Page 31 of Client Privilege

“How so?”

“Marcus started the same way. Helping me when I was struggling. Paying for things. Making me feel like I couldn’t survive without him.” My hands trembled. “And eventually, I couldn’t.”

Understanding dawned in Damian’s eyes. “The difference,” he said carefully, “is that this money comes with no strings attached. No expectations. No control. You don’t owe me anything for it—not gratitude, not obedience, nothing.”

“Everyone wants something,” I countered.

“Yes,” he acknowledged. “I want you to be safe. I want you to have the resources to fight this case. And professionally, I want to win. But I don’t want anything from you personally, Alex.”

I studied his face, searching for signs of deception. Found none.

“The trust has specific terms,” he continued. “I cannot access the funds. Only you can. I cannot cancel it or withdraw the money. There’s paperwork here explaining everything.” He tapped the envelope. “If at any point you’re uncomfortable, you can terminate our professional relationship and the trust transfers to your new counsel.”

It was the most perfect exit strategy anyone had ever offered me. My throat tightened.

“Why are you doing this?” I asked, the question escaping before I could stop it.

Damian was quiet for a moment. “Because the system is designed to protect people like Marcus, not people like you. Because without financial resources, you’ll be forced back to him or onto the streets. And because…” He hesitated. “Because no one should have to choose between safety and survival.”

I reached for the envelope with shaking fingers. Inside was more cash than I’d seen in years, along with a debit card and several documents.

“There’s a list of extended-stay hotels that offer weekly rates, if you want to move somewhere more comfortable,” Damian said. “I’ve highlighted the ones in safe neighbourhoods. The trust will cover your stay while we work on getting your artwork and possessions back from Marcus.”

“Thank you,” I managed, the words inadequate.

“You don’t need to thank me. This is what should happen in every case like yours. The fact that it doesn’t is a failure of the system, not a reflection of your worth.”

I nodded, unable to speak past the lump in my throat.

“What happens next?” I asked, changing the subject.

Damian accepted the shift gracefully. “We file the motions I mentioned. We push for case reassignment. And we keep fighting.” He smiled slightly. “One day at a time.”

One day at a time. I could do that.

CHAPTER EIGHT

Alex

THE DAYSblended into one another, each dragging along a weight heavier than the last. I could hardly keep track of how many nights I spent in that cramped motel room, haunted by the thought of Buster and Marcus’s threats. Every time my phone buzzed, my heart raced—anxiety twisting in my stomach as I braced myself for more bad news.

Damian’s attempts to challenge Judge Patterson had been fruitless. Every move we made seemed thwarted by Marcus’s deep pockets and influence. It felt like a game rigged from the start. Damian often returned to the office after meetings with a stony expression, frustration etched into his features. The way he buried himself in paperwork didn’t escape me; he was determined to fight, but every setback chipped away at his resolve.

“Did you hear back from Justice Sommers?” I asked him one afternoon as we sat across from each other at his sleek office desk.

He rubbed his temples, glancing up at me through weary eyes. “She’s sympathetic but unwilling to intervene without clear evidence of bias. The legal system is set up to protect judges first, not victims.”

I slumped back in my chair, the weight of it all pressing down on me like a lead blanket. “So what do we do now? Just wait for Patterson todismiss our next motion too?”

“Not if I can help it,” he replied firmly, gathering documents as if they were ammunition for a battle yet to come. “We’re going to push for specific compliance regarding your property and Buster.”

I felt hope flicker within me like a candle flame battling against the dark. “And if that fails?”

He paused, locking eyes with me. “We won’t let it fail.”

As days passed, I felt the walls closing in on me further and further. Each morning blurred into the next, filled with endless worries about where I’d end up or whether Marcus would show up at my door again. The hotel manager’s suspicious glances only heightened my anxiety.

Then came an unexpected message from Damian one afternoon:

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