By the time the clock in the conference room clicked past 11:00 a.m., Alex had forgotten it existed.
The Samuels file sprawled across the table like a crime scene—emails, board minutes, financial reports, deposition transcripts. Louis hovered nearby, muttering to himself, occasionally lunging forward to snatch a document and then slapping it back down when he realized he'd already read it twice.
"You're too calm," Louis said suddenly.
Alex didn't look up. "Panic doesn't draft winning briefs."
"You say that now," Louis replied, "but wait until Malone starts grilling you on the record. He's like a hawk. A very boring, very meticulous hawk."
"Good thing I like birds," Alex said absently.
He underlined a sentence in a deposition transcript where a mid-level executive had tried to dodge a question and ended up admitting she'd never actually read the conflict-of-interest policy.
There it was.
"Your problem isn't Malone," Alex said. "It's you."
Louis recoiled. "Excuse me?"
"You're arguing scared," Alex said, still reading. "You're so worried about looking combative that you're playing defense in a motion where you should be on offense."
Louis sputtered. "I am not scared. I am—strategic."
"Strategic is good," Alex said. "Reactive isn't. You let opposing counsel define the battlefield in this motion. You responded to their list instead of challenging the premise."
He tapped the motion to compel. "They're trying to turn this into a fishing expedition. You argued proportionality on document volume. You should have argued relevance, burden, and privilege—with specificity. Give Malone multiple paths to a narrow denial that still feels like a compromise."
Louis stared at him, eyes narrowed behind his glasses. "You talk like someone who's had a motion gutted by Malone before."
"I haven't," Alex said. "But I've dealt with his type of judge. And his clerk's type."
Louis sniffed. "You don't know his clerk."
"I know his clerk writes bench memos that lean conservative on discovery and that Malone likes citing precedent to justify not rocking the boat," Alex said. "So you give him precedent that supports a narrow, tidy order that doesn't invite appeal."
Louis blinked. "You got all that from… what? A hunch?"
"From how you described him," Alex said. "And from his patterns in prior rulings, which I glanced at on my way in here."
He flipped his notebook around. On one page, a tight list of case names, each with a brief notation: "limited scope allowed," "denied fishing," "granted only clearly relevant subset."
Louis leaned in despite himself.
"Fine," Louis said grudgingly. "So what's your brilliant plan?"
"We concede a narrow slice," Alex said. "Something low-risk and arguably relevant. In exchange, we argue hard to block the rest as overbroad, unduly burdensome, and aimed at collateral matters outside the pleaded claims."
He pointed to a section in the complaint. "They framed this as a breach of fiduciary duty tied to one specific transaction. Their discovery requests try to turn it into a full forensic audit of ten years of operations. The judge will not like that."
Louis's frown morphed into something closer to thought. "And how does that keep Samuels happy?"
"You tell Samuels you protected the core," Alex said. "They'll grumble about giving anything up, but that's ego, not strategy. Meanwhile, you've limited their exposure and kept the plaintiff from digging into areas that could spawn new claims."
Louis chewed that over, pacing once around the table.
"Write it," he said abruptly. "Supplemental opposition. I want it on my desk by three."
"Three?" Alex asked.
"Yes, three," Louis snapped. "Or is that too much for Mr. Partnership Track?"
Alex checked the mental clock that had been running all morning.
He still needed time to follow up on Liam, to verify how far the reporter had gotten, to anticipate how quickly the ripples might reach Pearson Hardman's more sensitive clients.
Three was tight.
Three was doable.
"Three is fine," Alex said.
He sat, rolled up his sleeves, and started to write.
The first paragraph came like a closing argument condensed to a scalpel: respectful to the court, ruthless to the motion. He framed opposing counsel's request as overreach disguised as diligence, invoked the language Malone liked to use in his own prior rulings, and laid out a clear, narrow path to denying most of the request while granting a sliver that looked reasonable.
Louis hovered behind him at first, narrating under his breath.
"No, no, Malone hates that phrase… okay, that case is actually good… wait, how did you know about that one…"
Eventually, the muttering stopped.
At some point, Louis pulled a chair up beside him and read in silence, eyes tracking each line.
"You write like you're already in front of the judge," Louis said finally.
"I am," Alex said. "He just doesn't know it yet."
Louis considered that, then snatched the draft the moment Alex typed the last sentence.
He devoured it in minutes, lips moving silently as he read.
At the end, he dropped the pages onto the table and looked at Alex with something that was not quite approval, not quite hostility.
"This is… not terrible," Louis said.
Alex's mouth twitched. "High praise."
"Don't let it go to your head," Louis said sharply. "You still don't work here."
"Not yet," Alex said.
Louis ignored that. "I'm going to mark this up. If I find even one typo, I will make your life a living hell."
"If you find a typo, I deserve it," Alex said.
Louis sniffed, then scooped up the draft and swept out of the room like a man carrying state secrets.
Left alone, Alex stacked the remaining documents into a clean pile and checked the time.
12:42 p.m.
Perfect.
He texted Liam from a disposable number he'd set up specifically for this:
How's the story coming?
The response came almost immediately.
You were right. Hardman's old mess is worse than I thought. Found confirmation he was forced out, not "retired." Working a new angle.
Alex's fingers moved quickly.
Any current misconduct?
Ellipsis bubbles appeared, disappeared, then appeared again.
Not yet. Some sources hint they "covered" for him back then, but no one has proof. Might be smoke, not fire.
Good, Alex thought.
Smoke he could redirect. Fire was harder to contain.
He typed:
Smoke makes for better "institutional blind spots" story than "crooked now" story. You want to be first with the nuance, not late with a retraction.
Another pause.
You're very invested in nuance for someone who claims to like chaos.
Alex let a small smile tug at his mouth.
I like controlled chaos. Call it… weather management.
He slipped the phone back into his pocket.
The next step was risk assessment: who inside Pearson Hardman would be most sensitive to even a whiff of a story that mentioned Hardman's name in the same breath as "cover-up"?
Jessica, obviously.
Harvey too—he might not have been managing partner, but his cases anchored the firm's public persona. An article like Liam's, even if ultimately favorable, could make clients nervous if they weren't prepared for it.
Prepared meant briefed. Briefed meant someone had to be in the room when damage control strategies were discussed.
Someone who could steer the conversation in the exact direction he'd designed.
Alex stood, gathered his notebook, and left the conference room.
The bullpen was a hive of motion—associates glued to computers, phones ringing, printers churning. The air smelled like coffee, paper, and ambition.
No one stopped him. He walked like he belonged, and in places like this, confidence was the strongest security badge in the world.
He passed by an office with its door half-open and caught a glimpse of Harvey leaning over a desk, talking to a younger associate whose shoulders were tensed halfway to his ears.
"…you don't argue scared," Harvey was saying. "You argue like the judge has already agreed with you and just needs to be reminded why."
The words echoed something Alex had said to Louis earlier.
Different styles, same instinct.
Harvey glanced up mid-sentence. For a split second, their eyes met through the doorway. Something like recognition flickered—two predators clocking each other across overlapping hunting grounds.
Alex moved on.
He knew better than to interrupt Harvey mid-lecture.
Instead, he aimed for the direction of the elevator bank, intending to step out, circle back, and time his next move for maximum visibility.
He didn't make it that far.
"Storm!"
The voice came from behind him, sharp and amused.
He turned.
Donna stood there, file folder in hand, expression caught somewhere between curiosity and "I knew you'd show up here eventually."
Her gaze swept over his suit, his posture, the notebook in his hand.
"So it wasn't a coincidence," she said.
"What wasn't?" Alex asked.
"You showing up in my lunch spot," Donna said. "Ordering my sandwich. Saying my name like you weren't fishing for where I worked."
"You're very protective of your sandwich," Alex said.
"I'm very protective of my time," she replied. "And the last thing I need is some guy from Midtown thinking he can flirt his way to information about my boss."
"If I wanted information about your boss," Alex said, "I'd talk to him."
"You did," she said. "This morning."
He shouldn't have been surprised she knew that already.
"News travels fast," he said.
"I am news," Donna said. "Around here, anyway."
Her eyes softened a fraction. "Jessica called me. She said Harvey dragged a stranger into her office and somehow that stranger didn't get thrown out of a thirty-second-story window."
"I take that as a good sign," Alex said.
"It's a sign," Donna said. "Good or bad depends on whether you make my life harder or easier."
Alex tilted his head. "And how would I know which is which?"
"You don't," she said. "Most men guess. They're usually wrong."
"I don't guess," Alex said.
"No," Donna said slowly. "You don't look like you do."
They stood there for a moment, the hum of the firm stretching around them.
"You caused trouble already," Donna said finally. "Hardman's name in the lobby. That gets attention."
"Attention can be useful," Alex said.
"For you," she countered. "For us, it's… complicated."
"That's why I'm here," he said.
"To complicate things?"
"To handle complications before they hit your desk," Alex said.
Donna watched him closely, as if trying to decide whether she liked the way he said "your."
"Jessica wants to know if you can actually do what you say," she said. "Harvey wants to know if you're competition or a joke. Louis wants to know if you're a threat to his fiefdom."
"And you?" Alex asked.
"I want to know if I have to babysit another genius with a savior complex," Donna said.
"Does Harvey have a savior complex?"
"Don't change the subject," she said.
"I'm clarifying the pattern," Alex said.
Donna's lips quirked. "You think there's a pattern?"
"In powerful men?" he said. "Always."
"What about powerful women?"
"They usually recognize the pattern faster," Alex said. "And decide whether to tolerate it, weaponize it, or burn it down."
She let out a soft laugh. "Careful. Keep talking like that and I might start thinking you're useful."
"That would be terrible," he said.
"Disastrous," she agreed.
A beat of silence stretched—comfortable, charged, not quite defined.
"Word of advice," Donna said. "This place eats people. It chews through associates, opposing counsel, even clients who think they're untouchable. If you're going to stay, you'd better be very sure of what you want."
"I'm very sure," Alex said.
"You want power," Donna said.
"Power's a tool," he replied. "I want… leverage."
"In what?"
"In everything," he said.
Donna studied him, then shook her head slightly, as if choosing not to dig deeper.
"Harvey's looking for you," she said. "He got an email from Louis with more exclamation points than words, which either means you screwed up spectacularly or you did something that's going to give him more ammo at partners' meetings."
"Which way are you betting?" Alex asked.
"I don't bet," she said. "I collect data."
"And?"
"And the last time Louis used this many exclamation points, we settled a case on the courthouse steps and he took credit for your—"
She stopped herself, eyes flickering.
"…for Harvey's strategy," she corrected.
Alex noticed the slip, tucked it away with everything else.
"Come on," she said. "Time to find out whether I'm adding you to my list of 'assets' or 'problems.'"
She turned, expecting him to fall in step. He did.
They moved through the hall like they'd been doing it for longer than thirty seconds—her half a step ahead, setting the pace; him matching it without strain. Heads turned as they passed, whispers following.
"Who's that with Donna?"
"New associate?"
"He's dressed too well for a first-year."
They reached Harvey's office. Donna didn't knock.
"Delivery," she said, pushing the door open.
Harvey looked up from his desk. On his screen, an email was open, Louis's name at the top, a block of text bursting with capital letters and dramatic punctuation. Harvey minimized it when he saw them.
"Storm," Harvey said. "You've made friends."
"Temporary alliances," Alex said.
Donna dropped the file Louis had sent on Harvey's desk. "Litt's supplemental opposition," she said. "He wanted your opinion before he files."
Harvey arched a brow. "Since when does Louis ask my opinion?"
"Since he wants me to witness him proving Storm is an idiot," Donna said.
"And?" Harvey asked.
"And he sent this instead," she said.
Harvey opened the file and started reading.
Alex watched his eyes move—fast, focused, pausing at certain phrases. A muscle ticked once in Harvey's jaw.
He reached the end, closed the folder, and leaned back in his chair.
"Louis didn't write this," Harvey said.
"Thank you," Donna murmured.
"Storm?" Harvey asked.
"Yes," Alex said.
"You have a tell," Harvey said.
Alex raised an eyebrow. "Do I?"
"You cite like someone who doesn't just look at the top case on the list," Harvey said. "You know which ones judges actually care about. And you write like you're already winning."
"So he's not an idiot," Donna said.
"No," Harvey said. "He's not."
He tapped the file with one finger. "This is good. Very good. It won't get everything denied, but it'll cut their fishing expedition in half and make Malone feel like Solomon. Louis gets a win, Samuels calms down, and Pearson Hardman gets one less migraine."
He looked at Alex. "Not bad for your first morning."
"Afternoon," Alex corrected.
"Don't push it," Harvey said.
Donna leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, watching them both with quiet amusement.
"So what now?" she asked.
"Now," Harvey said, "we see if this was a fluke or if Storm actually knows what he's doing."
He pointed at Alex. "Court. Tomorrow. You're coming with Louis. You're second chair on the motion argument."
Louis in court, Alex thought. That would be an experience.
"You sure Louis will go for that?" Donna asked.
"He already did," Harvey said. "He sent a follow-up email. Said—and I quote—'If you don't let him argue at least part of this, it's a crime against jurisprudence.'"
Donna's eyebrows went up. "Louis said that?"
"Apparently Storm broke his brain," Harvey said. "In a good way."
He turned back to Alex. "Don't get cocky. Malone doesn't care that you're new or that Jessica's watching. He cares about his docket and his image. You go in there, you keep your arguments tight, your ego in check, and you make opposing counsel look like they're asking the court to bless a scavenger hunt."
Alex nodded once. "Understood."
Harvey stood, coming around the desk.
"One more thing," he said. "You protect the firm in there. That means no theatrics, no grandstanding, no 'look at me, I'm brilliant' routine. You want to impress someone, impress Malone quietly. Jessica will hear about it."
"And you?" Alex asked.
"I'll be in the back," Harvey said. "Watching."
"So no pressure," Donna said lightly.
Alex met her eyes. "Pressure is just gravity," he said. "It keeps you from floating away."
Donna's mouth curved. "I'm starting to think you might belong here."
"Careful," Harvey said. "Compliments this early set dangerous precedents."
"Who said it was a compliment?" she replied.
As Alex left Harvey's office with a copy of the motion and tomorrow's hearing time already burned into his mind, he felt something click into place.
Two days left.
He had one foot in the door, one hand on the handle of a courtroom that would test whether Pearson Hardman's predators considered him prey or pack.
Outside, the city's winter light shifted, shadows lengthening along Lexington Avenue.
Inside, Alex Storm smiled—a small, sharp thing, meant for no one but himself.
The storm was moving in.