Page 88 of Client Privilege

“And this map?” She turned the page. “With red circles around his former professor’s home, his old workplace, and every coffee shop within walking distance of both?”

“As I said—”

“Or these detailed notes about Claude Mercier’s teaching schedule? The times his office would be empty? The building’s security vulnerabilities?”

Marcus’s jaw tightened. “You’re taking everything out of context.”

“Then there’s this page.” Victoria turned to another tab. “A list of medications with notes about side effects. ‘Drowsiness,’ you’ve underlined. ‘Disorientation,’ with a star beside it. What context should we understand this in, Mr. Delaney?”

“Alex has health issues. I kept track of potential medications to discuss with my physician.”

“Even after he fled from you?” Victoria raised an eyebrow. “How considerate. And these entries dated after the protective order was issued?”

The jury leaned forward as Victoria flipped to the final pages.

“You’ve written here, ‘Security code 8742—front desk distracted by delivery at 3 PM.’ This refers to the Parkview Motel, doesn’t it?”

“I don’t recall.”

“You’ve noted the clerk’s schedule, which rooms have faulty locks, and—most interestingly—‘Room 23: confirmed staying minimum fivenights.’” Victoria looked up. “How did you ‘confirm’ this information, Mr. Delaney?”

Marcus’s composure slipped. “I have connections throughout the city. People respect me.”

“People you paid, you mean? Like the motel manager who testified earlier that you gave him five hundred dollars for Alex’s room number?”

“That man is lying.”

Victoria picked up another evidence bag. “And these receipts for cash payments to a private investigator? Are these forgeries too?”

“I was concerned for Alex’s safety,” Marcus insisted, his voice rising slightly. “He’s unstable. I was trying to help him.”

“By writing—and I quote—‘Retrieve by whatever means necessary. No witnesses.’” Victoria held up the page for the jury to see. “Is that your definition of help, Mr. Delaney?”

“You’re twisting my words.”

“And this notation?” Victoria pointed to a particularly disturbing entry. “‘If reasoning fails, sedation may be necessary. Dosage calculations based on 65kg weight.’ Below that, you’ve listed the three different prescription medications you noted earlier with precise dosages.”

Marcus’s face flushed. “That’s not—”

“Not what it looks like?” Victoria finished. “Then please, explain to the jury why a man under a court order to stay away from Alex Lajeunesse would have detailed plans for drugging and kidnapping him.”

“I have a right to protect what’s mine,” Marcus snapped, then immediately looked as though he regretted the words.

A murmur rippled through the courtroom. Judge Collins gaveled for silence.

“What’s yours?” Victoria repeated, letting the words hang in the air. “Mr. Lajeunesse is a person, not property.”

“That’s not what I meant.”

“I think it’s exactly what you meant, Mr. Delaney. Just as you meant it when you wrote here—” she flipped to the final page, “‘No matter the cost, no matter the consequences, he will return home where he belongs. I’ve invested too much to lose him now.’”

Marcus’s explanation grew increasingly convoluted as Victoria methodically cornered him with each piece of evidence. His usual polish cracked further with each question, revealing flashes of the controlling, obsessive man beneath. By the time she finished, sweat beaded on his forehead despite the courtroom’s chill, and his hands gripped the witness stand so tightly his knuckles had turned white.

From my seat, I watched his performance unravel—the carefully constructed façade of the concerned partner giving way to glimpses of possessive rage and arrogance. The jury saw it too; I could tell from their expressions that Victoria had accomplished exactly what she intended.

“No further questions,” Victoria said, returning to her seat with the satisfied air of a cat that had finished toying with its prey.

The rest of Marcus’s “defence” was equally disastrous. He called no witnesses, presented no evidence, and his closing statement devolved into a rant about his own importance and my insignificance that had several jurors exchanging uncomfortable glances.

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