Page 31 of Client Privilege

“I’m sorry about last night,” I said abruptly, setting down my fork. “For… clinging to you like that. You didn’t sign up to be my emotional support system. ”

Damian’s expression softened. “You have nothing to apologize for. You’d been through a traumatic experience. You needed comfort and safety. I was glad I could provide that.”

“Still,” I said, unable to meet his eyes. “It was unprofessional of me to put you in that position.”

“Alex,” he said gently. “Look at me.”

I raised my eyes reluctantly.

“What happened last night wasn’t about professionalism. It was about basic human decency. You needed someone, and I was there. That’s all.”

But it wasn’t all, was it? Not for me. Not when my heart raced every time he looked at me like that, with such genuine concern. Not when I’d spent the night pressed against him, feeling safer than I had in years.

Before I could respond, the doorbell rang. Damian glanced at his watch.

“That’s probably Sandra,” he said, standing. “She said she’d come by early to help prepare for the police interview.”

I nodded, grateful for the interruption. “I’ll clean up here.”

“Leave it,” he said. “We have more important things to focus on.”

As he went to answer the door, I took a deep breath, trying to centre myself. Marcus was out there. The police were coming. I had evidence, witnesses, a lawyer who believed in me.

Maybe, just maybe, this time would be different.

The sound of voices in the hallway pulled me from my thoughts. Sandra appeared in the kitchen doorway, her expression softening when she saw me.

“Alex,” she said, stepping forward but stopping short of touching me. “How are you holding up?”

“I’m okay,” I said automatically.

She nodded, not believing me but not challenging the lie either. “The officers will be here at two. I’ve prepared some preliminary notes based on what I witnessed.”

“Thank you,” I said. “For everything. For coming to the motel last night.”

“Of course,” she said, as if racing to a crime scene in the middle of the night was just part of her job description.

Damian rejoined us, his phone in hand. “That was the detective in charge of the case,” he said. “Helena Mathers. She’s on her way over now, ahead of the other officers.”

“Is that normal?” I asked.

“Not exactly,” Damian admitted. “But she’s taking a special interest in this case. She wants to make sure everything is handled properly.”

“Because of who Marcus is,” I said, understanding immediately.

“Partly,” Damian agreed. “But also because of the nature of the case. She specializes in domestic violence investigations.”

Sandra was already pulling files from her bag, spreading them across the kitchen island. “I’ve prepared copies of all our evidence from the civil case, plus the temporary restraining order that was violated.”

I watched them work, feeling simultaneously grateful and overwhelmed. These people were fighting for me, had been fighting for me from the beginning. And what had I done to deserve it?

The doorbell rang again, and Damian went to answer it. He returned with a woman in her late thirties, dressed in a crisp pantsuit, her dark hair pulled back in a severe bun. She had the no-nonsense air of someone who’d seen it all and wasn’t impressed by any of it.

“Alex,” Damian said, “this is Detective Helena Mathers.”

She extended her hand, her grip firm but not aggressive. “Mr. Lajeunesse. I’m sorry we’re meeting under these circumstances.”

“Thank you for coming,” I said.

“Let’s sit down,” she suggested, gesturing toward the living room. “I’d like to hear exactly what happened last night, in your own words. ”

I followed her, settling onto the edge of the sofa while she took a chair opposite me. Damian sat beside me, close enough to offer support but not touching. Sandra remained standing, ever the vigilant assistant.

“Take your time,” Detective Mathers said, pulling out a notebook. “Start from the beginning.”

So I did. I told her about returning to the motel after the trial. About waking to Marcus pounding on my door at 3:17 AM. About calling Damian as Marcus broke in. About the things Marcus said—the jury tampering confession, the threats, the violence.

She listened without interrupting, taking notes and occasionally nodding. When I finished, she looked at Damian.

“And you recorded this call?”

“Yes,” he said, producing his digital recorder. “The entire conversation is here, including Marcus’s confession to paying jurors.”

She took the recorder, handling it carefully. “This is excellent evidence. I’ll need a copy for our investigation.”

“Of course,” Damian said. “Sandra has prepared one for you.”

Sandra stepped forward, handing the detective a USB drive. “The audio file is on here, along with transcripts of the relevant portions.”

Detective Mathers pocketed both items. “Mr. Lajeunesse, I want to be completely transparent with you. Marcus Delaney posted bail this morning.”

“I know,” I said quietly. “Damian told me.”

“He has connections throughout the city, including within the police department,” she continued.

“But I want you to know that I’m not one of them.

I come from nothing, Mr. Lajeunesse. I worked my way up from patrol officer to detective through hard work and determination.

Men like Marcus Delaney don’t intimidate me. ”

I studied her face, looking for any sign of insincerity, but found none. “Thank you.”

“I’ve been assigned as lead investigator on this case, and I’m going to make sure it’s handled properly,” she said firmly.

“The evidence you’ve provided gives us multiple charges we can pursue—breaking and entering, assault, attempted kidnapping, and now jury tampering. That last one is particularly serious.”

“Will it be enough?” I asked, voicing my earlier fear.

“With the recording? Absolutely,” she said confidently. “Jury tampering is a federal offence. Even Marcus Delaney’s connections can’t make that go away.”

I wanted to believe her. I really did.

“Other officers will be here soon to take formal statements,” she continued. “But I wanted to meet with you personally first, to assure you that I’m taking this seriously.” She leaned forward, her expression intense. “We’re going to make him pay, Mr. Lajeunesse. I promise you that.”

For the first time since waking up, I felt something close to hope. Not just because of her words, but because of the determination behind them. Detective Mathers wasn’t intimidated by Marcus’s wealth or connections. She saw him for what he was—a criminal who’d escaped justice for too long.

“Thank you,” I said again, meaning it more deeply this time.

She nodded, understanding in her eyes. “We’ll get through this together.”