Page 72 of Client Privilege

“Don’t thank me yet.” She typed rapidly. “This recording—it’s admissible?”

“Alex was aware the line was open. One-party consent applies in Ontario. And Marcus broke into his private dwelling, eliminating any reasonable expectation of privacy.”

“Good. I’m also relaying this information to the criminal investigation into the jury tampering. This goes beyond your civil case now.” She looked up from her screen. “How is he? Your client?”

The question caught me off guard. Not because it was inappropriate, but because it forced me to confront the emotional reality I’d been holding at bay while focusing on legal remedies.

“He’s…” I struggled to maintain my professional tone. “He’s traumatized. Again. But resilient. He managed to keep his wits about him even while being choked. That recording exists because he had the presence of mind to keep the phone connection open.”

Something in my voice must have revealed more than I intended, because Justice Sommers gave me a long, evaluative look.

“And you’re housing him now?”

“Temporarily. For security reasons. My home has an alarm system and is in a gated community.”

“I see.” Her tone was neutral, but her eyes were knowing. “Mr. Richards, I’ve known you professionally for many years. You’ve always maintained impeccable boundaries.”

I stiffened. “Are you suggesting—”

“I’m suggesting nothing. Merely observing that this case has affected you differently than others.” She signed the order with a flourish. “Sometimes that’s not a bad thing. The law needs both precision and passion.”

She handed me the protective order. “This is effective immediately. I’ll have copies sent to the police, Mr. Delaney’s counsel, and his residence.”

“Thank you, Your Honour.”

As I turned to leave, she added, “And Damian? Be careful. Men like Delaney don’t respond well to losing control. He’ll lash out at both of you now.”

I nodded, the weight of her warning settling alongside the protective order in my briefcase. Outside her chambers, I pulled out my phone to call Alex. He answered on the first ring.

“Damian? Is everything—”

“It’s done. The protective order is reinstated with enhanced conditions. He can’t come near you, contact you, or send anyone else to do so. And he’ll be wearing an ankle monitor by noon.”

The silence on the other end lasted so long I checked to make sure the call hadn’t dropped.

“Alex?”

“I’m here.” His voice cracked slightly. “I just… I didn’t think… thank you.”

Three simple words, but they carried the weight of a life beginning to believe in safety again.

“I’ll be home soon,” I promised, the word ‘home’ slipping out before I could catch it. “We’ll figure out next steps together.”

Alex

I SATcross-legged on Damian’s living room sofa, the leather cool against my bare feet. My sketchbook lay open in my lap, but I couldn’t focus enough to draw. The house was quiet except for the occasional ping of my phone—Sandra sending updates about case filings.

When my phone rang with an unknown number, my heart jumped to my throat.

“Hello?” I answered cautiously.

“Alex, it’s Detective Mathers.” Her voice was steady, professional. “I’ve just finished meeting with Crown Prosecutor Victoria Chang about your case.”

I gripped the phone tighter. “And?”

“She’s agreed to pursue criminal charges against Marcus Delaney. Multiple counts.”

The pencil I’d been holding clattered to the floor. I’d been so focused on the civil case and protective order that I hadn’t fully processed the possibility of actual criminal charges.

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