I look around noting that we were alone, no noise except for the soft music playing in the background. Then, I lean a little closer, maintaining eye contact. "Alina, I'm not here to fight you. I'm only here to deal with one person. By stopping me, you're obstructing justice. How can you sit here and protect aman who nearly killed an innocent person? Do you really want to implicate yourself in an attempted murder charge? Because that's exactly what I'm going to sue Senator Ivanov for." I pause, letting my words sink in. "Could you live with yourself if someone had died yesterday, me or my client because of what the senator did? You'd better let me handle this. So tell me: is he in there or not?"
Alina looks shaken. Her eyes dart from me to Tessa and back again before she whispers, "He's in his office. But he has an important visitor right now."
"Thank you," I say, softening my tone. "You won't lose your job. If he threatens to fire you or makes things difficult, call this number." I hand her my business card. "I don't have a big firm yet, but I'll gladly take up your case and make sure you get justice."
Tessa steps forward, dropping her own card next to mine. "And if you ever need someone to drag that senator by his balls, just call me. I'm always ready to set up tents outside this building," she says with a wink.
Before Alina can react, Tessa and I hurry down the hallway passing a few doors toward the senator's office. There are several pictures lining the walls, both of serving politicians as well as those no longer in service. Corrupt pieces of sh…
My thoughts are interrupted by the obnoxiously loud laughter coming from inside, obviously from the pig-headed senator himself.
The other person's voice isn't audible, but judging from how boisterous Ivanov is being, the visitor must either be exceptionally funny or Ivanov is desperately trying to flatter him. I’d bet my liver on the latter.
Why else would the senator laugh like a wife eagerly waiting for salary week at the end of the month, hoping to charm her husband into giving her extra money?
I open the door without knocking, stepping inside with Tessa behind me. The senator's laughter stops abruptly. I take in his pot belly, as well as his thinning blonde hair and try to keep things professional by not crinkling my nose. His smile drops into a look of disdain when he sees me.
The room was similar to all the other politician’s offices I had been to. Decorated with the finest woods and cushion and smelling new every time. Probably because they keep using innocent civilians’ money to change it every week. Ignoring his glare, I step forward confidently.
"Sir," I say, "I'd like to speak with you about the yesterday’s incident if you have time—but even if you don't, I still need to speak with you."
Ivanov's face reddens, his breathing heavy, making the buttons on his shirt strain. Clearly ready to blow a fuse, he bellows, "Who allowed you and that troublemaking minx inside here?" His shout echoes, alerting the guards outside.
The "troublemaking minx" is Tessa. Ivanov loathes her. I know why. He tried flirting with her once when she brought a petition to his office. She had collected a mountain of signatures against one of his political moves.
He thought he could charm his way out, and she gave him a bloody nose for his efforts. Ever since then, he's never called her by her real name.
Tessa points a finger. "Shut it, pig. Or I’ll shut it for you," she snarls rolling up her shirt sleeves like she was getting ready for a fight.
He grunts, turning even redder. "Who allowed you inside? That stupid receptionist can't even keep you away. I'm going to fire her."
I hold up a hand. "Don't fire her. She tried her best to stop me. I didn't come here for trouble. I came for peace. I just want to hand you all of this."
I dig into my bag and pull out a stack of papers before pressing it into his hand. "This is the bill for all the products you wasted that day—the ones that aren't even edible anymore. Here's a note from the doctor. The doctor says I'm traumatized and need therapy, so you'll be paying for my therapy, Tessa's therapy, and Mr. David's therapy. That's about $5,000 per session. And this is a bill for my stomach. After one of your goons punched me, I had a bad stomach-ache."
He stands there, hand outstretched, clutching the papers against his chest, seconds from exploding.
"These aren't everything, Mr. Ivanov," I pause, bending a little to pull out the last and thickest document. "This is the one where I'm suing you for attempted murder on each of us. That's all. Do you have anything to say?"
He doesn't answer. He throws every paper on the ground with a loud bang, his already wrinkly, fat face turning even redder. I didn't know a human could get that red, but here he is, having a full-on tantrum, throwing my documents like a toddler tossing toys.
"How dare you, you....you...." he sputters, the words failing him.
I hear a laugh break out from the other side of the room and notice a man sitting quietly off to the side. How did I not see someone like him before? I’d even forgotten there was supposed to be someone in here with the senator. It's almost likehe can erase his presence on purpose. Is that even possible for a human?
He's still laughing, low and amused. My eyes widen, oh my God, it's the same man I met in the alley. There's a flicker of recognition in his eyes. He stands up, and for a second I brace myself, thinking maybe he's about to side with the senator, or worse.
Instead, he looks at the senator and says, "Senator Ivanov, it seems you might have a little trouble on your hands." The senator points at me. "She's the one. She's the one I want gone."
My heart skips. Is he saying he wants me killed? Is he some hired hitman?
But then the strange man turns to me and grins, shaking his head. "She's the one. She's a complete angel. What do you expect me to do to someone this innocent?"
I'm so caught off guard at his response.
He starts moving closer to me. I feel Tessa behind me, reaching for my arm, probably ready to yank me back, but I just place my hand over hers, reassuring her I'll be fine.
The man approaches, extending his hand. Up close, I see the tattoos winding up his fingers, a gold watch on his wrist that are exposed, and rings on almost every finger. I catch myself wondering how he even manages to rub his face with all that on. Then I shake my head to clear the thought and reach out, meeting his handshake with a firm grip.
