By the Book

Chapter Fifty-One: The Power of Truth

The room was stark and cold, its fluorescent lights buzzing faintly overhead. Every surface seemed designed to reflect the sterile tension hanging in the air—the gleaming table, the overly polished chairs, the spotless white walls that seemed to close in the longer you sat. It wasn't a courtroom, not yet, but a preliminary hearing to argue the injunction. Still, the stakes felt just as high.

Miles sat to my left, his jaw tight and his hands clasped so tightly in his lap I was surprised he hadn't cut off circulation. Dr. Harlan, to my right, was the picture of calm, her tablet angled precisely in front of her as she made final adjustments to our notes. Across from us, Brighton's legal team sprawled comfortably, two suited lawyers with matching smirks that oozed smug confidence.

Tyler hovered behind me, standing a few steps back in the small observation area, his posture tense. He wasn't here to argue or even to participate—technically, he was here to observe as part of his law studies—but the energy radiating off him could have powered the room. When one of Brighton's lawyers smirked in my direction, I saw Tyler shift slightly, his hands clenching at his sides.

"Ms. Donovan," one of them said smoothly, a man with sleeked-back hair and a condescending tone that immediately set my teeth on edge. "I understand you've been quite involved in assembling this... analysis?"

I straightened in my seat, refusing to let the faint emphasis on 'analysis' rattle me. "That's correct," I said evenly, keeping my tone professional. "I've spent the last several weeks reviewing every transaction, cross-referencing the café's records with Brighton's withdrawal history."

He leaned forward slightly, his smirk widening. "Impressive. For someone without a legal or financial credential, that must have been... challenging."

Miles stiffened beside me, a faint growl low in his throat, but I placed a hand on his arm beneath the table—a subtle reminder to let me handle it. I could feel Tyler's glare burning into the man's forehead, but I kept my own expression neutral, my back straight.

"I'm a Senior Financial Advisor, Mr. Graham," I replied smoothly. "Analyzing financial discrepancies is, quite literally, what I do for a living."

The smirk faltered, just slightly, but the woman next to him—a sharp-featured attorney with glasses perched precariously on her nose—picked up where he left off. "Of course, Ms. Donovan," she said, her tone syrupy-sweet. "But surely you understand that interpreting loan agreements and corporate contracts is vastly different from balancing accounts for... coffee shops." Her lips curled as she said it, as though the words left a bad taste in her mouth.

Dr. Harlan cut in smoothly, not even bothering to look up from her tablet. "If Brighton's contracts were even remotely transparent, Ms. Donovan's analysis wouldn't have been necessary in the first place."

The sharp-featured woman bristled slightly, but before she could respond, the door opened, and the judge entered. Everyone rose, the scrape of chairs loud in the silence, and I tried to steady my breathing. This was it.

The judge, an older woman with piercing eyes and a no-nonsense demeanor, settled into her seat and gestured for us to do the same. She wasted no time diving in. "This hearing is to determine the merit of the injunction filed against Brighton Financial Services by Mr. Lockwood, represented by Dr. Harlan." Her eyes flicked to Brighton's side of the table. "Counsel, you may proceed with your opening remarks."

The smug lawyer—Graham—stood, buttoning his jacket as he addressed the judge. His tone was polished, dripping with false sincerity. "Your Honor, this is a simple matter. Brighton Financial Services entered into a legitimate agreement with Eleanor Lockwood, who willingly accepted the terms of the loan. The plaintiff seeks to avoid their legal obligations by labeling these terms as 'predatory,' but there is no evidence to suggest any wrongdoing on Brighton's part."