Legally Bound

Chapter 9

The ringtone sliced through the quiet morning.

Alex groaned, rubbing his eyes. The soft hum of the city echoed faintly below his apartment; cars, sirens, distant chatter. He rolled over and glanced at the screen.

Dad.

He sat up, cleared his throat, and answered.

“Morning, Dad.”

“Morning, son,” came the deep voice on the other end measured, commanding as always. “There’s a major lawyers’ conference happening in Chicago today. The Illinois State Bar Association. Every partner and firm head worth their salt will be there including Richard Barton.”

Alex rubbed the back of his neck, his voice still groggy. “Eileen already told me about it. I wasn’t planning to go.”

“Then change your mind,” his father said flatly. “It’s an opportunity to build bridges and possibly get closer to what you’re there for.”

Alex leaned against the headboard. “You could’ve called Barton yourself, you know. Would’ve made this whole search easier.”

“I could have,” his father admitted, “but it’s been over ten years since we last spoke. It would be… odd. Besides, Barton respects strength, not sentiment. If you show up in person, you’ll make a better impression.”

Alex exhaled, staring out at the skyline. The conversation was over before it began.

“Alright, I’ll go,” he said quietly.

“Good. And Alex?”

“Yeah?”

“Make it count.

The line went dead.

He called again

“Dad?”

“Yes I forgot,

By ten, Alex was suited up; navy blue, tailored to perfection, his cufflinks catching the faint morning light. He looked every inch his father’s son, calm, polished, and composed. He slid on his watch and murmured to his reflection, “You owe me for this, Eileen.”

The conference was held at The Langford Hotel, one of Chicago’s finest. The lobby buzzed with voices of lawyers, interns, reporters, all brushing shoulders and business cards.

He had barely stepped into the main hall when someone called out,

“Cromwell? Alex Cromwell?”

He turned and broke into a grin. “Mark Reynolds. You’ve got to be kidding me.”

Mark, his old Harvard classmate, laughed, pulling him into a quick hug. “Man, look at you. Mr. New York’s Finest! You remember how you used to wipe the floor with us in moot court?”

Alex chuckled. “Selective memory, I see.”

“Yeah, yeah. Listen,” Mark said, already dragging him toward the ballroom. “If you’re here, you’re not escaping. You have to say something. Everyone still remembers you from the ABA Young Lawyers Summit. Five minutes, tops.”

“Mark..”

“No excuses. Humor me.”

Alex sighed. “Fine. Five minutes.”

Twenty minutes later, Alex stood behind the podium. The hum of the crowd dimmed to a respectful silence.

He didn’t need notes. He spoke from instinct, from experience, from that cool certainty that made people listen.

He talked about integrity in modern legal practice, how in a world chasing profits and headlines, the law was losing its moral compass. That winning was hollow without honor, and that clients deserved conscience, not just competence. He hinted how his firm dismissed quickly a lawyer that breached their ethics code which led them into a scandal, though he was one of the best.

His voice was steady, sharp, his words deliberate. It wasn’t long, but it landed.

When he ended, there was a moment’s hush then applause. Loud, honest applause.

People stood. Cameras flashed. Even the older attorneys nodded with approval.

Alex smiled faintly, giving a polite nod before stepping down. For once, it felt good to just be seen for his work not his father’s name.

Afterward, the praise came in waves.

“Brilliant perspective, young man.”

“Cromwell, that was remarkable.”

“You’ve your father’s presence but your own charm. Dangerous combination,” one judge quipped.

Then a managing partner, Mr. Laurence Hale, approached him.

“Cromwell, I’m hosting a workshop next week for my junior lawyers and paralegals. I’d love for you to speak, generous compensation, of course.”

Alex smiled. “That’s kind of you, sir. Send me the details, I’ll make it work.”

“Excellent,” Hale said, shaking his hand firmly before walking off.

Alex made his way to the bar for a drink, the adrenaline still humming through his veins. The crowd thinned slightly, but the compliments kept coming in passing smiles and nods.

He had just taken a sip when a tap landed on his shoulder.

“Truly a chip off the old block,” a voice said behind him, low, rich, confident.

Alex turned. Standing there was an older man tall, silver hair combed neatly back, suit pressed to perfection, the kind of authority that didn’t need announcing.

“I’m sorry,” Alex began, offering his hand, “have we met?”

The man smiled. “Not directly. But I worked with your father Raymond Cromwell years ago. Corporate ethics committee. Good man, sharp as glass.”

Alex’s brow furrowed slightly. “You knew my father?”

“Knew him well,” the man said, shaking his hand firmly. “Richard Barton.”

Alex froze for a fraction of a second before regaining composure.

“The Richard Barton?” he asked, masking his surprise with a polite smile.

“The same,” Barton said with an easy laugh. “He never mentioned me, I take it?”

“Not in detail,” Alex admitted. “But I’m honored, sir. My father has the utmost respect for you.”

Barton chuckled, taking a sip of champagne. “Respect might be too strong a word. We butted heads more times than I can count. But the man’s brilliant and I see the apple didn’t fall far from the tree. You were exceptional up there.”

“Thank you, sir. That means a lot.”

“So, what brings a Cromwell to Chicago?” Barton asked, eyes narrowing with curiosity.

“A bit of business,” Alex said smoothly. “We’re exploring new collaborations and client networks. Trying to expand the firm’s reach.”

Barton nodded approvingly. “Smart. You should come by Barton & Myers sometime. We’re always open to partnership discussions. I’d love to have a word with you properly.”

He kept his tone even. “I’d like that very much, sir. I’ve actually heard a lot about your firm.”

“Good,” Barton said, pleased. Then his eyes twinkled slightly. “We’ve got a few bright ones, one of them’s a young woman, Lily Smith. I doubt you’ve met her, though. Brilliant but painfully private.”

Alex’s pulse quickened, but he kept his expression casual. “Actually, I think I’ve heard her name. Is she here today?”

Barton let out a hearty laugh. “Lily? Oh, no, no. She hates events like this. You won’t even get her to pose for a firm picture, let alone show up to a ballroom full of lawyers.”

Alex smiled faintly. “Not a fan of crowds, then?”

“Not at all,” Barton said, shaking his head. “And besides, she’s tied up in court today. We’ve got a major case one of our biggest clients. I’d have loved to drag her here just to see her face when I force her to network, but the judge would’ve had my head.”

Alex laughed softly. “Sounds like she knows where she belongs.”

“That she does,” Barton said proudly. “She’s one of the best we’ve got, reminds me why I still enjoy this profession.”

He finished his drink and set it down. “Drop by the office next week. We’ll talk properly. I’ll have my assistant send you a slot.”

“Absolutely,” Alex replied, shaking his hand again.

“Good man,” Barton said warmly. “Give my regards to your father. Tell him I still remember that night he convinced the committee to reverse a vote at 2 a.m. He won, of course.”

Alex smiled. “That sounds like him.”

Barton clapped him lightly on the shoulder, then melted back into the crowd.

Outside, the evening air was crisp against his skin. The city shimmered under gold and silver lights.

His phone buzzed, a message from Eileen.

Eileen: Heard about your speech. Standing ovation?

Alex: You’ve been stalking my career again.

Eileen: Well I’m paid to do that so technically yes

Alex: Let’s just say… I met someone who knows everyone.

He pocketed the phone, glancing back at the ballroom windows; the laughter, the light, the sound of glasses clinking.

He’d come to the conference to please his father.

He left with the truth standing one introduction away.