Page 15 of Client Privilege

Alex

THE DAYS blended into one another, each dragging along a weight heavier than the last. I could hardly keep track of how many nights I spent in that cramped motel room, haunted by the thought of Buster and Marcus’s threats.

Every time my phone buzzed, my heart raced—anxiety twisting in my stomach as I braced myself for more bad news.

Damian’s attempts to challenge Judge Patterson had been fruitless.

Every move we made seemed thwarted by Marcus’s deep pockets and influence.

It felt like a game rigged from the start.

Damian often returned to the office after meetings with a stony expression, frustration etched into his features.

The way he buried himself in paperwork didn’t escape me; he was determined to fight, but every setback chipped away at his resolve.

“Did you hear back from Justice Sommers?” I asked him one afternoon as we sat across from each other at his sleek office desk.

He rubbed his temples, glancing up at me through weary eyes. “She’s sympathetic but unwilling to intervene without clear evidence of bias. The legal system is set up to protect judges first, not victims.”

I slumped back in my chair, the weight of it all pressing down on me like a lead blanket. “So what do we do now? Just wait for Patterson to dismiss our next motion too?”

“Not if I can help it,” he replied firmly, gathering documents as if they were ammunition for a battle yet to come. “We’re going to push for specific compliance regarding your property and Buster.”

I felt hope flicker within me like a candle flame battling against the dark. “And if that fails?”

He paused, locking eyes with me. “We won’t let it fail.”

As days passed, I felt the walls closing in on me further and further. Each morning blurred into the next, filled with endless worries about where I’d end up or whether Marcus would show up at my door again. The hotel manager’s suspicious glances only heightened my anxiety.

Then came an unexpected message from Damian one afternoon:

I called Damian immediately, cutting him off as he answered. “Are you serious?” My voice was high-pitched with disbelief.

“Yes,” he replied evenly. “It’s a long shot to be certain—but if we can demonstrate clear evidence that he’s mishandled this case, there might be grounds for recusal.”

“And what if he just dismisses us again?” My heart sank at the thought.

Damian looked contemplative for a moment before speaking again. “We’ll cross that bridge if it happens.”

The fire ignited within me once more; this wasn’t just about recovering my belongings or getting Buster back—it was about dismantling everything Marcus had built on lies and manipulation.

“Okay,” I said finally, determination flooding through me like a cold wave washing over hot sand. “Let’s do this.”

THE DAY OF the meeting arrived faster than I expected—a flurry of nerves sending butterflies swirling in my stomach as I waited outside Patterson’s courtroom with Damian beside me.

“You ready?” he asked softly.

“Not really,” I admitted, swallowing hard.

He placed a reassuring hand on my shoulder briefly before releasing me—such an innocuous gesture that sent ripples through me nonetheless.

“I’ll be right beside you,” he promised as we stepped inside.

Patterson sat behind his imposing desk as we entered—his brow furrowed as if already annoyed by our presence.

“What is it this time?” His tone dripped with impatience.

“Your Honour,” Damian began with measured professionalism. “We wish to present evidence regarding non-compliance with your previous orders concerning Mr. Lajeunesse’s property and pet.”

Patterson raised an eyebrow but waved us forward impatiently when we produced copies of all pertinent documents detailing every piece of art and possession still missing from our list—each entry supported by emails and texts Alex had preserved throughout our ordeal.

“This doesn’t appear conclusive.” Patterson scanned through our materials dismissively without any real focus on their content—a move that made anger boil beneath my skin again but stayed silent behind Damian’s steady presence beside me.

“It demonstrates a pattern,” Damian pressed calmly but firmly despite Patterson’s disinterest—the same calm determination he always exhibited when facing adversity—a strength that encouraged me not to shy away now even when everything felt futile.

“You’re saying Mr. Delaney hasn’t complied with multiple orders? This appears very much like a civil dispute rather than criminal misconduct.”

“It isn’t merely about compliance!” I found myself saying before realizing how loud my voice had gotten in the otherwise hushed court room atmosphere—everyone turned their heads toward us both incredulous at such audacity—but dammit—I needed him to understand!

Patterson seemed unimpressed by any passion underlying our words—merely adjusted his glasses while remaining impassive before moving onward without even acknowledging what had been said so far!

Damian recovered quickly though—with sheer tenacity showcasing how relentless lawyers must be against those who hide behind privilege and wealth: “Your Honour, if this court fails to address such matters seriously… We risk further victimization—and potential harm—to Mr Lajeunesse should Mr Delaney feel free to manipulate conditions su rrounding property ownership under threat.”

Patterson sighed heavily like we were asking him personally for favours rather than advocating justice. He looked down at paperwork laid out before him shaking his head slightly before dismissing us outright yet again.

“I’ll consider your arguments,” he said curtly without any conviction or urgency whatsoever in response!

Damian straightened visibly while trying not allow frustration into his voice: “That’s all we ask Your Honour…”

AFTERWARDS, WE LEFT the courtroom together in silence, finding ourselves wandering along Bay Street. The bright sunlight poured over towering glass buildings while people bustled past, lost in their everyday routines—a normalcy that felt impossibly foreign to me now.

“I’m sorry about how things went in there,” Damian finally said, his voice quiet but steady as we paused near a small café. The crowd flowed around us, oblivious to the battle we’d just lost.

“It wasn’t your fault,” I replied numbly, feeling the waves of defeat crashing over me. Everything seemed to be mounting against us, draining what little energy I had left.

Damian checked his phone, his brow furrowing as he read something on the screen. He took a deep breath before meeting my eyes.

“Alex, I just received the court schedule.” His professional mask slipped slightly, revealing the frustration beneath. “The trial date has been set for next week.”

My stomach dropped. “And Patterson?”

“He’s still presiding,” Damian confirmed, his jaw tightening. “Our motion for recusal was denied.”

I leaned against the building behind me, suddenly needing the support. “So that’s it? Marcus wins again?”

“No,” Damian said firmly, stepping closer. “This isn’t over. Patterson may be biased, but we’ll present our case so compellingly that he can’t ignore it without making his prejudice obvious to everyone.”

“You really believe that?” I asked, searching his face for any sign he was just trying to make me feel better.

“I do,” he replied, no hesitation in his voice. “We have the truth on our side, Alex. And I’m not backing down.”

Something in his unwavering determination sparked a small flame of hope inside me. It wasn’t much—just enough to keep me standing, to help me face what was coming.

“Then I guess we’d better get ready,” I said, straightening my shoulders. “We have a trial to prepare for.”