Chapter 2 - THE DEVIL'S RETAINER
"What kind of attorney are you?" Vincent Marino repeated, his silver eyes locking onto mine with a weight that made the air in the room feel impossibly thin.
"Contract law," I said, my voice steadier than my hands, which were currently white-knuckling Lily's fox backpack. "Corporate restructuring, mergers, acquisitions. And recently, small business dispute resolution. Nothing that involves... this." I gestured vaguely toward the door where the two terrified men had just fled.
Vincent leaned back in his chair, the leather creaking softly in the quiet alcove of the bar. He looked at the discarded contract on the table—the one with the red sticker Lily had so helpfully pointed out. "It seems my current legal counsel missed a rather crucial detail. A detail that would have cost me the North Pier."
"They didn't miss it," I said before I could stop myself. The lawyer in me couldn't help but correct the record. "A clause like that doesn't just slip into a document of this magnitude by accident. It was buried under boilerplate indemnification language. Someone paid your lawyers to look the other way."
The scarred man standing behind Vincent shifted his weight, his hand resting casually near the inside of his jacket. "Boss, we don't know who she is. Or who the kid is."
"Her name is Nora Hart," Vincent said smoothly, not taking his eyes off me. "Her ex-husband is Grant Harlan, a partner at Sterling & Vance. She left him three months ago, moved into a two-bedroom on 4th Street, and has been operating a solo practice out of coffee shops. Am I missing anything, Marcus?"
My blood ran cold. "How do you know all that?"
"I own the building you live in, Mrs. Hart," Vincent said gently. "I make it a point to know everything about my properties and the people inside them. Especially a brilliant attorney who suddenly falls off the corporate map." He reached into his jacket, pulled out a sleek silver pen, and pushed the fraudulent contract toward me. "I need someone who can find the teeth in the grass. Someone who isn't already bought."
"I don't work for the mob," I said, the words slipping out in a breathless rush.
"I am a real estate developer," Vincent corrected seamlessly, a dangerous edge to his polite tone. "And right now, I am offering you a retainer. Fifty thousand dollars for the first month. All I ask is that you read my pending contracts and tell me where the red stickers belong."
Lily tugged my sleeve. "Mommy, fifty thousand is a lot of stickers."
I looked down at my daughter, then back up at the most dangerous man in Philadelphia. I thought about my dwindling bank account, the late rent notices, and Grant's smug face when he told me I would come crawling back.
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"My rate is five hundred an hour," I said, my chin lifting. "And I work entirely remotely. You don't tell me how to do my job, and you keep your... associates... away from my daughter."
Vincent Marino smiled, a genuine, terrifying expression. "Deal."
