Page 14 of Client Privilege

“Alex? Are you available to meet this afternoon? I have updates on our strategy.”

I glanced around the dingy room, at my few possessions already packed in my backpack. The manager had made it clear checkout was at eleven, no exceptions.

“Sure,” I said, trying to keep my voice steady. “What time?”

“Two o’clock at my office?”

I calculated the subway fare. Four dollars each way. That would leave me with nineteen dollars and change. Not enough for anywhere to sleep tonight.

“Could we meet somewhere else?” I asked, hating how small my voice sounded. “Somewhere… less formal?”

A brief pause. “Of course. There’s a coffee shop called Blackbird on Queen Street East. It’s quiet, and they have private booths in the back.”

“That works,” I said, relief washing through me. Maybe I could nurse a cup of tea for a couple hours in the warmth before facing whatever came next.

“I’ll see you there at two.”

I arrived early, as usual. The coffee shop was cozy, with exposed brick walls and soft lighting. I chose the booth farthest from the door and ordered the cheapest tea on the menu, counting out coins carefully.

Damian arrived precisely at two, looking immaculate in a charcoal suit that probably cost more than everything I owned. But there was something different about him today—his hair slightly less perfect, faint shadows under his eyes. He’d been working hard.

For me.

“Alex,” he greeted, sliding into the booth. He placed his leather briefcase on the table. “Thank you for meeting me.”

“Of course.” I wrapped my hands around my mug, drawing comfort from its warmth. “You mentioned updates?”

“Yes.” He ordered a coffee when the server approached, then turned back to me. “I’ve been exploring alternative legal strategies. Judge Patterson’s bias is problematic, but I’ve found a procedural approach that might get our case reassigned.”

He explained something about section numbers and specialized knowledge requirements, but the words blurred together. All I could focus on was the gnawing emptiness in my stomach and the question of where I’d sleep tonight.

“Alex?” Damian’s voice cut through my thoughts. “Are you all right?”

“Sorry, just… processing.” I forced myself to meet his gaze. “It sounds promising.”

His eyes narrowed slightly. “When did you last eat?”

The question caught me off guard. “I’m fine.”

“That’s not what I asked.”

I looked down at my tea. “Yesterday morning.”

Damian signalled the server and ordered two sandwiches and a bowl of soup. I wanted to object but couldn’t summon the energy.

“Alex,” he said quietly after the server left, “I need to know what’s going on. The full picture.”

The kindness in his voice nearly undid me. I swallowed hard.

“I’m out of money,” I admitted. “Today was my last day at the motel. I’ve got nineteen dollars left, which isn’t enough for… anything, really.”

His expression didn’t change, but something in his eyes softened. “Why didn’t you tell me sooner?”

“Because I’m not your charity case,” I snapped, then immediately regretted it. “Sorry. I just… I don’t want to be dependent on anyone again. Ever.”

“This isn’t dependency, Alex. It’s practicality.” He leaned forward. “You’re in the middle of a legal battle with a wealthy, vindictive man who’s using every resource at his disposal against you. Ensuring you have safe housing and food isn’t charity—it’s part of protecting you.”

The food arrived, and my resolve crumbled at the sight of it. I ate slowly at first, then with increasing hunger.

“We need to discuss your immediate situation,” Damian said as I finished. “I’ve prepared several options.”

“I’ll figure something out,” I said automatically.

“Like what?” His tone wasn’t confrontational, just matter-of-fact.

I had no answer.

“I thought so.” He reached into his briefcase and pulled out an envelope. “I’ve set up a trust account for you with my firm as the administrator. It’s a standard practice for clients in domestic violence cases who’ve been financially isolated.”

My heart raced. “I can’t accept—”

“You can and you will,” he interrupted, his voice firm but not unkind. “This is not a personal loan from me. It’s a legal fund to ensure your basic needs are met while we pursue your case. When we win—and we will win—Marcus will be ordered to repay these costs as part of the settlement. ”

He pushed the envelope across the table. “This is one thousand dollars in cash for immediate expenses. The trust account has an additional five thousand that you can access through this debit card.”

I stared at the envelope as if it might bite me. “This feels too familiar,” I whispered.

“How so?”

“Marcus started the same way. Helping me when I was struggling. Paying for things. Making me feel like I couldn’t survive without him.” My hands trembled. “And eventually, I couldn’t.”

Understanding dawned in Damian’s eyes. “The difference,” he said carefully, “is that this money comes with no strings attached. No expectations. No control. You don’t owe me anything for it—not gratitude, not obedience, nothing.”

“Everyone wants something,” I countered.

“Yes,” he acknowledged. “I want you to be safe. I want you to have the resources to fight this case. And professionally, I want to win. But I don’t want anything from you personally, Alex.”

I studied his face, searching for signs of deception. Found none.

“The trust has specific terms,” he continued.

“I cannot access the funds. Only you can. I cannot cancel it or withdraw the money. There’s paperwork here explaining everything.

” He tapped the envelope. “If at any point you’re uncomfortable, you can terminate our professional relationship and the trust transfers to your new counsel. ”

It was the most perfect exit strategy anyone had ever offered me. My throat tightened.

“Why are you doing this?” I asked, the question escaping before I could stop it.

Damian was quiet for a moment. “Because the system is designed to protect people like Marcus, not people like you. Because without financial resources, you’ll be forced back to him or onto the streets. And because…” He hesitated. “Because no one should have to choose be tween safety and survival.”

I reached for the envelope with shaking fingers. Inside was more cash than I’d seen in years, along with a debit card and several documents.

“There’s a list of extended-stay hotels that offer weekly rates, if you want to move somewhere more comfortable,” Damian said. “I’ve highlighted the ones in safe neighbourhoods. The trust will cover your stay while we work on getting your artwork and possessions back from Marcus.”

“Thank you,” I managed, the words inadequate.

“You don’t need to thank me. This is what should happen in every case like yours. The fact that it doesn’t is a failure of the system, not a reflection of your worth.”

I nodded, unable to speak past the lump in my throat.

“What happens next?” I asked, changing the subject.

Damian accepted the shift gracefully. “We file the motions I mentioned. We push for case reassignment. And we keep fighting.” He smiled slightly. “One day at a time.”

One day at a time. I could do that.