Chapter 3 — A Glimpse of Potential
Claire
The conference room at Donovan Greene was a study in power and precision, its glass walls offering a commanding view of Manhattan's endless sprawl. Sunlight bounced off the sleek surfaces, glinting on the obsidian-black table and the polished steel accents of the surrounding chairs. The hum of the air conditioning was barely audible, a low undercurrent to the tension filling the room. Claire Donovan sat at the head of the table, her focus razor-sharp on the stack of documents before her. The Ridgemont case demanded nothing short of perfection.
Her fountain pen tapped against the edge of a legal brief, the rhythmic motion betraying nothing of the anxiety coiled beneath her poised exterior. “Let’s address the opposing counsel’s latest motion,” she said, her voice slicing through the gathered silence. “They’re arguing dismissal based on jurisdiction. I want every precedent they’ve cited scrutinized and dismantled.”
Daniel Fisher, the senior associate to her right, adjusted his glasses and launched into his analysis. “Their main argument hinges on *Benton v. Connor Industries.* While it’s relevant on the surface, the underlying circumstances deviate too significantly for it to hold up under scrutiny.”
Claire nodded once, setting her pen neatly beside the brief. “Fine. Let’s exploit that inconsistency in our response. I want detailed counterarguments by the end of the day.” Her gaze swept the room, searching for initiative. The faces around the table reflected muted concentration, but their silence stretched far too long for her liking.
She exhaled quietly, the edges of her patience fraying. “Anything else?”
The hesitation was palpable. These were supposed to be the best—meticulous and resourceful—but their reticence only reinforced the lesson she had learned too many times: trusting others was a risk she couldn’t afford. Her sharp blue eyes landed on Alex Carter, slouched several chairs down, his leather messenger bag slumping against the side of his seat like an uninvited guest. In contrast to the crisp briefcases neatly arranged around the room, the bag was scuffed and worn, its patched strap a testament to use rather than appearance. His shirt sleeves were rolled up, his pen tapping idly against a dog-eared notebook cluttered with hurried scrawls. The casual disarray grated against the immaculate order she demanded.
“Carter,” she said sharply, breaking the brittle quiet.
He straightened immediately, his pen stilling as though caught mid-act. “Yes, Ms. Donovan?”
“You’ve been reviewing the financials,” she said, her tone clipped. “What did you find?”
A flicker of hesitation passed over his face as he glanced at his notes. Claire’s fingers tightened imperceptibly around her pen, her frustration mounting. But then he spoke, his tone steadier than she expected. “Actually, yes. I noticed something odd in the offshore account documentation.” He flipped through his notebook, his movements quick but deliberate, as though trying to marshal his thoughts into order. “Here—this account they’re claiming is untouchable because it’s tied to a foreign subsidiary? The timeline doesn’t add up. That account was created six months before the subsidiary was even registered.”
Claire’s pen stilled mid-tap. Her gaze snapped up, her voice sharp. “Explain.”
Leaning forward, Alex pushed his notebook across the table. His fingers hovered over a highlighted section as he spoke, his voice finding a rhythm. “If you compare the account’s activity to the registration timeline, you’ll see the discrepancy. They’re using the subsidiary as a shield, but the account predates it. That undermines their claim of jurisdictional protection.”
A ripple of interest moved through the room. Heads turned, craning to see the scribbled notes in his open notebook. Claire’s gaze, however, didn’t stray from Alex. His hazel eyes reflected uncertainty, but beneath it lingered a flicker of confidence. He was waiting for her verdict.
“You’re suggesting this completely invalidates their jurisdictional argument?”
“It could,” Alex replied, his voice steadying further. His hand drifted to the edge of the notebook, a trace of self-deprecating humor softening his words. “Or I could be overthinking it. But it felt significant enough to bring up.”
Claire picked up the notebook, her fountain pen pressing lightly against her fingers as she scanned the highlighted sections. The room fell into a tense silence, the weight of her scrutiny palpable. Despite the chaotic scrawls and uneven underlines, the timeline was clear—and it held potential.
“This is good,” she said finally, her tone leaving no room for doubt.
Alex blinked, his expression caught between surprise and relief. A faint smile threatened to surface before he tempered it with a quick nod.
“I want a detailed memo on this by tomorrow,” she continued briskly. “We’ll incorporate it into our response to their motion.”
“Yes, ma’am,” he said. Though his tone remained formal, the quiet pride in his expression didn’t escape her notice.
As the meeting pressed on, Claire found her thoughts drifting back to Alex’s discovery. The Ridgemont case was a minefield of complexities, and even the smallest oversight could shift the balance. His observation, while seemingly minor, was exactly the kind of insight she valued—unexpected and sharp. It was a reminder of how much she underestimated others by default, a habit born of past betrayals and failures she couldn’t afford to repeat.
When the meeting adjourned, the team dispersed in clusters, low murmurs of conversation fading into the hallway. Claire lingered, methodically arranging her notes into an impeccable stack. She was halfway through packing when Alex hovered near the door, his messenger bag slung over his shoulder.
“Ms. Donovan?” he ventured, his voice careful.
“Yes?” she replied, glancing up.
“I just—” He scratched the back of his neck, his earlier confidence wavering slightly under her scrutiny. “Thanks for taking my input seriously. It means a lot.”
Claire tilted her head, studying him. Her fingers brushed idly over the surface of her fountain pen. “If your input has merit, it will be taken seriously,” she said. “This isn’t about gratitude, Carter. It’s about results.”
“Right,” he said quickly, though his subdued grin betrayed his satisfaction. “Still. Thanks.”
He turned and exited before she could respond. Alone in the glass-walled room, Claire leaned back in her chair, her gaze drifting to the cityscape beyond. The skyline glinted coldly in the afternoon light, a stark reminder of the stakes they faced. Alex’s discovery had been unexpected—both in its insight and in the way it subtly challenged the walls she had built around her expectations of others.
Her hand brushed over the rough edges of his notebook, its chaotic pages an antithesis to her own meticulous style. Yet within that mess, he had found clarity. The thought unsettled her, not because of the insight itself, but because it hinted at the possibility that trusting others might still hold value, even after all she’d endured.
She exhaled sharply, the sound breaking the stillness. Gathering her papers, she stood and headed toward the door. The idea that she might have underestimated Alex Carter wasn’t just unsettling—it was disconcertingly hopeful. And she wasn’t quite sure what to do with that.
