Ethan and Susanna were celebrating. They had opened a bottle of Dom Perignon in the back of the limo on the way back to the city.
"She's scared," Susanna said, resting her head on Ethan's shoulder. "Did you see her face? She knows she can't win."
"We need to make sure she stays scared," Ethan said, drinking deeply. "We need a lawyer. A shark. Someone to bury her in paperwork so deep she can't breathe."
"I know just the one," Susanna smiled. "Julian Thorne."
Ethan choked on his champagne. "Thorne? He's the most expensive litigator in the country. He charges more per hour than most people make in a year."
"I'll handle him," Susanna lied smoothly. "We went to college together. Sort of. He'll take the case for the publicity. Crushing a gold-digger? It's right up his alley."
Seraphina sat on the edge of the motel bed. Her laptop was open, the blue light illuminating her pale face.
Search results for Julian Thorne:
Undefeated.
The Devil's Advocate.
Ruthlessness personified.
Win Rate: 100% in High Court.
She stared at his photo. He was devastatingly handsome-dark hair, sharp jawline, eyes that looked like they could cut glass. But there was a coldness there. A detachment.
She dialed the number for his firm.
"Thorne and Associates," a crisp female voice answered.
"I'd like to make an appointment with Mr. Thorne," Seraphina said.
"Mr. Thorne is not accepting new clients at this time. He is currently booked through 2027."
Seraphina took a deep breath. She had to use the card.
"Please tell him... Case 404 is looking for a patch."
There was a long pause on the other end. The sound of typing stopped.
"One moment, please."
Thirty seconds of hold music-classical, Vivaldi's Winter. Appropriate.
Then, a click.
"Professor Finch is a ghost from a past life I try not to summon."
The voice was deep, smooth, and utterly commanding. It vibrated through the cheap plastic of the phone. Seraphina's heart skipped a beat-a purely physiological reaction to the baritone frequency.
"He said you owed him," Seraphina said, gripping the phone tight.
Julian Thorne sighed. It sounded like the sound of a man bored by the universe. "I do. Unfortunately. Who are you?"
"Seraphina Reed. I'm... divorcing Ethan Vance."
"Vance?" Julian's tone shifted slightly. "The tech boy? I saw the headlines. 'Ungrateful Wife Attacks CEO'."
"It's a lie," Seraphina said. "They're framing me."
"Everyone says that," Julian said flatly. "Do you have money? My retainer is substantial."
"I have... information," Seraphina said. "About intellectual property theft. My journals."
"Journals?" Julian sounded unimpressed. "Unless those journals contain the nuclear codes, Ms. Reed, I'm not interested in pro bono charity work."
"They contain the foundational algorithms for the new bio-interface Vance is launching next quarter," Seraphina said, bluffing slightly on the magnitude, but knowing the worth of her notes. "He stole my work."
The line went silent. She could hear the faint scratch of a fountain pen on paper.
"Come to my office. Tomorrow. 9 AM. Don't be late. I charge for breathing time."
The line went dead.
Seraphina stared at the phone. She assumed he was arrogant, but capable. She didn't realize she had just summoned a storm.
The next morning, she dressed in her best suit. It was a thrift store find-a vintage Chanel copy that was slightly too big in the shoulders, but she had tailored it herself with a sewing kit. She pulled her hair back into a severe bun.
She arrived at 'Thorne & Associates', a skyscraper that pierced the Manhattan clouds. The lobby was intimidating, all black marble and chrome.
She approached the reception desk on the 50th floor.
"Appointment with Mr. Thorne. Seraphina Reed."
The receptionist, a woman who looked like she was carved out of ice, looked her up and down. Her eyes lingered on Seraphina's scuffed shoes.
"Mr. Thorne is in a meeting. You can wait." She gestured vaguely to a seating area.
8:55 AM. She was early.
She observed the clientele. Men in five-thousand-dollar suits. Women with purses that cost more than a car.
Suddenly, the elevator pinged.
Seraphina froze.
Ethan and Susanna walked out. They were laughing, holding hands. Susanna was wearing a white dress, looking like a bride. Ethan wore a sharp, custom navy suit that screamed money.
They spotted her instantly.
Susanna's smile twisted into a look of exaggerated pity. "Oh, Seraphina," she called out, her voice echoing in the quiet lobby. "Are you following us now? That's just sad."
