wrapped around the dagger stared back at me from the corner of the document like a ghost clawing its way out of André's grave.

No.

That was impossible.

I stared harder.

Maybe exhaustion was finally making me hallucinate.

Maybe London pollution had melted my brain overnight.

But no-

It was the same symbol.

Exactly the same.

Sharp black serpent.
Silver dagger.
Circular crest beneath it.

I had seen it dozens of times buried inside André's encrypted files before I fled France.

Always attached to offshore accounts.
Property acquisitions.
Private meetings.

And now it was sitting in Victor's paperwork like it belonged there.

"Diamond?"

Demi's voice snapped me back to reality.

I blinked once and quickly stacked the papers together before my expression betrayed anything.

"You alright, dear?"

"Yes."

Lie.

A terrible one.

Demi frowned slightly like she knew it too.

Unfortunately, kind women tended to notice things.

"Victor's expecting a client soon," she said gently. "Could you take those down for me?"

I stared at the box.

Then at her.

Then back at the box.

"Why?"

She blinked.

"Because he needs them?"

"No," I clarified. "Why me?"

Allison gasped dramatically beside her mother.

"She's doing the scary French voice again."

"I am not scary."

"You threatened to kill Archie."

"He proposed marriage within thirty seconds of meeting me."

"That's fair," Allison admitted.

Demi laughed despite herself.

"Please?" she asked warmly. "It'll only take a second."

That was how people trapped you.

Not with violence.

Not with fear.

With soft voices and tiny favours.

One moment you were carrying legal paperwork.

The next you were emotionally entangled with strangers and accidentally attending community barbecues.

I took the box reluctantly.

"Fine."

"You're a star."

"I'm really not."

"You are to me!"

I shut my apartment door before she could continue infecting me with optimism.

•••••

Victor's office sat directly beneath the apartments and above the pub like some sort of unfortunate legal middle child.

The frosted glass door read:

VICTOR HART LEGAL CONSULTANCY

Beneath it:

JUSTICE • INTEGRITY • ADVOCACY

I stared at the words for a long moment.

Then laughed quietly to myself.

Justice was a luxury.

Integrity got people killed.

And advocacy was simply arguing professionally.

I knocked once before walking inside anyway.

Victor looked up from behind his cluttered desk.

Tie loose.
Sleeves rolled.
Glasses crooked.
Hair slightly damp like he had showered in a hurry and lost a fight with gravity afterward.

He looked exhausted.

Not mafia exhausted.

Not the hollow-eyed fatigue of men who buried bodies at midnight and smiled at breakfast.

No.

Victor looked painfully ordinary.

Like someone carrying too many responsibilities and not enough sleep.

There was something strangely intimate about that.

"You ever wait to be invited in?" he asked.

"No."

"Of course not."

I placed the box onto his desk.

"Demi said you needed these."

His face changed immediately when he saw the files.

Relief.

Stress.

Then something darker.

Fear maybe.

Interesting.

"You read people too much," he muttered.

"You show too much."

Victor leaned back in his chair and rubbed both hands over his face tiredly.

"You always this pleasant in the morning?"

"I haven't had coffee yet."

"That explains the warmth."

I ignored him and looked around the office properly for the first time.

Unlike the pub upstairs, Victor's office felt overworked.

Case files towered across shelves and every available surface. Cheap coffee cups sat abandoned between stacks of paperwork. Plants wilted quietly near the windows as though begging for mercy. A tiny sofa near the wall held a folded blanket and pillow.

He slept here sometimes.

That explained the permanent exhaustion.

Children's drawings were pinned beside legal certificates on one wall.

Thank-you cards sat crammed between books.

One read:

THANK YOU FOR HELPING MY MUM NOT LOSE OUR HOUSE.

Another:

TYLER SAYS YOU LOOK LIKE CLARK KENT.

I looked back at Victor.

"You need a cleaner."

"I need several miracles."

"That's the same thing in London?"

Victor smiled faintly.

But again-

It never fully reached his eyes.

Something was wrong.

The office felt heavy somehow.

Like stress had seeped into the walls themselves.

"What's inside the files?" I asked casually.

Victor stilled.

Too quickly.

"Confidential things."

I reached toward the box anyway.

"Diamond-"

Too late.

I opened the first file.

Debt notices.
Eviction letters.
Court appeals.

Then-

A photograph.

A bruised woman holding a little boy tightly against her chest.

My expression sharpened instantly.

Fear recognized fear.

Victor gently took the file from my hands.

"She's terrified," I said quietly.

"Yes."

"Of who?"

His jaw tightened.

"A landlord."

"That's redundant."

Victor sighed deeply.

"You know, most people hear stories about abused tenants and respond with sympathy."

"I did respond with sympathy."

"You insulted an entire profession."

"Landlords are not a profession."

He stared at me.

I stared back.

Eventually he lost the battle first.

Interesting.

I picked up another file.

MARA ELLIS v. HAWTHORNE PROPERTY GROUP

My pulse slowed slightly.

Hawthorne.

The serpent symbol sat faintly stamped at the bottom corner again.

Victor noticed my expression immediately.

His shoulders tightened.

"You know the name."

Not a question.

I looked up carefully.

"You do too."

The room went quiet.

Victor leaned back slowly in his chair.

"They're the reason my career collapsed."

Now that-

That caught my attention.

I sat down opposite him without invitation.

Victor blinked.

"What are you doing?"

"Sitting."

"I can see that."

"Then your eyesight works."

"You're exhausting."

"I've heard that before."

Victor watched me carefully for a moment.

Like he was deciding something.

Finally he exhaled.

"Hawthorne buys buildings across East London."

"So?"

"So they force people out illegally."

Ah.

Bullies.

Predictable.

"They use intimidation. Fake notices. Utility shutoffs. Threats." His voice hardened. "People too poor to fight back usually just leave."

"And you fight them."

"I try."

Try.

Such a strange word.

Men like Frederick never tried.

They succeeded or people disappeared.

Victor noticed me studying him again.

"What?"

"You actually believe the law matters."

"It does."

"That's adorable."

Before he could answer, the office door burst open.

A woman stumbled inside crying.

Behind her stood a little boy clutching a dinosaur toy tightly against his chest.

Victor stood instantly.

"Mara?"

Rain soaked through the woman's coat and mascara streaked beneath her eyes.

"They changed the locks," she choked out. "They changed them while Tyler was still inside."

The atmosphere shifted instantly.

Victor's face drained of colour.

"What?"

"They locked me out," she sobbed. "They said if I called the police they'd tell social services I abandoned him."

The little boy hugged the dinosaur tighter.

Something unpleasant twisted inside my chest suddenly.

Children should not look afraid like that.

Victor grabbed his coat immediately.

"Where?"

"Mile End."

"I'm coming."

"So am I," I said.

Victor looked at me like I had announced plans to join the military.

"No."

"Yes."

"This is legal work."

"And?"

"And you are the least legal person I've ever met."

Fair.

Still rude.

Mara looked between us nervously.

Victor lowered his voice.

"Diamond. Stay here."

I smiled.

His eyes narrowed instantly.

"You're not going to stay here."

"No."

"Brilliant."

•••••

Twenty minutes later, we stood outside a miserable block of flats beneath cold London rain.

Grey concrete.
Broken lights.
Overflowing bins.

The building looked exhausted.

A locksmith van sat parked near the entrance while two men laughed beside it smoking cigarettes.

The second I saw them-

I understood.

Bullies looked the same everywhere.

Different accents.
Different clothes.

Same rotten eyes.

Victor approached first holding paperwork.

Calm.
Professional.
Controlled.

Honestly?

Watching him try solving problems politely felt medically concerning.

"The eviction was stayed yesterday pending appeal," he said firmly. "You received notice."

The taller man barely glanced at the papers.

"Did I?"

"You know you did."

The man smiled lazily.

Ah.

There it was.

That disgusting little expression men wore when they believed power made them untouchable.

My fingers twitched instinctively.

Victor noticed immediately.

"Diamond," he warned quietly.

I smiled sweetly.

He looked genuinely alarmed now.

Smart man.

The shorter thug finally looked toward me.

"What's she then?" he asked Victor. "Your secretary?"

Victor sighed heavily like a man moments away from developing a stress-related illness.

I stepped forward before he could answer.

"Yes," I replied pleasantly. "And I'm excellent at taking notes."

The thug laughed.

"Yeah? What you writing down?"

I looked him directly in the eyes.

"Which fingers you used changing the locks."

His smile disappeared instantly.

Victor closed his eyes briefly.

Probably praying.

Unfortunately for him-

God and I had never gotten along.

A frightened child remained trapped upstairs.

And I had already been polite for nearly two whole minutes.

That was personal growth.