"Fourteen," the judge said.
"Fourteen."
"Ms. Callahan, this is a scheduling motion."
"It's a pattern, Your Honor. And patterns matter."
She won. Of course she won. The judge ruled in her favor with the weary efficiency of a man who recognized overkill but couldn't fault the logic.
Driscoll packed his briefcase and left without the usual cordial exchange. Emily watched him go and felt nothing. The victory landed on ground that had been scorched before she walked into the room.
She gathered her files. In the gallery, Claire was sitting in the third row with a legal pad she hadn't written on. Emily clocked her without acknowledging it. Claire did this sometimes, dropped in on her hearings when her own docket was clear. Today it meant Claire was watching. Assessing. Collecting data that Emily didn't want collected.
Emily walked out. She made it six steps into the hallway before Claire fell in beside her.
"Nice work."
"Thanks."
"Driscoll looked like he needed a drink."
"Driscoll needed better preparation."
"Emily."
"What."
Claire's hand found her arm. Not grabbing. Resting. The way you touch someone when you're testing whether they'll let you.
Emily stopped walking. Looked at Claire's hand on her arm. Looked at Claire.
"I'm fine."
"I didn't ask."
"You were about to."
"I was going to ask if you wanted to grab lunch." Claire's voice was neutral. The courtroom voice she used when she didn't want the jury to know where she was going. "There's a new place on Kennedy. Thai."
"I can't. I have the Vance status report to finish and Ray wants it by three."
"It's Thai, not a timeshare. Forty-five minutes."
"Claire."
The word came out harder than she intended. Not angry. Closed. The specific kind of closed that she knew Claire recognized, because Claire's hand left her arm a fraction of a second too fast, the way you pull back from a surface that turns out to be hot.
"Okay," Claire said.
"I'll call you later."
"Sure."
Emily walked away. She could feel Claire behind her. Could feel the spotlight of observation, the data being collected, the conclusion forming. She didn't turn around.
The status report took an hour.Emily wrote it at her desk with her door closed and her phone face down and her back to the window. The prose was clean and precise and carried the authority of a document written by someone who had nothing else to think about. She made it perfect because perfect was the only thing she could control today.
She emailed it to Ray at 2:17. Forty-three minutes early.
