The night before a hearing was usually a ritual.
In his old life, Alex had favored a particular pattern: finish the final draft before midnight, review the judge's prior rulings until the clerk's habits felt like his own, and then stand at the window of whatever hotel or apartment he was in, watching the city until it blurred into possibilities.
Some things, it seemed, did not change.
Now, in a different body and a different universe, he stood at his hotel window again. Manhattan glowed below, a grid of light and motion.
Tomorrow, he would argue in a courtroom that didn't yet know his name.
Tomorrow, Pearson Hardman would decide whether to start carving that name into the stone of its legend—or erase it before the ink dried.
He let the thought settle, then turned back to the desk.
The Samuels file lay open, pages marked with sticky flags and tight notes in his compact handwriting. His supplemental opposition was printed, annotated, memorized. He knew each argument so well that he could have delivered it half-asleep and still landed every point.
That wasn't enough.
Winning the motion was only one layer of the game. The deeper one was subtler: how he looked doing it. How Louis reacted. How Malone responded. How quickly word filtered back up to Jessica and Harvey.
He wasn't just arguing a motion. He was arguing for his existence in this firm.
The phone on the table buzzed once. A text from an unknown number he recognized anyway—Liam, the reporter.
Confirmed some of what you said. Hardman's old mess is ugly. Hearing whispers that firm leadership really did force him out. Story's shifting. Less "present scandal," more "how big firms handle their dirty laundry."
Alex read it twice.
Good.
He typed back:
Make sure you give the current leadership credit where it's due. Cleaning house isn't weakness. It's survival.
A beat.
You're not on their payroll, are you?
Alex's mouth twitched.
No. But I respect anyone who drags a rot out into the light and still keeps the building standing.
There was a longer pause this time.
You talk like someone who's been inside a falling building.
He thought of blood on polished wood. Of a partner's whisper: You left me no way to win.
You have no idea, Alex wrote.
He set the phone down and closed his eyes briefly.
Tomorrow wasn't just about Malone or Samuels or Louis's fragile pride. It was about proving something to himself—that in this life, he could wield his talent without letting it consume everything around him.
Power, but controlled. Aggression, but aimed.
He opened his eyes and picked up the motion one last time.
Time to sleep.
Time to win.
The courthouse always smelled the same, no matter the city: old stone, paper, fear.
By 9:15 a.m., Alex stood outside Courtroom 6B, suit immaculate, files squared in his hand. Louis fussed beside him, shuffling papers, muttering case names under his breath like protective spells.
"You do not freelance once we're in there," Louis said. "You stick to the script. My script."
"Your script was revised," Alex said mildly.
"With my input," Louis snapped. "Which means it is now, once again, my script."
Alex let that go. "Understood."
Louis paused, eyeing him. "You're not nervous."
"I am," Alex said. "Just not about the same things you are."
Louis snorted. "You should be nervous about Malone. He does not suffer fools. Or showboats. Or anyone who thinks they're more interesting than his docket."
"Good," Alex said. "I find his docket fascinating."
Louis stared at him a second longer, then shook his head as if he'd decided to stop trying to decode this particular brand of insanity.
The courtroom doors swung open.
Inside, the space was all solemn wood and straight lines. The judge's bench loomed at the far end, empty for now. Counsel tables sat waiting. The gallery benches creaked as a few early arrivals shifted for a better view.
Alex's eyes moved once across the room.
Opposing counsel was already there—McKinnon & Ames, just as Louis had described. The lead attorney, McKinnon himself, had the smug ease of someone who believed he owned the judge's attention. His associate flipped through a binder, relieved to be on the same side as that confidence.
No Harvey in sight yet. No Jessica.
Good.
Less noise in his periphery.
He and Louis took their seats at defense counsel's table. Louis arranged his pens, his legal pad, his color-coded tabs with ritual precision.
"You remember which parts you're handling?" Louis asked in a low voice.
"Yes," Alex said. "I'll take the overbreadth and proportionality points. You handle the 'we've already produced more than enough' piece. When Malone looks for a reasonable compromise, I give him the narrow category we're prepared to concede."
Louis nodded, grudgingly impressed. "Don't forget to compliment opposing counsel's diligence at least once. Malone likes 'collegiality.'"
"Fake politeness," Alex translated.
"Exactly," Louis said.
The bailiff called, "All rise," just as the side door opened and Judge Malone entered.
Alex had seen photos. The real thing matched the pattern: late fifties, thin, eyes sharp behind wire-framed glasses. A man who liked order more than drama, rules more than speeches.
"Be seated," Malone said. His voice carried easily, clipped but not harsh.
The clerk called the case.
McKinnon rose first, delivering his opening pitch on the motion to compel. He was good—smooth, practiced, hitting all the familiar points about the need for full discovery, alleged stonewalling, and the pursuit of "the truth."
He overreached within ninety seconds.
"…and given the breadth of the alleged misconduct, Your Honor, we believe it is only fair to permit a full inquiry into all of Samuels' major transactions over the past decade—"
There it was.
Malone's expression didn't change, but his pen paused for a fraction of a second.
Alex almost smiled.
By the time McKinnon sat, the line had been drawn.
"Counsel for the defense?" Malone said.
Louis half-rose, then hesitated—just long enough for his hand to brush Alex's arm, a subtle nod.
Your turn.
Alex stood.
"Good morning, Your Honor," he said.
His voice filled the room without pushing. Calm. Controlled.
"We appreciate opposing counsel's diligence," he began. "Truly. Every litigant is entitled to fair discovery. But 'fair' and 'limitless' are not the same thing."
Malone's eyes sharpened.
"In their motion," Alex continued, "plaintiffs paint a picture of systemic misconduct spanning ten years, across every major transaction Samuels has engaged in. That is not the complaint before you. The complaint alleges breach of fiduciary duty tied to one specific deal. We've already produced extensive documentation directly related to that transaction. What plaintiffs are asking for now is the judicial blessing of a fishing expedition into every corner of my client's corporate history."
He let "fishing expedition" sit just long enough.
"We're not afraid of scrutiny, Your Honor," he said. "We're afraid of unnecessary, disproportionate intrusion that has no connection to the claims actually pleaded."
He moved through the cases he'd chosen—each one a decision Malone had already cited in prior rulings, each reinforcing the idea that broad requests needed narrow tailoring. He referenced burden in terms of man-hours and cost, relevance in terms of tying the discovery back to the specific duty alleged, and proportionality in language that almost echoed Malone's own past phrases.
Halfway through, he saw the clerk's shoulders relax by a degree.
Good.
He pivoted, as planned, to their concession.
"That said," Alex went on, "we are not refusing discovery. We simply ask that it be confined to what matters. We are prepared to supplement our production with board minutes and internal communications regarding the specific transaction at issue for a reasonable period surrounding it—say, twelve months—provided the Court agrees that plaintiffs' requests for ten years of unrelated deals are denied as overbroad and unrelated to the claims."
Malone's pen began moving again.
McKinnon shifted uncomfortably.
Alex finished with a clean, uncluttered conclusion: this wasn't about hiding anything; it was about keeping the process fair and focused.
When he sat, Louis exhaled audibly beside him.
McKinnon tried to recover in rebuttal, but the tone had shifted. He sounded less like a crusader now and more like a man trying to explain why he needed the keys to every locked room in a building just to inspect one broken door.
Malone cut him off twice with questions, both aimed at narrowing the scope.
When the judge finally ruled, it was almost exactly the outcome Alex had mapped.
"Motion to compel is granted in part and denied in part," Malone said. "Defendant will produce documents as to the transaction at issue, within a twelve-month window as discussed. Requests outside that scope are denied as overbroad and not proportional to the needs of this case."
The gavel's soft tap felt, to Alex, like a seal on something more than a discovery order.
"Next matter," Malone said.
They were done.
Outside the courtroom, Louis practically vibrated.
"That," he said, jabbing a finger at Alex, "was—was—"
"Effective?" Alex suggested.
"Dangerous," Louis said. "You were dangerously effective. Do you have any idea how many years it took me to get Malone to use my language in his orders?"
Alex tilted his head. "He used his own language."
"He used it after you fed it to him," Louis said.
The courtroom doors opened behind them.
Harvey walked out, hands in his pockets, expression unreadable.
Alex wasn't surprised. He hadn't seen Harvey inside, but he'd felt the weight of someone familiar in the gallery. The man knew better than to be obvious when he was scouting talent.
Louis turned. "You saw that?"
"I saw that," Harvey said.
"Well?" Louis demanded. "Tell Jessica he was adequate so we can get back to my crushing workload."
"Adequate?" Harvey repeated.
"Fine," Louis said. "More than adequate. Slightly above my already high expectations. Happy?"
Harvey looked at Alex.
"You kept Malone focused," Harvey said. "You didn't let McKinnon frame you as evasive. You gave the judge exactly the compromise he wanted to feel fair while still protecting the client."
"I gave him options," Alex said.
"You gave him control," Harvey corrected. "Judges love feeling in control. You made it feel like his idea to cut the scope to a year."
"I just pointed out the edges," Alex said.
Harvey's mouth curved faintly. "You don't get points for false modesty here. This place runs on accurate self-assessment."
Louis folded his arms. "So what now? You march him into Jessica's office and give him a corner office with a view?"
"No," Harvey said. "Not yet."
He studied Alex for another long moment.
"Come by my office this afternoon," Harvey said. "We'll talk about what 'partnership track' actually means here."
Something in the way he said it made Louis splutter. "You're actually considering—"
"Relax, Louis," Harvey said. "No one's giving him your office."
"But—"
"Yet," Harvey added.
Louis gaped.
Donna appeared as if summoned, heels clicking on the courthouse hallway tile, a coffee in each hand.
"Malone ruled already?" she asked. "I didn't even get to pretend to be surprised."
"Storm made sure it was quick," Harvey said.
Donna passed a coffee to Louis without looking at him—habit more than thought. The other, she offered to Alex.
"You look like someone who got exactly what he wanted," she said.
Alex accepted the cup. "I'll let you know when I have that."
"Careful," she said. "Around here, that's how it starts. First you want a win, then you want a corner office, then you want your name on the wall."
"And what do you want?" Alex asked.
Donna smiled, but there was something in it that didn't quite reach her eyes. "Better questions than that."
She turned to Harvey. "Jessica wants a debrief on the motion and an update on that reporter situation. She has a client call at three and would like to have answers before then."
Harvey nodded. "Set it up for two-thirty."
Donna's gaze slid back to Alex. "You joining that?"
"Not yet," Harvey said. "Let's see if he can survive one more conversation with me before we throw him into Jessica's line of fire again."
"That's adorable," Donna said. "You think you're less scary than Jessica."
"I know I'm less scary than Jessica," Harvey said. "That's what makes me more effective."
Alex watched the three of them—Harvey, Donna, Louis—fall into their familiar rhythm. Bickering, challenging, instinctively orbiting one another in a way that spoke of years of shared battles.
He'd stepped into the middle of that and not been immediately rejected.
That was a start.
The afternoon sun slanted through Harvey's office windows, catching dust motes in golden lines.
Alex sat across from Harvey's desk, coffee cooling in his hand.
"So," Harvey said. "You want partnership track."
"Yes," Alex said.
"You know what that means here?"
"Work that crushes lesser men, a constant threat of being outmaneuvered, and the satisfaction of never having to say 'I'll check with the partner' again," Alex said.
Harvey smirked. "You've been paying attention."
"I make a habit of it," Alex said.
Harvey leaned back. "Jessica's interested. I'm interested. Louis is… whatever the opposite of disinterested is."
"Threatened," Alex supplied.
"Exactly," Harvey said.
He tapped a pen idly on the desk. "We don't just hand out chances like the one you're asking for. The last associate who got anything close to this kind of accelerated track walked in here with a perfect LSAT score and a brain like a camera."
Mike Ross.
Alex kept his expression neutral. "And did he live up to expectations?"
"In some ways," Harvey said. "In other ways, he set them on fire and threw them out the window. But that's a longer story."
He studied Alex. "You're not a kid. You're not a prodigy with a fake résumé. You're… something else."
"I'm a closer," Alex said.
"A lot of people call themselves that," Harvey said. "Most of them are lying."
"I don't lie about outcomes," Alex replied.
Harvey considered that, then set the pen down.
"Here's what's really going on," Harvey said. "Jessica likes that you saw a threat before it hit her inbox. I like that you can think three moves ahead in a courtroom. But this place isn't just about brains. It's about loyalty. To the firm. To the people who keep it standing when everything else tries to knock it down."
"I understand loyalty," Alex said.
"Do you?" Harvey asked quietly. "Because people walk into firms like this all the time thinking it's about their personal legend. Their undefeated record. Their name. Then they find out the hard way that, when the bullets start flying, the only thing that keeps you from going down alone is who's willing to stand next to you."
For a fraction of a second, Alex saw his old life overlap the present. A partner with a gun. A courtroom turning red.
He held Harvey's gaze. "I've already learned that," he said.
Harvey heard something in his tone—something that made his eyes narrow slightly.
"You've lost before," Harvey said.
"In ways that matter," Alex said. "Yes."
He let that hang, then added, "I don't intend to repeat those mistakes."
Harvey nodded once, as if that answer satisfied an unspoken test.
"Fine," he said. "Here's the deal. You stay. For now. Not as a full partner, not yet. As a… special hire."
"Special," Alex repeated.
"You report directly to me on case work and to Jessica on anything that touches firm reputation," Harvey said. "You don't go near Mike, you don't touch my current docket without my say-so, and you do not, under any circumstances, make a move that affects this firm in the press without looping Jessica in first."
Reasonable constraints, Alex thought. And a confirmation of something else: Mike Ross was already somewhere in this building's orbit.
"I can work with that," Alex said.
Harvey's mouth curved. "Of course you can. You made the offer."
He held out a hand.
Alex took it.
The handshake was firm, measured. Not a contest. A contract.
"Welcome to Pearson Hardman," Harvey said. "Let's see if the universe actually did us a favor dropping you on our doorstep."
As Alex left the office a few minutes later, he nearly collided with Donna just outside the door.
She recovered without flinching, stepping back half an inch, eyes flicking between him and Harvey's office.
"So," she said. "Are we keeping you?"
"For now," Alex said.
Donna's smile was small but genuine. "Try not to burn the place down on your first week. We're still repainting from the last fire."
"I'm more of a structural reinforcement type," Alex said.
"Good," Donna said. "We could use that."
She started to walk away, then paused, glancing back over her shoulder.
"Oh, and Storm?"
"Yes?"
"Tomorrow," she said, "when you come in… don't bother checking in at the front desk. I'll have your badge ready."
A simple sentence. An administrative convenience.
It felt like something else entirely.
A door, opening.
One day left.
Two lives' worth of instincts.
And somewhere between Jessica's tough calls, Harvey's sharp edges, Louis's suspicious brilliance, and Donna's quietly watchful eyes, Alex Storm realized something he hadn't expected to feel in this world.
He wanted to stay.