“So are you going to tell me why you asked about Era or not?”
I zip to find Finnick bending over the kitchen table, only stable because of his arms firmly holding himself up. I don’t know when he even came home.
“What?”
“You can’t lie to me Mr. Lawyer. Spill it. I know something’s up.”
“Nothing’s up.”
His eyebrows raise. “Oh really. You know it’s two in the morning?”
My heart skips a beat and I take a brief glance at my laptop’s time. Crap. I always go to bed around 11pm so I can wake up early, exercise, walk the dogs, all that kind of stuff before work.
“I did not in fact know that.”
Finnick sits down, the chair screeching so loudly I cringe. “In the four years I’ve known you, you have only been up this late on two other occasions–and both happened before I lived with you.”
I can’t tell if he’s been snappy or pressing, I’ve been working nonstop since lunch.
“Well, we all make mistakes,” I offer. I lay my arms over my notes to cover them from him.
“So what’s going on–and you can’t say nothing. This is very unusual for you.”
Finnick’s going to keep asking and asking, until we’re on our deathbeds, frail and withered away. When he first started living with me and had way less to do than he does now, Finnick would always ask me questions and would follow me around pestering me. I never minded it. It was kind of endearing, as he was learning how to really be more independent to take care of himself. His hair was so bouncy and golden, he resembled an elementary school kid more than a college student.
But of course, curiosity can kill that cat. He has lines along his forehead now, eyebags, and spots from his stress.
Do I tell him? I’ve told him about some of my cases before whenever I was having trouble, needed to vent, or wanted to double-check to ensure my arguments made sense. It was nice having someone on the outside to question and examine my arguments without me having to name clients specifically. Especially when I started interning under a former colleague, who had me working with him full-time. Finnick could really make sure I’m not going to lose this case with any loose, open ended questions.
This time though, he would know it involves Era. He would know the clients.
“What are you doing right now at the space center?”
“What?”
I sigh, the exhaustion beginning to roll in. “If I’m going to tell you, I need to make sure I won’t distract you.”
His face scrunches up. “Uhh… I have class stuff and I’m working on research for a new project for a final later this year in like, December I think… that’s all that I know of right now.”
It’s early June, so I could theoretically ask him for some help before he needs to focus on his own stuff. I bury my face in my hands. Something is telling me I shouldn’t because Colten trusted me. But what if this could actually help?
“You can’t tell anyone, and I mean anyone, Finnick,” I mumble out of my palms.
“Got it.”
“This is the kind of ‘don’t tell anyone’ that you should sign a contract for. In fact I should draft one–”
“Jax… when have I ever told anyone anything about a case?”
I sigh, nodding, my hands falling to my neck and I contemplate him. He won’t tell. He can’t.
“Swear it.” This is the only way I can make sure anyone in Solera will follow through–by swearing it on their ancestors spirits. Under oath and loyalty. This is the best I’m getting without a physical signature on a written document.
He rolls his eyes, but still intertwines both of his hands and places them over his heart. “I swear by my ancestral peace and reputation. Now what is this all about?”
The house is silent, Arlo’s snores distant and the fridge making an odd sound here and there. I breathe, and turn the laptop screen to show him my typed notes. He sees the title of the document and frowns.
“I don’t understand. What’s ‘notes on Jewel Corp.’ exactly?”
“Finnick, I’m Era’s private lawyer… and they’re suing their management.”
His jaw drops, eyes wide then squinting as he processes. Rubbing his forehead, he squeaks out a weak and confused noise.
I explained it to him. How one of the members came to me. I don’t say Colten’s name though. I want to avoid any of… of that past coming up during this investigation. While I read the list off to him, recall the meetings with Mae and Luke, I stand and go to the fridge. I forgot to eat some dinner in my research. I start making some sandwiches while I explain what Mae and Luke said. He stays silent for a while, reading my typed notes.
I grab a pretzel bag from the cabinet before I sit across Finnick. He slides my notebook so he can read my physical notes. There’s much more there, as I’ve printed any documents regarding the corporations financial records and slid them between the pages of notes and thoughts spinning in my brain. I’m trying to map out all the public records of spending, as well as price how much they’ve spent and donated and earned. Everything under the sun I have to do. I can’t ask a professional to calculate it for me, this case isn’t public. I can’t tip anyone off. I’m going to go through the book Mae gave me tomorrow–or, I guess later today.
The screen on my computer buzzes to life, my screensaver dark except for the corner where the email notification pops open. From the email address Mae gave me.
Shoving the pretzels from my hand into my mouth, I open it.
Mr. A,
I apologize for the untimely hour of this message. I have just returned from practice. This is Wynter from ERA. Legally, in case you need it, my full name is William Wolf. Please refer to me as Wynter for anonymity. I had hoped I could have met you in person, but it was safer for Colten to go alone with Luke. I am emailing you personally, through this account, as a thank you. I deeply apologize if this jeopardizes your career in any way. You don’t have to keep us as clients if need be. We would understand more than you could believe.
We’ll figure it out.
I also want to inform you that I will do whatever it takes to protect my bandmates. I know it is not in your best interest to do any harm or drop this case. However I just want to be transparent in my intentions. They are my family. I’m the leader, the oldest, and so it falls on me to ensure they are safe with others outside. I hope you understand where I am coming from.
I am also explaining my intentions to provide context for the next message: We have come to a mutual agreement that if you need anything from the inside, documents or other artists or staff or what have you, please ask. We would be willing to do whatever possible if it helps us get out. But if any request is too risky, I can’t put them in danger. They believe they know what the company is capable of, but I’m not too sure. As far as we know, no one is doing what we are doing with you.
We have one favor to ask of you. Please keep this email chain strictly confidential. If it got out that we have unauthorized access to technology, we would not be safe.
However, please, reach out if necessary and to keep in contact. We will do our best to be open, honest, and respectful. We will do our best to respond within a timely manner.
Sincerely,
Wynter
I read it over and over again. William Wolf. Wynter. Safe with others. The leader. Need anything. Need documents. Strictly confidential.
Holy shit. I can talk to them. I’m safely talking to them.
I suppress any words or noises or reactions to hide it from Finnick. This won’t get out. It won’t.
“Why you?” Finnick asks, “And I don’t want to sound mean. It’s more of… this is serious and a mountain of well, I don’t know. They came to you though, and not a lawyer with like a five star rating or whatever.”
I shrug. “I knew one of the members previously, when we were younger. And I’d imagine finding it hard to trust people without past history.”
“But still,” he mutters, “this is big.”
“I’m aware.”
He stands. “Bigger than big.” He starts waving his hands, making a big cylinder cone shape thing. “Industry shattering.”
“Stop being so dramatic.”
He leans over the table, my computer. “I’m not. Absolutely not. If what you’re–what they’re saying is true, then there could be some serious corruption that has covered it all up. Who knows how long this has been going on, how much it’s really affected the industry.”
He’s sure got a way of being honest.
I lower the screen after exiting the email. “Well… then no pressure there, huh.”
“Sorry, shit you’re already stress eating.”
I forgot I was still eating. I ate Finnick’s sandwich and a good third of the pretzel bag.
I shrug. “Was bound to happen at some point.”
He nods, clearly confused on what he should say next. I don’t blame him. I can’t think straight without going back to Wynter’s email. Whatever it takes to protect them, his family. To what Luke said, about sneaking him out of solitary confinement… If they’re really as famous as I’m interpreting, how are they so isolated?
“How can I help?” he says after a few minutes of staring into space.
“Maybe–” but I can’t finish my answer because I have absolutely no clue. I don’t even know what I really have as conclusive evidence besides witness testimonies. I feel like a lost dog. “I don’t actually know.”
“I’ll start by helping you not lose whatever sanity you have left. How ‘bout that. So go to sleep. You’re gonna need all the rest you can get.”
I chuckle. “You’re probably right.”
He starts stacking up my notes and folders, placing my laptop on top of the pile. “Go sleep. And stop munching on pretzels, we’re on a budget.”
I shake my head, trying–and failing–to get rid of the anxious lull in my stomach. I genuinely have no idea what I’ve signed up for. I want to help, especially Colten and those he cares about. But am I really the best person for this? This may be out of my paygrade, is definitely out of my level of experience and expertise, and most certainly is too much for just myself. I may have to get someone close to Colten to help me. Maybe Mae. Luke scares me too much, and if he’s gone for too long any one of them could be at risk.
“Hey Jax?” Finnick calls.
I stop, turning to face him from the stairs. “Hmm?”
“How much are they suing for?”
So much has already happened, already swimming in my mind, I can’t remember on the spot. Money seems like the most important aspect in comparison to their well-being. “I believe around 30 million. I’m not sure if that is the final amount they’ve decided on. Why?”
He doesn’t respond immediately, but stares at the wood of the table, nodding slowly to himself.
“Just curious because of the company’s status and their reputation. Night,” he finally mumbles out while standing up.
Wynter’s email burns in my grasp as I hum a response back.
Whatever it takes.
