♛ ┇ ▒ ⋅⋅⋅ STATE OF NEW YORK v. J. MERCER ⋅⋅⋅ ▒ ┇♛

𝐁𝐄𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐀 𝐋𝐀𝐖𝐘𝐄𝐑 𝐖𝐀𝐒 𝐋𝐈𝐊𝐄 𝐅𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐀 𝐆𝐔𝐍. At least, that's how Quinn thought of it – a game of focus and determination. Perseverance.

Firearms were always a topic of political discussion – freedom of arms versus gun control, mass shootings versus self-protection in the home. The truth was that she couldn't care less about it all, because she didn't do it for the sake of the gun.

She did it because it made her feel safe. Excited. Enthusiastic. It made her stomach churn every time she walked out on the line and mounted her twelve-gauge, gazing down the barrel and switching her focus from the bead on the end to the dark green "house" fifty feet away.

This was how she protected herself. Her sister, Elena, was a fifth-degree black belt in tae kwon do. Quinn, as Luderman had described her, was a straight shooter.

He'd meant it both ways. Accurate and forthright.

It wasn't easy to be a woman in New York. It wasn't easy to be a woman period, especially in a cutthroat city full of rich men who thought the world was their oyster. Mike was figuring that out through his case against Devlin McGregor. Quinn figured it out the day she held a gun, because for the first time in a long time, she wasn't afraid.

Fearlessness wasn't easy. The sport beat her into the ground. She was all bones when she'd started, severely underweight and missed the chance to gain her father's height from the womb. Quinn would come home from practice with massive bruises on her jaw and shoulder, the skin ripping from her fingers, sunburns on her forearms and her hair matted to her head. The pain was almost as bad as the self-doubt, of being at the bottom of the leaderboard and being unsure how to clamber to the top.

But she came back swinging. Top of her team, talk of the town, personal bests, twenty-five straights round after round. See, Quinn Whitaker was good at that. She was good at persevering.

And to this day, she persevered, but she'd never liked being in the center of the spotlight. That's the reason she was letting Louis take the credit for her own findings. Technically Luderman's findings, but he was a private investigator for a reason.

Quinn liked being in the middle ground. Because if you fell behind, people would pounce on you like a goddamn lion. But if you were too far ahead, they plotted to cut you off at the knees like you were a tree to be felled.

By the end of the day, three things had happened that made her look like a California Redwood to the rest of her associates.

Number one: Harold Gunderson called in sick today. A terrible decision, because she'd convinced Louis to give him an opportunity and he wasn't even here to close his fist around it. She figured he was having an anxiety attack or something, and intended to call his personal cell as soon as she finished the Kendrick filing for Mike.

Number two was the fact that she was doing said filing for Mike. His deposition against McGregor had fallen to pieces, and he needed time to put things back together again without Harvey breathing down his neck. So he called in a favor.

Quinn wasn't even sure he had a favor to call in – she was already keeping his ridiculous secret about being a fraud, and she was aiding him in transporting drugs around in that briefcase of his. But that's just what friends do.

Number three was that she was still the talk of the town. Or rather, the talk of the bullpen. Word got out that she'd impressed Louis Litt, and since that guy was Stalin reincarnated into a pudgy man with large teeth, there was a lot of useless discussion over what exactly she had done to worm her way into his good graces.

If it was up to her, she would've gone and hidden in the library, or tucked herself into the file room, or even pleaded openly with Donna to let her hide under her secretary desk. But it wasn't up to her, because Louis Litt insisted that she stay in her cubicle while working on the case.

Because Louis Litt was Stalin reincarnate: a cruel dictator and the annihilator of Quinn's social standing.

Nobody was more vicious than the associates here.

She got back from her lunch break to find someone else sitting in her cubicle – a dark-haired girl with a bob, a sour face, and a navy skirt-suit that fit right into the drab room all around them. She was flipping through the Kendrick filings like they were Forbes magazine.

"Can I help you?" Quinn asked, her fingers already drumming at her side. This isn't good. I don't know her.

"I wasn't aware you did favors." She held up the file, tapping a manicured nail on the white label that said Ross, Michael on the top right corner. "Is that how you managed to get back on the Greenfield case?"

Quinn just stared at her with half-lidded eyes. She reached over the cubicle, grabbed her cup of coffee, and took a long swig. "What are you talking about?"

"I don't know if you were here," she drawled, "or if you were too busy running errands for Mr. Litt, but he told the rest of us that if we managed to find him a smoking gun for the Greenfield case, he'd give us first pick on the next batch of cases that roll in."

Quinn frowned: what the hell? So he did try to hand the case off to another associate... they just didn't catch on fast enough.

The woman crossed her legs beneath her pinstripe pencil skirt, folding her arms over her chest. "And then, lo and behold, not even twenty-four hours later, you came back with some mysterious crucial evidence. I think to myself, she must be smart. That's the kind of person I'd like to work with. And then you use that leverage to get Harold Gunderson onto the case with you."

She said his name like it was a plague. Quinn's eye twitched. "So?"

"So you get a chance to bring on some help, and you pick the least capable associate in the firm?" She shook her head slightly. "Maybe you aren't as smart as I thought."

A grin split Quinn's face. "You know, that's funny." She met the woman's eyes. "That's exactly what Mr. Litt said to me two days ago. You seem to know what happened right after that."

The woman puckered her lips like Quinn had just shoved a lemon between them, and set down the files. She got to her feet by pushing her hands against the desk, leaning forward to meet her eyes. "You don't know what you're doing by making me an enemy."

"I'm not making you an enemy," Quinn replied reproachfully. "You haven't told me what you want."

The woman tilted her head, her pale blue eyes flitting over Quinn's face, searching for insecurities or perhaps a weakness. She didn't find any. And it ticked her off.

"I'm Lorelei Stirling." She spoke with her teeth. "Second-year associate, top of my graduating class. I wanted to work with you because we're like-minded, but when you make stupid decisions, it makes you look bad. How long until you make a decision that makes the firm look bad?"

"You'll have to wait a little while longer," Quinn replied evenly. "Or... you'll have to explain what it is you want to work with me with. Stop beating around the bush."

Lorelei stiffened. She reached into her purse and pulled out a file, leaving it on Quinn's desk on top of the Kendrick files. "Make the right decision, Whitaker. This is my reputation and Pearson Hardman's."

"I'm not taking a case from someone who's been treating me like I'm the dirt on their shoe," Quinn shook her head.

"Will you take a case from someone who's willing to owe you one?"

"What do you have that I don't?"

She laughed in the face of Quinn's projected arrogance. "Connections," Lorelei pressed a manicured finger towards the file. "I know the senior partners here. I can get you in with them. Alternatively... I can ruin your reputation before you even gain one."

"That's desperate," Quinn commented, yanking the file out from beneath Lorelei's finger and giving it a quick read-through. "The Mercer fraud case? You're representing him?" Lorelei nodded. "This guy's guilty."

Lorelei let out a mocking laugh. "Someone will always say that."

Quinn lowered the folder with an incredulous look, before huffing and smacking it back down onto her desk. "I'll look into it, alright? But since you're so worried about your reputation, you should be careful about bragging after I win this for you. It's not a good look for a second-year to beg for a rookie's help."

Lorelei's lip curled, but she stepped out of Quinn's cubicle. Her icy eyes lingered on her for far too long before she disappeared from the bullpen entirely.

As soon as she did, Quinn collapsed in her chair, feeling a cold tidal wave of fear rushing through her body.

This was exactly what she'd been worried about. She thought that having Mike here would make her more comfortable, less vulnerable. Able to be herself in the workplace. But she'd dropped her guard in a pit of vipers.

Lorelei Stirling probably wasn't the first. She wouldn't be the last. And unlike Mike, she didn't have Harvey's influence shielding her from retaliation from her peers. Louis sure as hell wouldn't do it – in fact, he seemed to encourage it.

She'd already been through this once. People realize you're ahead of them, and they spend twice as much time trying to knock you down than they did trying to get ahead.

Being a lawyer was a lot like shooting a gun. Even if you dust the target, there was always someone else behind you, with the barrel jammed in your back.

But she didn't feel so safe anymore. She felt like all eyes were on her, and it wasn't a good sensation. She needed the protection that Lorelei could offer, loath as she was to admit it.

There was just one problem with the Mercer case. The crucial piece of evidence – a series of encrypted correspondences between Jonathan Mercer and an anonymous employee – had been deemed inadmissible in court. Some issue with chain of command regarding the encryption keys.

It was a stark reminder of what she needed to do in order to win the Greenfield case. They couldn't go to court. But for Jonathan Mercer and Lorelei, it seemed far too late.

They were proceeding to trial.

And Lorelei had just passed the burden of winning the whole damn thing onto Quinn.

▂▂▂▂▂▂▂▂▂▂▂▂▂▂
Sorry for the wait on
this update!

I posted a notice on my
account... I was in Las Vegas
for a trap tournament,

This chapter is longer
than usual by about 500
words. Hope the introduction
of a potential enemy
is enough to satiate you readers
until the next time.

Thank you for 200+ hearts! :)

Don't forget to leave comments.
I love reading them and they
motivate me to write
more.