Page 8 of Client Privilege

The private room at the LGBTQ+ shelter that Damian had helped me find was small but clean—a significant upgrade from sleeping in my car.

A narrow bed with actual sheets. A shared bathroom down the hall with hot water that didn’t cut out after three minutes.

I’d scrubbed myself raw under that shower, as if I could wash away the weeks of living in my car along with the dirt.

My phone—the burner Damian had given me—chimed with a text.

I stared at the message, reading it three times to make sure I understood. A protective order. An actual legal document telling Marcus to stay away from me. It seemed impossible after years of everyone believing his version of our relationship.

I texted back quickly:

Then, after a moment’s hesitation, I opened a new message to Professor Mercier. We’d agreed to minimal contact for his safety, but he deserved to know I wasn’t sleeping in my car anymore. I kept it brief, knowing he’d understand. His response came almost immediately:

The simple message brought unexpected tears to my eyes. Even after everything Marcus had done to isolate me, I wasn’t completely alone.

I scrambled to put on the cleanest clothes I had—jeans without visible stains and a faded blue t-shirt.

I caught my reflection in the small mirror above the sink and winced at the yellowing bruise still visible along my jaw.

I looked like exactly what I was—someone who’d been sleeping in their car and running for their life.

But I couldn’t hide in this shelter room forever, no matter how safe it felt. I needed to know what happened next, what this protective order actually meant. Whether it would really keep Marcus away or just make him angrier.

I took the subway to Damian’s office, clutching my worn backpack tightly against myself, hyper-aware of every person around me.

Any of them could be reporting back to Marcus.

He had people everywhere—waiters, bartenders, gallery assistants, even homeless guys on corners.

People who needed money and didn’t ask questions about why a rich man wanted to know about some nobody’s movements.

The security guard at Damian’s building remembered me from the previous day, which was both comforting and terrifying. If he remembered me, he could describe me to someone else. I tried to look casual as the elevator carried me up to the forty-second floor, but my heart hammered against my ribs.

When I reached Damian’s office, his assistant—Sandra, I remembered—gave me a gentle smile.

“Mr. Richards is on a call right now, but he asked me to show you in as soon as you arrived. You can wait in his office if you’d like.”

“Thank you,” I mumbled, following her through the glass door into Damian’s enormous office. The floor-to-ceiling windows showed Toronto sprawled out below, Lake Ontario glittering in the distance. The view reminded me painfully of Marcus’s penthouse—that same godlike perspective on the city.

I perched uncomfortably on one of the sleek visitor chairs, trying not to fidget. The office felt too exposed with its glass walls. Anyone walking by could see me. Report back to Marcus. Tell him where I was hiding.

I forced myself to breathe. Marcus couldn’t get to me here. Not yet, anyway.

Damian’s voice carried through the door before he entered—professional, measured, with an undercurrent of tension I hadn’t heard before.

“I understand the concern, Mr. Montgomery, but I’ve reviewed the case thoroughly.

It has significant merit… Yes, I’m aware of Mr. Delaney’s contributions to the hospital board…

No, this isn’t a vendetta or publicity stunt…

With all due respect, sir, I’m handling this case personally and take full responsibility for—”

He walked through the door, phone pressed to his ear, and stopped short when he saw me. Something flickered across his face—concern? Anger? I couldn’t tell. He held up one finger in a “just a moment” gesture.

“I need to go, sir. We can continue this discussion tomorrow… Yes, I understand the delicacy of the situation. Good afternoon.”

He ended the call and exhaled slowly, his shoulders dropping slightly before he squared them again.

“Alex. I apologize for that. How are you holding up?”

“Was that… was that about me?” My voice came out smaller than I intended.

Damian placed his phone face-down on the desk, a muscle in his jaw tightening. “It appears Mr. Delaney has already begun making his displeasure known.”

My stomach dropped. “What did he do? ”

Damian sat behind his desk, his movements controlled but tense. “Nothing you need to worry about. Just some internal firm politics.”

“Please don’t lie to me.” The words burst out before I could stop them. “Marcus lied to me for three years. About everything. I need to know what I’m facing.”

Something shifted in Damian’s expression—surprise, followed by what might have been respect. He nodded once.

“You’re right. I apologize.” He leaned forward, resting his forearms on the desk. “That was Montgomery, one of the managing partners of this firm. It seems Mr. Delaney has connections to several of our major clients who have expressed… concerns… about us representing you.”

The room seemed to tilt slightly. “He’s trying to get you fired?”

“Not exactly. He can’t fire me, my name’s on the letterhead and the sign. More applying…gentle pressure to suggest this case might not be worth the trouble.” Damian’s voice remained steady, but I saw the tension in his hands. “It’s a standard intimidation tactic. Nothing I haven’t handled before.”

But it wasn’t standard. Not really. I knew exactly how this worked. “This is just the beginning,” I said, my throat tight. “He’ll call in every favour, pressure every connection. He’ll make it impossible for anyone to help me.”

“That may be his intention,” Damian said, “but he’s not the only one with resources.”

He reached for his desk phone, pressing the speaker button. “Sandra, could you verify that our filings were properly recorded with the court? And check if Judge Thornton is still assigned to our preliminary hearing next week.”

“Right away,” Sandra’s voice replied.

While waiting, Damian pulled out a legal pad. “Let’s talk about what happened in court today. The protective order was granted, which means Marcus Delaney cannot come within 500 metres of you, your residence, or your workplace. He cannot contact you directly or through third parties.”

“What about Buster?” I asked. “My cat—”

“I’ve included provisions for the return of your personal property, including your pet.” Damian made a note. “We’ll need to arrange a supervised exchange.”

The phone on his desk buzzed, Sandra’s voice sounding tinny on the speaker as Damian answered. “Mr. Richards? I’ve checked the court records. Your filing doesn’t appear to be in the system yet.”

Damian frowned. “That’s impossible. We filed it this morning.”

“I know, sir. I spoke with Clerk Johnson personally. He says there’s no record of our filing.”

Something cold settled in my chest. Marcus had connections everywhere—including court clerks who could “lose” paperwork.

Damian’s expression hardened. “And Judge Thornton?”

“Apparently he’s been reassigned. We’ve been moved to Judge Patterson’s docket.”

“Patterson?” Damian’s voice remained even, but I saw his knuckles whiten. “Thank you, Sandra. Please print a complete copy of our filing package. I’ll deliver it to the court personally.”

He ended the call and met my gaze. “Judge Patterson is known for being… conservative in domestic abuse cases. Particularly those involving same-sex couples.”

The hope I’d felt earlier evaporated. “Marcus arranged this, didn’t he?”

“It appears Mr. Delaney has more extensive connections than I anticipated.” Damian stood and walked to the window, hands clasped behind his back.

“But this changes nothing about our strategy, only our execution. If we can’t rely on the system working as it should, we’ll need to be more thorough, more prepared, more creative. ”

“He’s going to win.” The words slipped out before I could stop them. “ He always wins.”

Damian turned, and the expression on his face startled me. Not pity or resignation, but something harder. Determined.

“Mr. Delaney may have money and influence, but he’s made a critical error.”

“What’s that?” I asked.

“He’s shown his hand too early.” Damian returned to his desk and began writing rapidly on his legal pad. “Now we know what we’re dealing with. And I do not respond well to intimidation tactics.”

“But your firm—your partners—”

“Are not handling this case. I am.” He looked up, his gaze intense. “Alex, I need you to understand something. This will get worse before it gets better. Mr. Delaney will escalate his efforts. He’ll try to isolate you, discredit you, pressure you from all sides.”

I nodded, my throat too tight to speak. I knew exactly what Marcus would do. I’d watched him destroy other people who crossed him.

“But I promise you this,” Damian continued, his voice dropping lower. “I will not abandon this case. No matter what pressure he applies, no matter what tactics he employs.”

I wanted to believe him. God, I wanted to. But I’d heard promises before. “You don’t know what he’s capable of.”

“Perhaps not,” Damian acknowledged. “But he doesn’t know what I’m capable of either.”

His phone buzzed again. He glanced at the screen, his expression darkening.

“What is it?” I asked.

“It seems there’s been an… incident at the shelter,” Damian said carefully.

My heart raced. “What kind of incident?”

“Someone matching Mr. Delaney’s description was asking questions about new residents in the neighbourhood.

He didn’t mention you by name, but the shelter coordinator recognized him from the photo I provided them.

” Damian set his phone down. “They didn’t confirm or deny your presence there, but they were concerned enough to call me. ”

The panic rose immediately, choking me. Nowhere was safe. Marcus’s reach extended everywhere.

“He’s getting close,” I whispered.

“He’s fishing,” Damian corrected. “He doesn’t know for certain where you are. The shelter staff are trained to handle these situations.”

I wrapped my arms around myself. “But what if he keeps searching? Or offers enough money to someone who knows—”

“The shelter has security protocols for exactly this reason,” Damian said. “Many of their residents are escaping dangerous situations. They take confidentiality very seriously.”

I wasn’t convinced. “Marcus doesn’t give up.”

“Neither do I,” Damian replied, his voice firm. “We have options. The shelter coordinator mentioned they have a few affiliated safe houses if you don’t feel secure there.”

“I don’t want to take someone else’s spot who might need it more,” I said, the guilt immediate and familiar.

“There are resources available,” Damian assured me. “People who want to help.”

I nodded, not entirely convinced but too exhausted to argue. The shelter was better than my car, and I had nowhere else to go.

“For now,” Damian continued, “the shelter seems secure. But the decision is yours. If at any point you feel unsafe, day or night, call me.”

“Thank you.”

Damian nodded, then gathered some papers from his desk. “I need to handle a few things before we leave. Take some time to think about what you want to do.”

I sat there, still processing everything. The protective order that might not protect me. The court system Marcus could manipulate. The lawyer who seemed determined to fight despite the rising personal cost.

“Why are you doing this?” I finally asked. “You barely know me.”

Damian paused, considering the question carefully.

“Because what’s happening to you is wrong.

And because I’m in a position to do something about it.

” He gathered some papers from his desk.

“Sometimes the law is about more than billable hours and precedents, Mr. Lajeunesse. Sometimes it’s about justice. ”

He headed for the door, then stopped. “I meant what I said. I won’t abandon this case.” He looked directly at me, his gaze steady. “Marcus Delaney may have money and connections, but he’s not above the law. Not while I’m representing you.”

As the door closed behind him, I sat alone in the massive office, holding onto my backpack like a lifeline, trying to believe that might actually be true.