The third morning, Alex woke before the phone rang.
He lay still for a moment, eyes open in the dark, listening to the faint murmur of the city several floors below. Somewhere, a truck reversed, beeping; somewhere else, a cab horn flared, sharp and indignant, then faded into distance.
Three days.
He rose, cut off the wake-up call before it could sound, and moved through the motions of shower and suit with the efficient detachment of someone stacking dominoes he already knew would fall. Everything now was about trajectory.
Day 1: watch.
Day 2: make contact, create the problem.
Day 3: walk into Pearson Hardman.
He tightened his tie, straightened his jacket, and slipped his notebook into his inner pocket. The weight against his chest grounded him.
Today, he stopped orbiting the firm. Today, he entered its gravity.
By 8:15 a.m., he was standing across the street from 601 Lexington, the tower rising into a low, overcast sky. People streamed in and out, umbrellas opening and closing like negotiations. Alex watched for a beat, then stepped off the curb and joined the flow.
Inside, the lobby buzzed with controlled urgency. Marble floors. High ceilings. Security desks flanked by glass turnstiles.
He'd already done his homework on the building's layout in the last two days. Where visitors checked in. Which elevators went straight to the law firm's floors. Which security guards chatted, which observed in silence.
He went to the desk with a measured, unhurried gait.
"Good morning," he said. "Alex Storm. I'm here to see Jessica Pearson."
The guard glanced up. "Do you have an appointment, Mr. Storm?"
"Yes."
Technically, the appointment existed only in his mind. But the confidence in his voice made the statement sound like fact.
The guard's fingers danced on the keyboard, eyes on the screen. A small frown tugged at his brow.
"I'm not seeing anything for that name," the guard said. "Are you sure—"
Alex leaned in slightly, lowering his voice half a notch. "She might have had it put in under 'Storm, A.' She agreed to see me about a matter involving Daniel Hardman."
The guard's expression shifted almost imperceptibly at the name. A tiny tightening around the eyes, a brief flicker of something like discomfort.
Good.
Jessica Pearson had spent years keeping Hardman's shadow from swallowing the firm. Anything that sounded like a new storm on that horizon would, at minimum, reach her ear.
"I can call up," the guard said, already reaching for the phone. "What's this regarding?"
"The firm's reputation," Alex said. "And a man who's been collecting material to make their life very complicated."
The guard hesitated, then dialed.
Alex waited, expression neutral. He could not hear the exact words, but he didn't need to. Body language told enough: a greeting, a question, a pause. The guard's eyes flicked once toward Alex, then away. Another pause.
Finally, the guard hung up.
"Someone from Ms. Pearson's office will come down," he said. "Please have a seat."
Alex nodded. "Thank you."
He stepped away from the desk and took a seat on one of the sleek lobby benches, legs crossed, hands resting loosely on his knee. He didn't check his phone. He didn't fidget. He let himself become part of the décor—polished, composed, quietly dangerous.
Five minutes later, the elevator doors slid open.
He expected an assistant. Maybe a junior associate. Someone sent to triage the unknown factor in an expensive suit.
He did not expect Harvey Specter.
The man stepped out of the elevator with the kind of presence that altered the air pressure. Sharp suit, sharper gaze, hair styled with deliberate effort that pretended not to be effort at all. He scanned the lobby once, eyes landing on Alex with surgical precision.
For a heartbeat, they simply looked at each other.
Then Harvey walked over.
"You're Storm," he said, stopping in front of the bench.
"Alex Storm," Alex replied, standing. "Yes."
"You've got five minutes," Harvey said. "And that's generous. Jessica's busy."
"Of course she is," Alex said. "Good leaders are."
Harvey's mouth twitched, almost amused. "You think flattery buys you time?"
"No," Alex said. "Value does. Let's not waste either."
They rode up in silence. The elevator hummed softly, reflecting two silhouettes in its polished walls—Harvey's relaxed but alert; Alex's straight, steady, eyes forward.
"You always walk into firms off the street and demand meetings with managing partners?" Harvey asked.
"Only the ones worth my time," Alex said.
"That list must be short."
"It is."
Harvey's gaze flicked to him, measuring. There was something in it that Alex recognized—a predator recognizing another who hadn't come to be prey.
The doors opened on Pearson Hardman's main floor.
The shift in atmosphere was immediate. The hum of conversation was lower, tighter. The suits better. The carpets thicker. Logos and glass and the implicit message: you are in our world now, and we win here.
Harvey led him through the halls like a man walking through a domain he knew down to the last molecule. Associates glanced up from their desks, eyes sharpening when they recognized Harvey and ticking over Alex with quick curiosity.
One of them stared long enough for Harvey to say, without breaking stride, "If you're trying to calculate my billing rate with your eyes, you're still underestimating."
A small ripple of nervous laughter followed.
They reached a set of glass doors. Behind them, a reception area, then an inner office with a skyline view and presence that radiated through glass alone.
Jessica Pearson's domain.
Harvey pushed open the door. The receptionist looked up.
"He's with me," Harvey said, not slowing.
He didn't knock on Jessica's office door. He just opened it.
"Got your mystery man," Harvey said.
Jessica Pearson stood by the window, back half-turned, phone in hand. She ended the call with a soft, "I'll handle it," then turned.
Up close, she was every bit the legend the articles hinted at: sharp suit, sharper eyes, command woven into every line of her posture.
"So," she said. "You're the one who's using Daniel Hardman's name to get past my security."
Alex met her gaze. "Good morning, Ms. Pearson."
"You have three minutes," she said. "Harvey took the other two on the way up."
"Harvey has that effect," Alex said. "Efficient, but expensive."
"Keep talking," Jessica said, unimpressed.
Alex adjusted nothing—stance, tone, expression all steady. "Three things. First: a reporter named Liam has been collecting statements and scraps about this firm. He thinks he's uncovered a narrative tying Daniel Hardman's embezzlement to ongoing misconduct under your leadership."
Jessica's eyes chilled, but she didn't speak.
"Second," Alex continued, "he's nowhere near having enough to print that without being sued into oblivion. But he doesn't know that. He's angry, and anger makes sloppy decisions."
Harvey crossed his arms. "You here to offer him representation?"
"I'm here to keep him from becoming your problem at all," Alex said. "Which brings me to third: I've already redirected him."
Jessica's chin lifted a fraction. "Explain."
"I spent yesterday afternoon walking him through where the lines actually are," Alex said. "What he needed to prove to make the story stick. I pointed him toward Hardman's documented misconduct and away from anything that touches your current management."
"You expect me to believe you did that out of the goodness of your heart?" Jessica asked.
"No," Alex said. "I expect you to believe I did it because I understand leverage."
Silence settled for a heartbeat.
Harvey's eyes narrowed. "You're telling us there's a reporter sniffing around with half a story, you watered down his angle, and now what—what do you want?"
Alex didn't bother to pretend. "I want you to know something you don't like knowing: that there's a variable you haven't accounted for yet. Me. And I want to make you an offer."
Jessica walked slowly to her desk and sat, hands folded. "You're in my office, using my time. Make it fast."
"I've already bought you time," Alex said. "Liam now thinks he's on the trail of a more nuanced piece—historic misconduct, systemic blind spots in big firms, with Pearson Hardman as the reformed example rather than the current villain. That gives you a window."
"To do what, exactly?" Jessica asked.
"To get ahead of the narrative," Alex said. "You give him controlled access—limited, strategic. You let him see enough internal reform to confirm his new angle. When he publishes, the headline doesn't say 'Pearson Hardman's Untouchable Closer.' It says something like 'How a Manhattan Giant Cleaned House and Survived.' You keep your brand of strength and add a layer of transparency."
Harvey stared at him. "You walk in here and try to tell us how to do damage control on a story that hasn't even broken?"
"No," Alex said. "I walk in here and tell you I've already kept it from breaking in its worst form. And I'm telling you there will be others. People who want to tie Hardman's sins to your name, Ms. Pearson. To your rainmaker's reputation."
He glanced at Harvey. "To your favorite closer."
Harvey's jaw tightened.
Jessica's gaze stayed on Alex, unreadable. "You keep talking about leverage. What exactly is yours?"
"I see threats before they hit your desk," Alex said. "And I neutralize them in ways that leave you stronger. That's what I did for myself in another life. It's what I'll do for this firm if you let me."
"And what do you want in return?" Jessica asked quietly.
"Partnership track," Alex said. "Fast. No bullpen. No document hell. I'm not here to be an associate grinding discovery. I'm here to try your biggest cases, to front your hardest fights, and to make sure no one ever weaponizes your history against you again."
Harvey let out a low whistle. "You don't lack confidence."
"Confidence is thinking you're good," Alex said. "I know I'm good."
Jessica's lips curved, but it wasn't quite a smile. "Harvey, what do you think?"
Harvey looked at Alex like he was an interesting puzzle he hadn't decided whether to break or frame. "I think he's dangerous. And I think he knows that's a selling point."
"That's not an answer," Jessica said.
Harvey shrugged once. "If he's telling the truth about this reporter, that's useful. If he's lying, we'll find out before lunch. Either way, I'm curious what he looks like in a courtroom."
"So we test him," Jessica said.
Alex stayed silent. This was part of the rhythm—the moment when predators circled each other, weighing cost versus reward.
Jessica regarded him for another long beat. "You said you already redirected this reporter. How do we confirm that?"
"You ask your PR people if any local journalist named Liam's been sniffing around," Alex said. "You ask if he's mentioned embezzlement, Hardman, cover-ups. You'll find out he has. And you'll also find out his tone changed after yesterday. Less 'expose,' more 'think piece.'"
Jessica nodded once, as if filing away an action item. "Assuming I verify this, you want me to consider you for a position that people spend their whole careers trying and failing to get."
"Yes."
"You're not even on our books," she said. "No résumé, no references, no law school transcript."
"I can fix that in thirty seconds," Alex said. "It's all real. You'll find my bar registration in order. If you dig deeper, you'll find a very clean record and a trail of wins."
"Anyone can have a good win-loss record," Harvey said. "That doesn't mean they're ready for this floor."
Alex met his gaze. "Then put me on a case and see."
Jessica's phone buzzed once. She ignored it.
"Harvey," she said, "give him something."
Harvey raised an eyebrow. "You want me to hand a stranger a live file?"
"I want you to give him enough rope," Jessica said. "If he's what he says he is, we'll know. If he's not, we'll also know."
She turned to Alex. "You have today and tomorrow. You prove you belong in this building by the time I leave Friday, or security escorts you out and your name goes on a list of people who don't get past the lobby again."
"Understood," Alex said.
"Good," Jessica said. "Harvey?"
Harvey jerked his head toward the door. "Come on, Storm. Let's see if you're as good as you think."
They left Jessica's office, glass door closing softly behind them.
Out in the hallway, Harvey stopped just long enough to look Alex up and down.
"Most people beg for an associate spot," Harvey said. "You walk in asking for partnership track."
"I don't beg," Alex said.
"Yeah," Harvey said dryly. "I noticed."
He led the way down the hall, past offices, conference rooms, the hum of controlled chaos.
They stopped outside a glass-walled conference room where a stack of files sat on the table like an accusation.
Inside, Louis Litt paced, muttering to himself, gestures sharp and agitated.
"This'll be fun," Harvey said.
He pushed open the door.
"Louis," Harvey said. "I brought you a present."
Louis whirled. "If that present is a double-shot latte and a client who doesn't think they're entitled to my firstborn, then fine, otherwise—"
His eyes landed on Alex.
"Who's this?" Louis demanded.
"Alex Storm," Harvey said. "He wants to work here. Jessica's letting him try out for the varsity team."
"This is not a high school gym," Louis snapped. "This is Pearson Hardman. We don't do walk-ins."
"Jessica does," Harvey said. "Today."
Louis looked from Harvey to Alex, nostrils flaring. "Does he at least have a Harvard degree?"
"Yes," Alex said.
Louis huffed. "Well. Bare minimum."
Harvey gestured to the files on the table. "You've been whining about being underwater on the Samuels account for a week. You said you needed another brain."
"I said I needed a competent associate," Louis corrected.
"Close enough," Harvey said. "Storm, meet the Samuels account. Samuels, this is the guy whose future depends on impressing Louis in forty-eight hours."
Alex stepped forward, resting his fingertips lightly on the top file. "What's the issue?"
"Nasty little derivative suit," Louis said. "Minority shareholders alleging breach of fiduciary duty, self-dealing, cooking the books, blah blah blah."
"'Blah blah blah' is not a recognized legal term," Alex said.
Louis glared. "I know that."
Harvey smirked. "He's already improving the room."
Louis ignored him. "Samuels wants it quashed quietly. Arbitration if possible, dismissal if not. Opposing counsel is McKinnon & Ames, and they're being—how shall I put this delicately—absolute animals."
Alex flipped the file open, scanning quickly. Dates, emails, board minutes, contracts.
"Discovery complete?" he asked.
"Mostly," Louis said. "They keep fishing. I keep objecting. Judge Malone keeps splitting the baby like he's Solomon with a docket."
"Any motion to compel pending?"
Louis blinked. "Yes. How did you—"
"It's the next move they'd make," Alex said, still reading. "If they're as aggressive as you say."
He found the pending motion in the stack in seconds, eyes flicking over the arguments.
"This is sloppy," Alex said.
Louis sputtered. "Excuse me?"
"McKinnon & Ames," Alex said. "They overreached. They've requested categories that are clearly outside the scope of the pleadings. You've got at least three solid grounds to limit or deny, and you only raised one."
"I raised the most important one," Louis said defensively.
"Judge Malone is risk-averse," Alex said. "He doesn't like granting broad motions either way. Give him multiple narrow grounds to deny, he'll take the safe route and split the difference in your favor because it feels balanced."
Louis stared. "You've never appeared in front of Malone."
"Judges are predictable when you know their type," Alex said.
Harvey watched, amused. "You know, Louis, if I didn't know better, I'd say he just insulted your motion practice."
"He did insult my motion practice," Louis snapped.
Alex closed the file. "You want to win or you want to be complimented?"
Louis opened his mouth, then shut it slowly.
Harvey chuckled. "I like him."
Louis scowled at both of them. "Fine. You think you can do better, Storm? Fix it."
He jabbed a finger at the file. "You have until the end of the day to draft a supplemental opposition. If I don't like it, I shred it and your shot here, and I tell Jessica you're a waste of perfectly good oxygen."
"If you do like it?" Alex asked.
"Then I… consider not actively sabotaging your chances," Louis said grudgingly.
Harvey clapped Alex on the shoulder. "Welcome to Pearson Hardman."
Alex slid into a chair, pulling the files closer. "Do I get access to your internal server?"
Louis snorted. "Not until I know you're not an idiot."
"Fine," Alex said. "Hard copies will do. For now."
As Harvey stepped out of the room, he paused by the door.
"Oh, and Storm?" he said.
Alex looked up.
"You've impressed Jessica enough to be standing here," Harvey said. "Don't blow it. Or do. Either way, it'll be entertaining."
The door closed behind him.
Louis circled the table like a suspicious animal guarding its territory.
"I'll be watching everything you do," Louis said. "Every note, every draft, every comma."
"Excellent," Alex said calmly. "Then you'll see exactly how I work."
He opened his notebook to a fresh page and began outlining.
Three days left.
He had one hostile senior partner, one wary managing partner, one intrigued closer, and one brief shot at proving that when he said he never lost, it wasn't arrogance.
It was a promise.