Filed Under Love

CHAPTER 4

Zara woke on the library couch with a crick in her neck and Adrian Wolfe’s jacket over her shoulders.

It smelled like him. Like rain and money and late nights. She sat up fast, sending the jacket to the floor. The library was empty. Her phone said 9:17 AM. Three hours of sleep. Four missed calls from an unknown number—one voicemail.

She hit play before she was awake enough to regret it.

Zara? It’s me. It's Professor Osei. From GIMPA. Please, don’t hang up. I saw your name on the Wolfe Industries filing. You have to call me. Before you do something, you can’t take it back. Please.

Zara’s blood went cold.

Professor Ama Osei. Constitutional Law. The woman who had told Zara to apply to law school when Zara was ready to drop out and work at her auntie’s shop. The woman who had paid Zara’s bar exam fee when the bank said no—the woman who had written all 43 of her recommendation letters.

And now she was leaving voicemails that sounded like warnings.

The library door opened. Adrian walked in, already in a suit, tie loosened, holding two coffees. He stopped when he saw her face.

What?

Not a question. A demand.

Zara put the phone down. Nothing. Just a call from school.

“Liar.” He set both coffees on the desk. Didn’t sit. You’re a terrible liar, Ms. Alim. This is inconvenient since you’re currently my lawyer. Who called?

Why do you assume I’m lying? Zara asked

Because your signs are obvious. You go still, and your breathing stops, and you look at me like I’m the problem you’re trying to solve.” He crossed his arms. So. Who called?

Zara could have lied. Clause 12 didn’t cover lying about phone calls. But she had signed a contract. She had given her word. And last night, he had sat in this room for three hours just so she would not be alone with a dead man’s crimes.

“Professor Ama Osei,” Zara said. She taught me at GIMPA. She was my mentor.

Adrian’s face didn’t change. But the air did. Ama Osei is the lead counsel for the accusers in the wrongful death case against my company.

The room seemed to spin.

Zara pulled up the case file on her phone. There it was. Osei, A. Counsel for Petitioners. She’d been so focused on the medical data she hadn’t checked the legal filings.

She didn’t tell me, Zara said, and hated how small her voice sounded.

No, Adrian said. She didn’t. He picked up his coffee. But didn’t drink it. Did she tell you to take this job?

No. I don’t even know what she was trying to tell me.

Did she tell you to get close to me?

“Adrian!” Zara stood. The jacket slid off the couch. She’s not like that. She believes in the law. She wouldn’t use me.

Everyone uses everyone, Zara. The only question is the price. He said it like it was nothing. She wants you to feed her information. That’s why she called. That is why she is worried about you.

You don’t know her. Zara said.

I know her type. She built her career on cases like this. David vs. Goliath. Except I’m not Goliath.

Zara’s phone buzzed. Unknown number again. She rejected it.

She taught me that the law isn’t about who has the most money, Zara said. It’s about who tells the truth best.

And what is the truth here, a counsellor? He stepped closer. Too close. That my brother falsifies records? Did three people die? That I covered it up because I loved him? Which truth should I tell the jury?”

The one that doesn’t send you to prison, she said, before she could think.

That stopped him.

For a second, he looked young. Not 32. Not a billionaire. Just a man who’d lost his brother and was about to lose his company and didn’t know how to stop it.

Then it was gone. The mask was back.

You have a conflict of interest, he said. Cold again. CEO again. Rule 1.7. You can’t represent me if your loyalty is divided between your former mentor and me. Are you divided, Ms. Alim?

Are you? The question wasn’t about the case. It was about last night. About the jacket. About the way he had said her name when he thought she was asleep.

Zara thought about Auntie Mabel. About her mother’s hospital bills. About $150,000. About Clause 12.

She thought about Professor Osei telling her, The law is the only thing that protects the small from the big, Zara. Remember that.

I’m not divided, Zara said. She picked up his jacket and held it out. I’m employed. By you. My duty is to you. Full stop.

He didn’t take the jacket. He looked at her like she was a contract he was trying to find a loophole in.

Prove it, said Adrian

How?

My board is meeting in an hour. They want to settle. They want to pay the families, issue a statement, and fire me as CEO to ‘restore public trust.’ They think I’m the liability. His eyes were hard. I need you in that room. I need you to tell them why that’s a mistake. Without mentioning my brother. Without mentioning the Cayman account. Without giving them anything they can use against me later.

Adrian, I’m not licensed to do that.

You passed the bar. You are licensed. You are just not experienced. He finally took the jacket. Their fingers brushed. Neither pulled away. Experience is overrated. I need someone who does not know how to lose yet.

Zara’s phone buzzed again. She turned it off without looking.

Okay,” she said. “I’ll do it.

Good. He was already walking out. Wear the green dress. The board respects green. It’s in your closet. And Zara?

She looked up.

Don’t take her calls. Not until this is over. That is not a request.

He left.

Zara stood alone in the library, holding the phone with 5 missed calls from the woman who had saved her life, about to go to war for the man who had bought it.

She opened her inbox. The email from Professor Osei was already there, it says: Please, Zara don't do this. He’s not who you think he is._

Zara didn’t open it.

She deleted it.

Then she went upstairs to find the green dress.

Clause 12 wasn’t about romance anymore. It was about loyalty. And she’d just chosen sides.