Page 28 of Client Privilege
Alex
I TRUDGED back to the Parkview Motel, each step heavier than the last. The neon vacancy sign flickered erratically, casting sickly pulses of red across the cracked pavement. A perfect match for my fractured hope.
Ten to two. Ten jurors had believed me, had seen through Marcus’s polished performance. But it wasn’t enough. And now the protective order was gone—the thin paper shield that had at least given me the illusion of safety.
The room smelled of industrial cleaner and despair when I unlocked the door.
I dropped my backpack on the floor and collapsed onto the bed without bothering to remove my shoes or turn on the lights.
The ceiling had a water stain shaped vaguely like Nova Scotia.
I’d been staring at it for a week now, mapping its borders like some desolate country.
Damian had wanted to drive me back, insisted actually, but I’d refused. I needed to be alone, to process what had happened without his well-intentioned legal strategies and reassurances about next steps. There would be no next steps. Not tonight. Tonight was for acknowledging defeat.
A THUNDEROUS POUNDING jolted me awake. The room was pitch black save for the red glow of the alarm clock—3:17 AM. For a disoriented moment, I thought the noise was part of a nightmare.
Then it came again. Someone was at my door, the cheap wood vibrating with each impact.
“Open up!” The voice was slurred but unmistakable. Marcus.
My blood turned to ice. How had he found me? I’d paid cash, used a false name. I’d been so careful.
“I know you’re in there!” Another series of poundings, harder this time. “Don’t make me break this fucking door down!”
From somewhere nearby, a muffled voice shouted for quiet.
I slid off the bed, heart hammering so hard I could barely breathe. My phone. Where was my phone? I patted the nightstand blindly, fingers finally closing around it.
The pounding continued, rhythmic and threatening. “You think this is over? You think you won something today?”
I needed to call Damian. He’d made me promise—day or night, any sign of Marcus, call immediately. But my hands were shaking so badly I could barely unlock the screen.
“Nobody makes a fool of me, Alex. Nobody.”
Something heavy slammed against the door—his shoulder, I guessed. The frame creaked ominously. It wouldn’t hold for long.
I finally managed to pull up Damian’s contact and pressed dial, backing into the bathroom. If Marcus broke in, maybe I could lock myself in there until help arrived.
The call rang once, twice. Please answer. Please.
Another slam against the door, louder this time. A splintering sound.
“Alex?” Damian’s voice, instantly alert despite the hour.
I kept my voice to the barest whisper. “Marcus is at my motel. He’s trying to break down the door.”
“What’s your room number?” His voice was calm but urgent.
“Twenty-three. Parkview Motel on Queen East. ”
“I’m calling 911 right now. Stay on the line with me. Find somewhere to hide if you can.”
A final, massive crash, and the door flew open, banging against the wall. I ducked into the bathroom, not quite closing the door—I needed to see what he was doing.
Marcus stood in the doorway, silhouetted against the parking lot lights. His normally immaculate appearance was dishevelled—suit rumpled, hair wild, tie hanging loose around his neck. He swayed slightly, scanning the darkened room.
“There you are,” he said, spotting the bathroom door ajar. “Hiding like always.”
I pressed myself against the wall, clutching the phone to my chest, trying to muffle any sound. Damian would hear everything, but Marcus couldn’t know I was on a call.
“Alex?” Damian’s voice was tiny from the speaker. I couldn’t respond.
Marcus moved into the room, kicking the broken door shut behind him. “You know what today cost me?” He knocked something over—the lamp, from the sound of it. “My reputation. My standing. Do you have any idea how much it cost me to buy those two jurors?”
His voice was getting closer. I could smell the whisky from here.
“Fifty thousand dollars each,” he continued, his voice dropping to that terrifyingly soft register I knew too well. “To make sure they’d never vote your way, no matter what evidence they saw. And it’s all your fault.”
He pushed the bathroom door open fully, his large frame filling the doorway. “There you are.”
I clutched the phone tighter, pressing it against my stomach, hoping he wouldn’t notice.
“Nothing to say?” Marcus stepped closer, towering over me. “No clever testimony prepared? ”
“Please leave,” I managed, my voice barely audible.
He laughed, the sound devoid of humour. “Leave? When I’ve gone to so much trouble to find you? When we have so much to discuss?” He reached out, grabbing my chin roughly. “Look at me when I’m talking to you.”
I raised my eyes to his, seeing the familiar cold rage beneath the drunken haze.
“Ten jurors,” he hissed. “Ten people who believed your lies. Too many. I had to pay through the nose to make sure it hung.”
“They weren’t lies,” I whispered.
His hand moved from my chin to my throat, not squeezing yet, just resting there—a promise of what could happen. “Everything about you is a lie, Alex. Everything. I made you. I gave you everything. And this is how you repay me?”
I could hear Damian’s voice, tinny and distant from the phone pressed against my body, but Marcus was too focused on me to notice.
“No protective order now,” he continued, his fingers tightening slightly. “No one watching. Just you and me, like it should be.”
“People know where I am,” I said, trying to keep my voice steady.
“Your lawyer?” Marcus laughed. “He’s already moving on. The case is over. You’re yesterday’s charity project.” His free hand moved to my waist, fingers digging painfully into my side. “But I’m still here. I’ll always be here.”
His face was inches from mine now, breath hot and sour with alcohol. “You’re coming home with me tonight. Where you belong.”
“No,” I said, with more strength than I felt.
His expression darkened. “That wasn’t a request.” The hand at my throat tightened, just enough to make breathing difficult. “We’re leaving. Now. And if you make a sound, if you try to run, I will make you regret it for the rest of your life.”
I stood frozen, the phone still pressed against my stomach, Damian listening to every word. How long until help would arrive? How long could I stall?
“Get your things,” Marcus ordered, finally releasing my throat.
I didn’t move.
“NOW!” he roared, his control slipping.
“Okay,” I whispered. “Just… let me get dressed properly.”
He stepped back, watching me with predatory focus as I moved toward the bed where my backpack lay. I needed to keep the phone hidden, needed to keep him talking until help arrived.
“Why did you come here?” I asked quietly, trying to sound defeated rather than stalling.
Marcus smiled, the expression chilling. “Because you’re mine, Alex. You’ve always been mine. And tonight, I’m going to remind you exactly what that means.”
Damian
I WAS dreaming of courtrooms with empty jury boxes when my phone’s shrill ring jolted me awake. My hand shot out automatically, mind still foggy with sleep as I squinted at the display. Alex’s name flashed on the screen.
“Alex?” I answered immediately, sleep vanishing as adrenaline surged through me.
His voice came as barely a whisper. “Marcus is at my motel. He’s trying to break down the door.”
I sat bolt upright, already swinging my legs over the side of the bed. “What’s your room number?”
“Twenty-three. Parkview Motel on Queen East. ”
“I’m calling 911 right now. Stay on the line with me. Find somewhere to hide if you can.”
A tremendous crash echoed through the phone, followed by silence.
I grabbed my digital recorder from the nightstand drawer—the one I used for case notes—and pressed record, holding it near the phone speaker.
With my other hand, I reached for my work mobile and dialed 911, putting my personal phone on speaker.
“Alex?” I called out, hearing nothing but rustling fabric. “Alex, can you hear me?”
The emergency operator answered. “911, what’s your emergency?”
“My name is Damian Richards. I’m an attorney, and my client is in immediate danger,” I said, keeping my voice measured despite the panic clawing at my chest. “Marcus Delaney has broken into his motel room at the Parkview Motel on Queen East, room twenty-three. My client has an open line to me right now, and I can hear Delaney threatening him.”
As if on cue, a voice came through my personal phone—Marcus’s voice, slurred with alcohol but unmistakable. “You know what today cost me? My reputation. My standing. Do you have any idea how much it cost me to buy those two jurors?”
I relayed this to the dispatcher, my blood running cold.
“Sir, I’m dispatching officers now,” the female dispatcher said, her voice reassuringly professional. “They should be there in approximately five minutes. Please stay on the line.”
I was already pulling on sweatpants with one hand, phone cradled between my ear and shoulder. “Tell them to hurry. The perpetrator has a history of violence. He nearly killed my client two months ago ago.”
Through my personal phone, Marcus’s voice continued, each word making my stomach tighten further. “Fifty thousand dollars each to make sure they’d never vote your way, no matter what evidence they saw.”
“He’s just confessed to jury tampering,” I told the dispatcher, grabbing my keys and racing down the stairs. “He paid jurors fifty thousand dollars each to deadlock the trial.”
I fumbled with my work phone as I reached my car, putting it on speaker as well so I could drive. The dispatcher continued asking questions as I started the engine, but my attention was split between her voice and the horrifying scene unfolding through my other phone.
Marcus’s voice was getting more threatening by the second. I texted Sandra with one hand as I pulled out of my driveway: “SOS. Alex in danger. Parkview Motel, Queen East. Room 23. Coming now.”