Chapter 1 — The Offer

Lydia

The rain had been falling steadily all morning, streaking the tall windows of the March Carter Law Office with faint trails of water. From her desk, Lydia March could see the city below, its streets slick and glistening in the storm. Cars crawled along like beetles, their headlights fractured in the puddles. It was the kind of gray, muted day that often made Lydia feel at ease. Days like this promised fewer distractions, an opportunity to focus. But today felt different.

Julia Carter stood in the doorway, her auburn curls damp and frizzed from the humidity, and clutching a file folder to her chest as though it might anchor her. Her knuckles were white against the paper’s edge. The look on her face—a mix of hesitance and determination, with something unspoken flickering in her brown eyes—immediately set Lydia on edge.

“Julia,” Lydia said without looking up from the legal brief she was annotating. Her tone was sharp, deliberate, though not unkind. “Are you planning to hover there all morning?”

Julia stepped inside, her heels clicking softly against the polished floor. “I have something for you,” she said quickly, her voice tight. “A case. One I think you’ll want to take.”

Lydia finally glanced up, pushing her glasses higher on the bridge of her nose. Her green eyes fixed on Julia, unblinking, assessing. “I’m listening,” she said, though her tone left little doubt she was already skeptical.

The air was thick with the faint hum of the office’s air conditioning, the kind of sterile quiet Lydia usually found comforting. Not today. Julia’s nervous energy had disrupted the calm, and Lydia could feel the shift in the room like the charged air before lightning strikes.

“It’s... complicated,” Julia said, holding out the folder but hesitating as Lydia reached for it.

Lydia leaned back in her chair, folding her hands neatly in her lap. “Complicated rarely justifies the disruption,” she said coolly. “You know our criteria, Julia. If this is another corporate squabble, you can handle it. I trust your judgment.”

“This isn’t like that,” Julia said, stepping forward and placing the file on the desk with careful precision. Her hand lingered on it for a fraction longer than necessary before she straightened. “Just—hear me out.”

Lydia raised an eyebrow, her expression as unreadable as the cityscape beyond the rain-streaked windows. “Go on.”

“The client’s name is Rowan Black,” Julia began, her tone steadying as though she had rehearsed this. “He’s been accused of orchestrating a multimillion-dollar heist.”

Lydia’s lips tightened, her jaw hardening slightly. “And how does a con artist with delusions of grandeur fall under our purview?”

Julia took a deep breath, gripping the back of the chair across from Lydia. “Because the case is riddled with inconsistencies. Big ones. The timeline doesn’t make sense, and the key witness against him—well, he’s tied to Victor Steele.”

The name landed between them like a stone dropped into water. Lydia’s posture stiffened, her fingers curling slightly against the edge of her desk. Her expression didn’t change, but the temperature in her voice dropped. “Victor Steele,” she repeated evenly. “What’s his connection here?”

Julia hesitated, glancing at the folder again as though gathering her resolve. Lydia noticed the small shift—how Julia squared her shoulders, grounding herself. It wasn’t just nerves anymore. There was conviction behind her. That alone gave Lydia pause.

“Rowan claims Victor framed him,” Julia said. “He says this whole thing is a setup—Victor’s using him as a scapegoat to tie up loose ends. And honestly... it tracks. The prosecution’s evidence doesn’t add up, and they’re rushing to trial like they’re afraid of what might come out if this lingers.”

Lydia leaned forward, her fingers steepled beneath her chin as she studied Julia. “And you believe him?”

Julia shook her head. “I don’t know what I believe. But something about this case feels... off. Deliberately off. If Rowan’s lying, fine. But if he’s not—if Victor Steele really is pulling the strings—it’s bigger than one heist.”

Lydia’s gaze dropped deliberately to the folder. She didn’t open it yet, but the weight of it seemed to settle in her mind. Victor Steele. Just his name conjured memories she’d prefer to leave buried—cases derailed by his unseen influence, clients crushed under the weight of his power. She had never faced him directly before, but she had seen the wreckage he left behind: careers silenced, truths buried, lives ruined. He was the kind of man who thrived in the cracks of the system, where morality twisted into leverage.

Finally, she opened the file. The first page was a mugshot of Rowan Black. He stared out from the grainy photograph with steel-blue eyes that seemed to challenge the camera’s authority. His sandy blond hair was tousled just enough to suggest carelessness, and there was a faint smirk tugging at his mouth, as though he were in on a joke no one else understood. Lydia’s lips pressed into a thin line.

“Charming,” she said dryly, folding the file shut again. “Men like him always think they can outwit the system.”

“Maybe,” Julia said, undeterred. She leaned forward slightly, her voice gaining urgency. “But what if he’s right? And what if this is our chance to expose Steele for what he really is? If we could prove it—”

“You’re asking me to take on a case that could put this entire office in Steele’s crosshairs,” Lydia interrupted, her tone sharp but not unkind. “You understand that, don’t you?”

Julia nodded, her gaze steady. “I do. But this is exactly the kind of case we built this office to handle. And if there’s even a chance that Rowan’s telling the truth...” She trailed off, but the unspoken words hung in the air. If not us, then who?

Lydia turned her chair slightly, her gaze drifting to the rain-streaked window. The city below looked almost frozen, the storm dulling its usual noise and motion. She could hear Julia shifting in her seat, waiting, but Lydia didn’t speak right away. There was a flicker of something—curiosity, maybe, or unease—gnawing at the edges of her thoughts.

“Have you spoken to him?” she asked finally, her voice measured.

“Briefly,” Julia said. “He’s... something. You’ll see.”

Lydia’s lips curved into the faintest shadow of a smirk, though it didn’t reach her eyes. She glanced down at her wristwatch, its obsidian face catching the muted light. Time had always been an anchor for her—a reminder that order could be imposed even on chaos. But now, it felt slippery, uncertain. The seconds stretched uncomfortably as she stared at the closed file. A threshold.

“Arrange a meeting,” she said finally. “I’ll hear what he has to say.”

Julia exhaled, her relief visible in the way her shoulders eased. “You won’t regret this,” she said, standing to leave.

“That much remains to be seen,” Lydia replied, though her tone was softer now.

When the door closed behind Julia, Lydia remained at her desk, staring out at the storm. Steele wasn’t the kind of man to leave survivors; that much, she knew. Taking this case wasn’t just risky—it was reckless. But the thought of turning a blind eye, of letting Steele continue to thrive unchallenged, was somehow worse.

For a moment, her reflection in the glass looked back at her, green eyes sharp behind rimless glasses, her expression unreadable. If someone didn’t stand up to men like Steele, who would?

By the time the rain began to taper off, Lydia had made her decision. She didn’t trust Rowan Black, not yet. But she trusted her instincts. And they were telling her this case was just the beginning.