Objection, Your Honor

Chapter4: West pinnacle

They left the office after about 2 hours.

Adrian didn’t say a word in the car. He just stared out the window. Tie off. First button of his shirt open.

Marcus drove. He knew better than to talk yet.

After a few minutes in the vehicle, the GPS said: “Entering West Pinnacle Estate.”

The gates were black steel. 10 feet high. No name was written on it. Just a camera that blinked red once and scanned his plates.

“Click.”

They slid open.

His car drove onto a private drive paved with smooth black stone. No streetlights. Only the low glow from recessed lights in the ground, like runway lights.

Hedges on both sides, trimmed too perfectly to be natural.

Half a mile in, the trees broke.

And there it was.

THE HOUSE.

Three stories of glass and dark concrete, sitting at the middle of the estate.

Every window was lit, but not warm. Cold, white light. More like a server room than a home.

Marcus pulled up to the front.

Adrian got out first. Walked to the door while Marcus followed behind.

Fingerprint scanner. No doorbell.

As he walked up the steps, the house recognized him.

The lights in the foyer came on. Soft, but white. The temperature adjusted. 72 degrees.

The sound system didn’t play music. It stayed quiet.

Adrian walked straight to his room upstairs. He took off his tuxedo jacket, threw it on a chair. Took off his watch. His cufflinks.

He went to the bathroom. Stood under hot water for 5 minutes. Tried to wash off the smell of the conference. The smell of people.

He came out after some minutes in sweatpants and a black t-shirt. Bare feet.

Went downstairs to join Marcus.

Marcus was already in the kitchen. Skillfully flipping an omelette.

He didn’t have an assistant for this. He had Adrian. When Adrian’s parents divorced, Marcus’s mom taught them both how to cook. So now, when they were home, Marcus cooked.

“Dinner’s ready,” Marcus said, smiling as he plated it. Two eggs. Toast. Black coffee.

“Thanks,” Adrian replied, sitting at the island.

Silence for a minute. Just the sound of forks.

Then Marcus said it.

“Do you take a liking to her?”

Adrian didn’t look up. “Who?”

“She.”

“I don’t know what you’re saying,” Adrian said, getting agitated. He cut his omelette harder than he needed to.

“You looked at her for about 4.7 seconds,” Marcus said, not letting him deny it. “Then you gave her your name tag. Then you walked away fast like you were running from something.”

“I don’t do relationships,” Adrian said, staring deep into his friend’s soul. Like that would end it.

“I never asked,” Marcus said, laughing. “Well, you will. Just avoid the bad ones.”

Adrian put his fork down. He just stood without answering and went into his study.

The study was the only room in the house that felt alive.

Three monitors. Whiteboards full of code. A half-finished prototype on the desk.

No pictures. No plants. Just work.

He sat down. Pulled up the security footage from Mary’s Hall.

He told himself it was to check if Mr. Hart was okay. To check if anyone was bothering Marcus.

But he paused it on one frame.

Claire. Bending down. Picking up notebooks. Hair falling out of her bun.

Holding his jotter. Looking scared.

Volunteering. Bar on Friday.

He closed the tab.

Marcus knocked once and came in with two mugs of coffee. Set one down on Adrian’s desk.

“You’re gonna pretend you didn’t hear me, huh?”

“I’m pretending you didn’t talk,” Adrian said.

Marcus sat on the couch. “You know what’s funny? You go to those lawyer things once a year and you hate every second. But tonight you stayed 18 minutes. And you talked to someone who wasn’t trying to sell you anything.”

Adrian didn’t answer. He was typing. Code. Lines and lines of it.

“You don’t have to date her,” Marcus said. “Just... talk to her. You’re 30. You’ve built a company. You’ve got a house that scans your face. And you haven’t had dinner with someone who isn’t me in 8 months.”

“I have dinner with you.”

“Exactly my point.”

Adrian finally looked up. “Marcus.”

“What.”

“Drop it.”

Marcus sighed and stood up. “Fine. But for the record, she looked nervous. And smart. And she didn’t ask you for money or a job. She was just... there.”

He left the study.

Adrian sat there for a long time. The only sound was the hum of his computers.

He thought about the conference. About Mr. Hart. About the two guys who wanted to talk business.

And then he thought about her.

The way she said “volunteering sir” like she was afraid he’d be mad.

The way she held the jotter to her chest.

The notes in the margin. Don’t panic. You got this.

He didn’t know her last name.

He didn’t know where she lived.

He just had a name tag that was now missing from his tux.

At 2am, Adrian finally shut his laptop.

He walked to the window. The estate was dark. Just the runway lights and the black trees.

He wasn’t thinking about code.

He wasn’t thinking about the company.

He was thinking about 4.7 seconds.

“Why am I thinking of her? Why is she on my mind?”

He just turned off the light.

The house went cold again.