He’s known to be provocative, even toward the victims, which has earned him a notorious reputation. Naturally, he gets a lot of case requests, but I also found out that he refuses about eighty percent of them. Another thing that’s bizarre for lawyers, but apparently, the founding partners of W&S give him free rein on that. Which I assume is why he refused every other firm’s offer to join them.
When I come here, I pretend to be getting a coffee from the break area that’s dedicated to the staff and try to gauge if anything is different.
Usually, there’s nothing, and I’d have to sneak out before he notices me.
Today, however, is different.
The moment I step out of the elevator, the sound of hushed murmurs reaches me in waves. I slowly inch forward to find a small crowd watching a scene.
And the location is Knox’s office.
A girl stands in the middle, wearing a pale violet dress and matching heels. Her face is red and even from a distance, I can see the tears and anguish in her eyes.
She’s a myriad of motions; her hands flailing around as she talks, then she hugs herself and more tears follow.
My spine snaps in a line at the scene. It’s so similar to Mom’s when she was married to my abusive stepfather.
The self-comfort. The involuntary jerking. Even the tears that don’t seem to be planned.
In the midst of her small breakdown, Knox sits behind his desk, fingers forming a steeple at his chin, listening.
There’s not an ounce of emotion on his hard face. Not even the fake empathy some people wear as a fa?ade.
He’s in his true element. Unfeeling. Completely detached from her anguish as if she and her grief don’t exist.
My nails dig into the heels of my palms as I clench my fists. Is that how my mom felt with Papa?
That he was too emotionless to feel for her?
That no matter how much she cried, he’d never see those tears or her pain? Is that why she refused to ask him for help?
“Twenty bucks says that he’ll reject her,” one of the interns, a brunette with darker skin, says.
“Call,” her colleague, a tall ginger male replies. “I say that he’ll accept her case.”
“No way.” The brunette shakes her head. “He hasn’t moved during her entire speech.”
“He’s just listening to the facts like he always does.” The ginger waves two bills. “Who’s with me?”
Not many are. A debate breaks out among them about how Knox doesn’t accept many cases and that he’s been on a rejection spree lately.
I’m half-listening to them, half-focused on the girl who keeps touching her hands, her elbow, anywhere she can reach.
“Who are we betting on?” a friendly voice asks, having just arrived to the party.
I immediately recognize him by the accent and slowly step back. It’s Daniel Sterling, another junior partner and Knox’s closest friend. If they’re not working or in court, they’re together.
Unlike Knox, Daniel specializes in international law and has a generally charming presence. Probably because the dimples make him appear friendly, but the jury is still out on whether or not he is.
Despite my spy skills, I haven’t figured him or Knox out. On the outside, they appear to be two hotshot Englishmen who came to study and work here. Their reputations are stellar—or mostly good, aside from their manwhorish ways—and they built their careers tremendously in so little time. They’re often in the limelight at social events and are the talk of magazines and the press—the press I only became aware of after I became Jane, since I didn’t have hardly any focus on it as Anastasia.
However, something tells me that’s not the end of it. I lived in a dangerous world long enough to know that what lurks beneath the surface is often much more nefarious than what’s visible.
“We’re betting twenty bucks on whether or not Knox will reject her,” the brunette replies without looking at him.
“I’ll raise you a hundred on that. He’ll reject her. See that slight twitch of his fingers? It means he’s bored and will kick her out in about twenty seconds.”
Everyone turns around to Daniel and he grins at them, showing his dimples.
They’re flustered for a second, only a second, but then he hops to a sitting position on one of the desks and beckons them over. “Anyone here have popcorn?”
Low laughter breaks out and then they’re all surrounding him, watching the show and chatting among themselves.
I stay on the outskirts, feeling like I need to be there for some reason.
“Three, two…” Daniel counts with his fingers. “And go.”
At that exact moment, Knox stands up, opens the door to his office, and directs the girl out.
She doesn’t move, sniffling and jerking in place, then she goes to him. “Please…I have no one to ask for help.”
“Yes, you do. A thousand other attorneys, in fact. I’ll have my secretary send you a list of recommendations.” He’s speaking calmly albeit emotionlessly, like when he promised to find what I’m hiding the other day. “Besides, I’m a criminal defense attorney. Come back when you need to stay out of prison.”
“I don’t care. I’ve done my research and I know you aren’t afraid of a challenge and could take on a civil case if you wanted to.”
“I just said I don’t want to. Best of luck finding another attorney.”
“No one is like you. Please. They’re scared to go against him.”
“Not my problem. Have a nice day.”
And with that, he goes back to his office and closes the door and pulls down the blinds. The girl nearly collapses and has to grip the wall for balance.
“Told you.” Daniel grins. “You’ll pay me later. Now, back to work.”
They buzz to their desks and he strides to his office humming a tune.
The scene from a moment ago vanishes as if it never existed.
Everyone seems to have forgotten about the girl who’s slowly walking to the elevators, still using the wall to hold her up.
I follow her and click the call button when her hand shakes, unable to push it.
“Thank you.” She sniffles, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand. Then she’s touching her elbow again, and there’s a spot there, a hint of something violet that seems to have been hidden with foundation.
My chest squeezes and all I can see is how Mom used to do the same to hide the bruises, especially from me.
“Don’t take it personally,” I whisper. “He doesn’t accept many cases.”
“I know, but he was my last hope. I heard he doesn’t care who he goes up against, but maybe he does. Maybe everyone is right. Maybe I shouldn’t have started this.”
“No,” I tell her without thinking. “Don’t say that, please. You’re doing the right thing.”
She looks up at me then, her dark eyes filled with moisture, but she’s not crying anymore, because there’s a little smile there. “Thank you for saying that. You don’t know how much it means to me.”
The elevator dings open and she smiles again before she steps in.
But I don’t like the way it disappears the moment she’s inside, how her shoulders hunch and the tears come back.
Maybe there’s something I can do.
A crazy idea forms in my mind.
Knox told me he’s coming after me, but he won’t know what hit him when the tables are turned.
8
KNOX
I clench and unclench my fingers, but it’s impossible to keep typing.
The hurricane that’s brewing inside me is unable to be squashed or derailed. It’s not only eating everything in its path, but it’s also destroying any semblance of calm I’ve held on to for decades.
The shadows crowd over my shoulders, whispering, murmuring, getting sickeningly close to my ears.
They started when I was five and haven’t stopped.
They never will.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck!”
I push away from my desk and inhale a few sharp intakes of air, but it’s like I’m breathing smoke, thick and foggy and fucking asphyxiating.
It’s not Sandra Bell’s words that play in my head like a distorted record anymore, it’s not her voice that I’m hearing.
It’s mine and my twin sister’s.
And they’re more haunting than hers, more fucking deranged and raw. I can still smell the rotten stench of our hellhole. The pungent smell of alcohol, cigarettes, and disgusting male musk.
It was twenty years ago, but it feels like only twenty minutes.
The twenty minutes Sandra spent telling me her story.