Page 25 of Client Privilege

“No, I had no reason to doubt Marcus.”

“Did you ever speak to Alex privately about his well-being?”

Sophia hesitated. “No, I didn’t.”

“Did Marcus ever suggest you shouldn’t speak to Alex alone?”

“Not explicitly, but he did mention Alex was uncomfortable with too much attention.”

“So your entire assessment of Alex’s mental health and the nature of their relationship comes solely from Marcus’s perspective?”

“I observed them together at many events.”

“Public events where both were on display, correct?”

“Yes,” she admitted.

“No further questions.”

Blackwood called three more witnesses—all friends or colleagues of Marcus who painted similar pictures of his generosity and my apparent instability.

Each testimony twisted the truth so skilfully that I began to doubt my own memories.

Had I been difficult? Ungrateful? Was I remembering everything wrong?

Damian seemed to sense my spiralling thoughts.

During a brief recess, he leaned close. “They’re doing exactly what we expected—character assassination by proxy.

But notice what they don’t have? Any witnesses who actually saw you and Marcus in private.

Any evidence contradicting your injuries. Stay focused.”

I nodded, drawing strength from his certainty. When court resumed, Blackwood made his final announcement.

“The defence calls Marcus Delaney.”

My heart hammered as Marcus approached the stand. He looked impeccable as always—his silver hair perfectly styled, his charcoal suit tailored to emphasize his athletic build. As he was sworn in, his expression was one of dignified sorrow.

“Mr. Delaney,” Blackwood began, “could you please tell the court how you met Alex Lajeunesse?”

Marcus’s voice was measured, resonant with just the right note of nostalgia.

“I met Alex at the Gardiner Gallery’s emerging artists exhibition in January 2020.

His work caught my attention immediately—there was raw talent there, though it needed refinement.

When I spoke with him, I was struck by his passion for art despite his obvious financial struggles. ”

“How did your relationship develop?”

“Gradually. I began visiting the gallery regularly, offering guidance on his work. He was eager for mentorship—hungry for it, really. He’d had a difficult childhood, limited opportunities. I wanted to help.”

I dug my nails deeper into my palms. This calculated revision of our beginning—casting himself as the benevolent mentor rather than the predator who’d isolated and groomed me—made bile rise in my throat.

“When did your relationship become romantic?”

“About three months after we met. It wasn’t something I anticipated. The age difference concerned me, but Alex was persistent. He said he’d never felt so understood, so supported.”

The inversion of truth was breathtaking. I had been the hesitant one, overwhelmed by his intensity, unsure about the age gap. He had been relentless in his pursuit .

“You eventually invited him to live with you?”

“Yes, after about six months. His living situation was precarious—he was behind on rent, sharing a cramped apartment with several roommates. It was affecting his ability to create. I offered him my guest room initially, but our relationship had deepened by then.”

“During your relationship, did you support Alex financially?”

“Completely. I covered all our living expenses, provided him with a monthly allowance, funded his art supplies, arranged exhibitions. I wanted him to have the freedom to develop his talent without financial stress.”

“The plaintiff has characterized your financial support as controlling. How do you respond?”

Marcus’s expression turned pained. “I never attached conditions to my support. Alex was free to pursue whatever opportunities interested him. I encouraged him to maintain his position at the gallery, but he preferred to focus on his art full-time. I respected that choice.”

Each lie built upon the previous one, constructing an alternate reality where he was the generous benefactor and I the ungrateful recipient. I felt lightheaded with fury and despair.

“Mr. Delaney, Alex has accused you of isolating him from friends and colleagues. Is this accurate?”

“Not at all.” Marcus shook his head sadly.

“The truth is, Alex struggled with social relationships. He was suspicious of people’s motives, quick to perceive slights.

I tried to include him in my social circle, to introduce him to people who could advance his career, but he often refused to attend events or would leave abruptly if he did come. ”

“What about his former professor and colleagues who testified yesterday?”

“I encouraged those relationships initially. But Professor Mercier became… inappropriately involved in Alex’s personal life, calling constantly, even showing up uninvited at our home.

Alex was un comfortable but didn’t know how to set boundaries, so I helped him draft a letter requesting space and had my solicitor deliver it to Professor Mercier. ”

I nearly gasped aloud. The audacity of this lie—Claude had called exactly twice and visited once out of genuine concern. Marcus had intercepted every communication, drafted the cease-and-desist letter without my knowledge.

“Let’s address the events of September 17th directly. Where were you that evening?”

Marcus’s expression grew solemn. “I wasn’t at home. I was attending a fundraising dinner for the children’s hospital, then met friends for drinks at their home afterwards. I have affidavits from these friends confirming my presence until approximately 11 PM.”

Blackwood produced a document. “Your Honour, I’d like to enter these sworn statements confirming Mr. Delaney’s whereabouts on the evening in question.”

Judge Patterson nodded. “Proceed.”

“When did you learn Alex had been injured?”

“Around midnight. I returned home to find the apartment empty, which was unusual. Then I received a call from a neighbour who said an ambulance had been at our building earlier. I was frantic—called hospitals until I located him at Toronto General.”

“What happened when you arrived at the hospital?”

Marcus’s voice thickened with emotion. “They wouldn’t let me see him. I was desperate to know if he was alright, what had happened. I called Dr. Harrington, hoping he could help me get information.”

“When did you discover Alex had left the hospital?”

“The next morning. I’d gone home briefly to shower and change. When I returned, the nurse told me he’d disappeared during the night. I was terrified—he was seriously injured, had nowhere to go. I searched everywhere, called everyone we knew. ”

“Mr. Delaney, Alex has accused you of continuing to harass him after he left, specifically by leaving his cat’s collar on his car with a threatening note. How do you respond?”

Marcus’s expression hardened with genuine indignation.

“That’s absolutely false. I’ve been desperate to find Buster and return him to Alex.

The cat disappeared the same night Alex left—I assumed Alex had taken him.

I’ve been searching shelters, posting flyers.

The suggestion that I would use an innocent animal to threaten someone I care about is… abominable.”

I trembled with rage. Buster hadn’t “disappeared”—he’d been locked in the bedroom during the assault. Marcus was keeping him hostage, using my love for my cat to try to lure me back.

“How would you characterize your relationship with Alex overall?”

Marcus sighed heavily. “I loved him. Still do, despite everything. I tried to support his talent, his dreams. But Alex has struggled with emotional stability throughout our relationship. There were periods of paranoia, accusations, unpredictable defence. I tried to get him medical and psychological help, but he refused.”

“No further questions, Your Honour.”

I was shaking so badly I could barely remain seated. The complete inversion of reality—painting himself as the patient, loving partner and me as unstable and ungrateful—was so skilfully done that I saw several jurors nodding sympathetically.

Damian stood, buttoning his jacket. “Mr. Delaney, you’ve painted quite a rosy picture of your relationship with Alex. Let’s examine it more closely, shall we?”

Marcus inclined his head slightly, the picture of cooperative dignity.

“You testified you were not at home on the evening of September 17th when Alex sustained his injuries. Yet your neighbour, Mrs. Hastings, reported hearing ‘a man shouting’ and ‘sounds of distress’ from your apartment that night. How do you explain that? ”

Marcus didn’t flinch. “Mrs. Hastings is elderly and confused. She’s mistaken about the timing or perhaps heard sounds from another apartment.”

“I see. And the doorman who logged your entry to the building at 9:17 PM that night—is he confused as well?”

A flicker of something—surprise, anger—crossed Marcus’s face before his mask of composure returned. “I stopped home briefly between the fundraiser and meeting friends. I forgot something I needed.”

“How convenient. And these friends who’ve provided affidavits confirming your presence that night—they’re all business associates dependent on your investments or charitable donations, aren’t they?”

“Objection!” Blackwood called. “Counsel is badgering the witness.”

“I’ll rephrase,” Damian said smoothly. “Mr. Delaney, could you please state the names and relationships of these alibi witnesses?”

“James Wong, a fellow board member at the hospital. Richard Townsend, my investment partner. Melissa Davis, a gallery owner I support.”

“All people with financial connections to you, correct?”

“They’re colleagues and friends.”

“You testified that you encouraged Alex’s career and relationships. Yet Professor Mercier and Ms. Tremblay both testified that they received communications prohibiting contact with Alex. Did you send those communications without Alex’s knowledge?”

“No. Alex was aware and approved of setting boundaries with people who were becoming intrusive.”

“Then why didn’t Alex sign these communications himself?”

“He found confrontation difficult. I helped him express his wishes formally.”

“How thoughtful.” Damian’s voice dripped with skepticism. “Mr. Delaney, you claim Alex was free to pursue his career, yet you personally delivered his resignation to the Gardiner Gallery. Why would you do that if he was making his own professional decisions?”

“He asked me to. He was anxious about disappointing Ms. Tremblay.”

“You testified that you provided Alex with a monthly allowance. Did he have independent access to funds?”

“Of course. He had credit cards, access to accounts.”

“Yet bank records show all cards were in your name, with Alex as an authorized user—a status you could revoke at any time. And all accounts required your signature for withdrawals over $200. That’s not independence, is it?”

“It was a practical arrangement. Alex wasn’t particularly financially sophisticated.”

“Let’s discuss Buster, Alex’s cat. You claim the cat disappeared the night Alex left, yet you told the building manager three days later that ‘the cat is fine, just staying with a friend temporarily.’ Why the discrepancy?”

Marcus hesitated for the first time. “I… was embarrassed to admit I’d lost the cat. I hoped he would turn up.”

“So you lied?”

“I misspoke out of concern for appearances.”

“Just as you’re doing now?” Damian’s question hung in the air.

“Objection!” Blackwood was on his feet.

“Withdrawn,” Damian said before the judge could rule. “Mr. Delaney, Alex’s medical records document multiple hospital visits over the past three years—a broken wrist, cracked ribs, a concussion. How do you explain these injuries?”

“Alex was prone to accidents. He was often distracted, careless, and clumsy. And as I’ve mentioned, there were periods where his mental health was precarious, exacerbating these issues.”

“Are you suggesting he injured himself deliberately? ”

“I can’t say for certain. I only know I was never the cause of those injuries.”

“Yet each hospital visit occurred after what witnesses described as ‘arguments’ between you. Quite a coincidence, wouldn’t you say?”

“We had disagreements like any couple. They were unrelated to his injuries.”

Damian picked up a document from our table. “Your Honour, I’d like to enter into evidence phone records showing Mr. Delaney sent text messages to Alex’s new number from multiple burner phones after the protective order was issued.”

“Objection!” Blackwood called. “These records weren’t disclosed during discovery.”

“They were obtained only yesterday, Your Honour, when the phone company responded to our subpoena. We provided copies to opposing counsel this morning.”

Judge Patterson frowned but nodded. “I’ll allow it, but counsel should be more timely with evidence in the future.”

“Mr. Delaney,” Damian continued, “these messages include phrases like ‘I know where you are’ and ‘You can’t hide from me.’ How do you explain these if you were simply concerned for Alex’s welfare?”

“I never sent those messages. Anyone could have obtained his number.”

“Yet they came from phones purchased with your credit card.”

For the first time, Marcus’s composure cracked slightly. “That’s impossible. My card must have been stolen or compromised.”

“How unfortunate for you.” Damian’s tone made it clear he didn’t believe a word. “One final question, Mr. Delaney. If you’re so concerned about Alex’s well-being, why have you refused to return his artwork and personal possessions despite court orders?”

“I haven’t refused. His artwork is still in our home—our shared home. He’s welcome to collect it anytime. As for Buster, as I’ve said repeatedly, the cat is missing.”

“No further questions, Your Honour.”

As Marcus stepped down, his eyes met mine briefly.

Behind the mask of concern, I saw a flash of the cold rage I knew so well—the promise of consequences for my defiance.

I held his gaze steadily, refusing to look away first. Something must have shown in my face—a strength he hadn’t anticipated—because he was the one who finally broke eye contact.

Judge Patterson checked the time. “We’ll adjourn for the day. Court will resume tomorrow at 9 AM for closing arguments.”

As people began filing out, I turned to Damian. “He’s lying about everything—Buster, the alibi, all of it.”

“I know,” Damian said quietly. “But we’ve created reasonable doubt about his version of events. The phone records were particularly effective—did you see his reaction?”

I nodded, feeling a glimmer of hope for the first time since the trial began. Marcus wasn’t invincible. His carefully constructed facade had shown cracks under Damian’s questioning.

As we gathered our things, I caught sight of Marcus conferring intensely with Blackwood near the door. The expression on his face—cold calculation beneath a veneer of dignity—sent a chill through me. He wasn’t finished fighting. Not by a long shot.

But neither was I.