26
VEILED JUSTICE
CALLAHAN
Two weeks of healing felt like two years of waiting.
I left Adrian's private hospital on crutches that made every step a negotiation between stubbornness and pain. The suit Dom had brought—navy, expensive, tailored to fit even with the weight I'd lost—hung slightly loose but looked professional enough. Made me appear more functional than I was.
Dom hovered at my shoulder.
“You could have taken the wheelchair,” he said quietly as we moved through the hospital corridor toward the exit.
“Wheelchairs make me look weak. Crutches make me look determined.” I adjusted my grip. Kept moving.
“You're still recovering from being shot. Nobody expects you to be fully mobile.”
“Harrow expects me to be broken. I'd rather prove him wrong.” The automatic doors slid open. “Besides, showing up on crutches is better theatre than showing up looking defeated.”
“This isn't theatre?—”
“Everything's theatre when cameras are involved. And trust me, there will be cameras.” I made it to Dom's car. Allowed him to help me navigate into the passenger seat without making it obvious I needed the assistance. “The question is whether I control the narrative or let Harrow control it for me.”
Dom closed my door. Moved around to the driver's side. Started the engine without responding immediately.
“You've been planning this entrance for two weeks, haven't you?” he asked finally.
“I've been planning everything for two weeks. The entrance is just the opening move.” I pulled out my phone. Checked messages from Margaret. Updates on the hearing timeline. Confirmation that all our evidence had been submitted properly. “Adrian's lawyers have been thorough. Almost disturbingly thorough.”
“That's what we pay them for.”
“You pay them. I'm just the injured investigator they're using as exhibit A in the corruption case.” I scrolled through more messages. “Though I have to admit, Margaret is terrifying in exactly the right ways. She sent me a forty-page brief on courtroom procedure and expected testimony protocols.”
“Did you read it?”
“Memorised it. Photographic memory, remember?” I set the phone down. “Every procedural rule. Every potential objection Harrow's counsel might raise. Every way they'll try to paint me as compromised witness with axe to grind.”
“And your counter-arguments?”
“Also memorised. Along with case law supporting our evidence chain, precedents for impeachment based on similar corruption patterns, and three different ways to redirect if they try to make this about Eden.” I glanced at him. “I'm not walking into that hearing unprepared, Dom. This is too important.”
The drive to Crown Court took thirty minutes through London traffic that felt designed to maximise anxiety. By the time we arrived, my ribs were aching and my hands were white-knuckled on the crutches.
The courthouse steps were already crowded. Press. Observers. Legal professionals who'd heard about the hearing and wanted to witness history. All of them turning to look as Dom's car pulled up.
Cameras started flashing before I'd even opened the door.
“Ready?” Dom asked.
“No. But we're doing this anyway.” I pushed the door open. Accepted Dom's hand without making it obvious. Got myself upright and steady on the crutches.
Adrian waited at the top of the steps. Flanked by Margaret and Whitmore. All three of them looking like they'd been carved from expensive marble.
“Mr Mercer,” Adrian greeted. Formal. Professional. “You're looking remarkably functional for someone who was shot two weeks ago.”
“Spite is an excellent painkiller.” I made it to the landing. Paused to catch breath without making it obvious. “Everything in place?”
“Everything.” Margaret's expression was satisfaction barely contained. “Security's been tightened. Press lanes controlled. The committee members have all received our evidence briefs. Harrow's had two weeks to prepare his defence and by all accounts he's confident he'll walk away from this clean.”
