Page 5 of Blind Justice

“Does that lip actually work with your mom?” he asked, shaking his head.

“Every time,” Alex replied, deadpan, though a smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. “So, is it working on you?”

Noah sighed, his resolve wavering. “Fine. Ask Charlotte what I can bring.”

Alex grinned triumphantly. “That’s the spirit.”

For the first time that day, the heaviness in the air lifted slightly. As they sat there, sipping coffee and waiting for their meal in the cozy booth, the world outside felt a little less cold.

* * *

Maxim Fairchild stoodat the floor-to-ceiling window of his penthouse office, his sharp gaze piercing through the glass as snowflakes danced erratically in the gusts of wind outside. The view from the top of Verdant Horizons World Headquarters in Pierre offered a commanding panorama of the city below, but Maxim’s thoughts were far from the picturesque scene. His reflection in the glass—a man with chiseled features and cold, calculating eyes—seemed to loom larger than life, a fitting symbol of the empire he controlled.

Verdant Horizons, his billion-dollar industrial landscaping company, had just secured the contract for the Green Horizons project—a sprawling three-billion-dollar initiative to overhaul landscaping across South Dakota's public buildings and highways. A pot of gold, Maxim thought smugly when the announcement was made. Now, with the deal inked and his competitors licking their wounds, he was savoring his triumph.

The sharp knock on his office door shattered the moment. Without turning, Maxim called, "Enter."

His executive assistant, a nervous man with a perpetually pale complexion, stepped in tentatively. His shoulders hunched as if trying to make himself smaller. "Sir," he began, clearing his throat. "I’m afraid to tell you... the state’s attorney’s office has found a body at the city dump."

Maxim turned slowly, his face inscrutable. “A body?” he repeated, his voice quiet but laced with an edge that made the assistant flinch.

“Yes, sir.” The assistant shifted from foot to foot, his gaze darting to the luxurious carpet as if it might provide sanctuary. “They say it’s, uh, dismembered. They haven’t confirmed the identity, but?—”

“This was not supposed to happen,” Maxim interrupted, his voice now a low growl. He moved to his desk, the smooth walnut surface reflecting the designer lighting. His hand curled into a fist, veins standing out like taut cords beneath his skin. “It was supposed to be mulched.”

The assistant hesitated, unsure if he should continue. “The state’s attorney’s office is leading the investigation, sir. I thought you should know.”

Maxim let the silence stretch uncomfortably before speaking. “Find out who is in charge of this investigation,” he said, each word precise and clipped. “I want to know what they know, how much they’ve seen, and how much they suspect. I want names, timelines, and details.”

The assistant nodded rapidly. “Yes, sir. Right away.”

Maxim dismissed him with a slight wave of his hand, already turning back to the window. He listened to the assistant’s retreating footsteps, the door closing softly behind him.

Alone again, Maxim’s mind churned, the gears of his formidable intellect clicking into place. A dismembered body at the dump. The words reverberated in his head, an ominous refrain. His empire was built on precision and control, but this... this was chaos. Loose ends. Questions that could spiral into unwelcome scrutiny. The Green Horizons project was too important, too lucrative to be jeopardized by...this.

His jaw tightened, his reflection in the window growing darker, sharper. For a moment, he allowed himself to feel the flicker of something close to anger—though Maxim Fairchild rarely indulged in emotions as petty and uncontrolled as rage. No, he thrived on clarity and focus, turning every obstacle into an advantage.

He inhaled deeply, steadying himself. Whoever was in charge of this investigation would soon learn the cost of meddling with Verdant Horizons and its ambitions. Maxim had dealt with problems before, always swiftly and decisively. This would be no different.

He reached for his phone, his fingers gliding over the screen with practiced precision. “Get me on a call with Dylan Grant,” he said into the receiver, his tone commanding.

Dylan Grant, a man whose influence extended into shadowed corners of the legal system, owed Maxim favors. Big ones. If anyone could bury a problem—or a body—it was Grant.

As he waited for the connection, Maxim turned back to the snowstorm outside, the white flakes swirling like ghosts in the wind. Somewhere in a dump outside Pierre, a dismembered body had been unearthed, threatening to unravel the careful web he had spun. But as far as he was concerned, it was nothing more than another piece of debris in his path—something to be swept aside without hesitation. Because Maxim Fairchild didn’t lose. Not to competitors. Not to accidents. And certainly not to the dead.

* * *

The restaurant was cozy,tucked into a narrow side street a few blocks from the office, its dim lighting and the scent of simmering garlic and fresh basil creating a sense of warmth. Ruth sat across from Melanie, her fingers lightly tracing the rim of her wine glass as she exhaled, letting the tension of the day slip away sip by sip.

"You know," Melanie said, twirling a strand of spaghetti around her fork, "Matt Brandt is a sleaze."

Ruth raised an eyebrow but didn’t look surprised. "You think so?"

Melanie shrugged, her eyes flickering with something Ruth didn’t quite catch. "Let’s just say you’re not the first young attorney he’s taken a special interest in." She took a slow sip of her Chianti, watching Ruth carefully.

Ruth frowned but dismissed it with a shake of her head. "I figured as much. Are any still part of the firm?"

“No, they all were terminated. Supposedly, they made legal mistakes. I think it was about unemployment and payouts, but it all came through Mr. Grant’s office. His secretary would never give anything up.” Melanie waved a breadstick.

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