Page 63 of Client Privilege

“I don’t know if I can do this again,” I admitted. “The testimony, the cross-examination, having my life picked apart in public…”

“You can,” Sandra said with unexpected gentleness. “Because you’re stronger than he thinks you are. Stronger than you think you are.”

Mitchell nodded. “And you won’t be doing it alone. We’re all in this together now.”

The elevator reached the ground floor. As the doors opened, Damian placed a hand on my shoulder, his touch grounding me.

“One step at a time,” he said quietly. “Right now, we get you somewhere safe. Tomorrow, we start planning our next move.”

I nodded, taking a deep breath. Ten people had believed me. Ten strangers had heard my story and recognized the truth. Maybe that wasn’t legally sufficient, but it was something to hold onto—a confirmation that I wasn’t crazy, that what happened to me was real and wrong.

Marcus hadn’t won yet.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

Alex

I TRUDGEDback 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 POUNDINGjolted me awake. The room was pitch blacksave 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.

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