Page 11 of Salem's Fall
“This looks amazing, Holls!” Mark grins happily as he loads up his plate with food and takes his seat again. “I still can’t believe Blackhollow was dumb enough to leave the murder weapon at his own building. What a moron, huh?” he asks through a mouthful of sushi.
“That’s the thing,” Quinn says, tapping his chopsticks against the edge of the table, deep in thought. “Blackhollow is one of the most brilliant men I know. If he had killed her, there’s no way he’d be careless enough for that.” He shakes hishead. “No, that little fuckup can’t possibly be his, but it’s designed to look like it is, so now we’ve got to deal with it. Plus, the alibi he gave us is far from solid. That’s two strikes, right out of the gates, and we haven’t even gotten into discovery yet.”
“Not to mention the personality problems.” I snort. “The guy doesn’t even remember the woman he spent the night with while his poor fiancée was home getting butchered.” I roll my eyes. “That’s going to go over great with the female jurors.”
I feel a twinge of disgust. It’s clear how disposable people—especially women—are to this man.
“That’s the least of our concerns,” Mark says, waving a dismissive hand in my direction. “We’ve got way more pressing things here than worrying about a few silly women’s sensibilities.”
“Mark’s right.” Quinn sighs. “That’s easy enough to fix with good coaching. But the evidence and lack of alibi… it’s a real problem.”
There’s worry in his voice, and Quinn doesn’t worry often. That’s how I know this is bad.
“Couldn’t we start by looking for security footage, like you suggested? Not just the Gala, but around Damien’s house?” I ask. “He could have home security cameras. Or maybe there are nearby buildings with CCTV cameras that picked something up?”
“From a year ago?” Mark smirks. “Good luck with that.”
“Sorry, Woodsen. Don’t think so,” Quinn says.
“The Gala idea you had, though, Quinn? That might work,” Mark says. “I recall hearing about an investigation hold last year on the museum party footage. If we can get hold of those tapes, they could give us some clarity on Blackhollow’s movements that night—or at least help disprove the prosecution’s timeline.”
“Excellent idea,” Quinn says. “What else do we have?”
I want to say something and contribute, but it feels like every time I do, Mark just shoots me down. And Quinn, while much nicer about it, seems to keep agreeing with him. Mark has made it clear he thinks I’m out of my depth here, and I’m starting to wonder if he’s right.
“There’s the knife,” Mark continues. “We should check security footage from the office building. See if we can catch who put it there.”
“Yes, that’s good,” Quinn says. “I feel certain it won’t be Blackhollow.”
“Then we’ll find someone who had it in for Blackhollow,” Mark says, leaning forward, his tone gaining an edge of excitement. “Someone who stole the guy’s fancy knife, got his fingerprints all over it, killed the fiancée, then left it on Blackhollow’s company property where they knew it’d be found.”
I groan out loud. “You sound like a sillyCriminal Mindsepisode,” I say, unable to keep silent any longer. This is getting absurd. “You really think a sane, rational jury is going to believe that?”
This case, it’s a total mess. The deeper we dig, the more tangled it gets. There’s no solid alibi, no witnesses to corroborate Damien’s story, and now there’s a weapon with his prints on it. Everything points to guilt.
“You know what, James?” Mark’s voice drips with sarcasm. “I don’t hear you coming up with any brilliant ideas. Or are you still a bit gun-shy after your last screwup?”
The comment lands like a punch, my face heating with shame and anger. I bite the inside of my cheek, forcing myself not to react. Not to let him see how deep it cuts.
“Yeah, that’s what I thought.” He turns to Quinn with a smug look. “Look, Quinn, this is a high-stakes case. We can’t afford dead weight. Maybe we should look for another junior associate to staff on this?”
My pulse pounds in my ears as the room falls silent. The paralegals stop eating, stunned. Even Holly gasps at the outright rudeness.
“Knock it off, Mark,” Quinn snaps, irritated.
“No, Quinn. He’s right. Maybe I shouldn’t be on this case,” I say, closing my computer with a huff.
Quinn’s eyes flick to mine, and for a moment, I see disappointment there. He’s always supported me, always thought I had potential, even if he is still wary after my last failure. I can tell he wants to trust me, but he’s cautious.
And he’s smart to be.
“Now, we’re getting somewhere.” Mark grins at me like he’s just won some kind of prize. “You’re finally starting to make sense, Woodsen. This case is going to be tough, and we need people who can handle the pressure. You’re not one of them.”
His words sting, but in a way, they also confirm what I’ve been feeling all day. This case is a train wreck. Damien is not a good man, and I doubt he’s an innocent one either. All the signs are there. And when we lose—because wewilllose—it’s going to reflect poorly on me.
I can’t take a second failure. I’ll be finished at this firm.
“Mark, that’s enough!” Quinn barks, a flush rising to his cheeks. He exhales sharply, reining himself back in before turning to me. “Look, Woodsen. I’d love to have you on this. You’re a hard worker, and you’ve got a sharp mind,” he says, his voice quieter now, but even. “But I also get it—this case is a lot, especially for someone so new.” He pauses, his gaze steady. “The choice is yours. Whatever you decide, I’ll back you.”
