Chapter 3

An hour later, Andrew walked back into my office. He dropped a fresh, neatly bound file onto my desk. It wasn' t red, but a standard manila folder sealed with a courthouse clerk's official stamp.

"Here," he said, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "One certified, squeaky-clean set of financial records, straight from the archives. Happy now?"

I opened the file. My hands were steady, but my mind was racing. I scanned the documents, the account statements, the transfer logs. They were perfect. Too perfect. There were no signs of tampering, no red flags, nothing that remotely resembled the fraudulent document from my past life.

A cold wave of doubt washed over me. Was it possible? Was my memory wrong? Could the rebirth, the confession, the betrayal... could it all have been a stress-induced nightmare? A hallucination brought on by the pressure of the case?

Andrew seemed to read my mind. "See? Nothing. You wasted half the afternoon chasing ghosts, Gabrielle. We need to be prepping our opening statement, not re-verifying work that's already been done."

He was chiding me, but his relief was palpable. He thought he'd called my bluff. He thought I was just being a paranoid perfectionist.

But as I looked at the pristine documents, then at Andrew' s smug face, a new certainty settled in my gut. This wasn't a mistake. This was a deeper, more sophisticated deception. They hadn't just swapped a file. They had anticipated I might check, and they had a clean fake ready to go. Andrew hadn't just agreed to my demand to appease me; he'd agreed because he knew exactly what Molly would come back with.

I closed the file, my composure returning. I leaned back in my chair and rubbed my temples, putting on a show of exhaustion.

"You know what, Andrew? You're right," I said, my voice weary. "I'm completely burned out. My head is pounding. I can't even think straight."

I looked up at him, my eyes meeting his. "You should take lead on this case."

His face went pale. "What? No. It's your case. You've been living and breathing it for a year."

"And you've been right there with me," I countered smoothly. "You're a partner now, after all." I let that hang in the air, a pointed reminder. "I gave up my own partnership bid two years ago so you could get the promotion first, remember? I thought you were ready for the big leagues. Here's your chance to prove it."

He knew. He knew the case was a minefield, that the real, damning evidence was still out there somewhere, and that Russo was guilty as sin. Taking lead meant putting his own neck on the line if anything went wrong.

"I can't," he stammered, scrambling for an excuse. "It's your name on the filings, your relationship with the client..."

Molly, who had been standing silently by the door, tried to jump to his defense. "But Gabrielle, you're the best! What if something goes wrong in court? It would be Andrew's career on the line!"

Her words were a gift. I seized on her slip-up, a predator sensing weakness.

I turned to her, my voice sharp as glass. "What could possibly go wrong, Molly? It's a slam-dunk case with perfect, certified evidence. Or so you both claim."

I watched the color drain from their faces. They were cornered. They had built this trap for me, and now I was inviting them to step into it themselves.

I stood up, projecting an air of finality. "Fine. If you're both so certain, then I'll proceed." I paused, letting the relief wash over them before delivering the final blow. "But on one condition."

I turned my gaze to Molly. "You're a newly-minted junior associate now, aren't you? It's time you got some real courtroom experience. You will be my second chair at the counsel table. And you," I said, my voice leaving no room for argument, "will be the one to present this key evidence to the jury."