Chapter 4
1343words
This was her battlefield—an arena where victories came through intellect, logic, and legal expertise.
Now Sophie sat in her domain, preliminary documents from Arthur Finch's case spread across her mahogany desk. Her gaze—focused and sharp as a surgeon's—dissected Ethan Carter's case report.
She missed nothing: the 911 transcript, crime scene report, forensic assessment, and Ethan's arrest report. Her fingertips traced the paper as she circled key timestamps in red.
—00:47, 911 dispatch received Sarah Jenkins' distress call, disconnected after a scream.
—01:05, first patrol officers arrived on scene.
—Based on forensics, police determined the attack occurred between 00:40 and 00:47.
Sophie's brow furrowed. She set aside the police reports and grabbed another document—entry and exit logs from Arthur's office building and surveillance footage from the parking garage, which her assistant had obtained overnight.
Her fingers tapped the keyboard, bringing up a video clip. Not high-definition, but clear enough to show a man matching Arthur's build and clothing driving a black Porsche into an underground garage.
After parking, he walked to the elevators and swiped his access card.
In the corner of the screen, white numbers clearly displayed the time: 00:25.
00:25, Midtown Manhattan.
00:40, Brooklyn Greenwood.
Fifteen minutes.
Sophie mentally mapped New York's midnight traffic. From Midtown to that Brooklyn apartment, even at dead of night with empty roads, would take twenty-five to thirty minutes minimum. Fifteen minutes was physically impossible.
She replayed the footage several times, cross-referencing with police reports. A clear conclusion formed: Ethan Carter's case rested on a flawed timeline. Arthur Finch had an alibi.
She grabbed her intercom: "David, my office. Now."
Minutes later, a Chinese man with gold-rimmed glasses and scholarly demeanor entered. David Chen—another firm star known for caution and meticulous logic.
"What've you got?" David adjusted his glasses.
Sophie wordlessly pushed the documents toward him. "Check the timestamps."
David spent three minutes reading, his expression morphing from relaxed to serious to shocked. "Wait—Arthur has an airtight alibi?"
"At minimum, it's compelling." Sophie leaned back, crossing her arms. "Either the cops botched the timeline or ignored key evidence. Either way, advantage us."
"Simple enough." David exhaled with relief. "We submit this evidence, file for a protection order, and demand Arthur's release. Carter's case implodes on its own."
This was standard procedure—the safe play. But Sophie shook her head.
"Too slow." A curious light flickered in her eyes. "David, doesn't this strike you as odd? If Arthur's innocent, why was his pin at the scene? Why has he maintained total silence, offering no defense whatsoever? He's hiding something—he's afraid."
"So what? Our job is to defend him, get him cleared—not play detective with his secrets," David reminded her.
"Every second an innocent man spends in custody is injustice," Sophie stood and walked to the window, gazing at the ant-like traffic below. "And what if his secret connects to the real attacker? Bail him out, we might lose our only lead."
Her words ventured far beyond a defense attorney's mandate. David eyed her with concern: "Sophie, you're not planning to—"
"I'm meeting Detective Carter personally," Sophie turned, a confident smile playing on her lips. "The system crawls. Sometimes you need a spark."
She'd made her choice. Rather than surrendering evidence to bureaucratic machinery, she'd transform it into a chess piece—seize initiative, read her opponent's strategy, and perhaps… convert that opponent into an ally.
***
In a quiet café, the rich aroma of freshly ground coffee filled the air. Beyond the windows lay the city's chaos, but inside existed a separate world.
Ethan Carter entered the café Sophie had chosen, wary and suspicious. When her invitation came, his first thought was "trap." What game was this sharp-minded attorney playing? Yet professional integrity—and damnable curiosity—brought him anyway.
He spotted her immediately in a corner booth. Gone was the sharp suit, replaced by a cream cashmere sweater that softened her edges, revealing a more approachable intellectual beauty. Before her sat a latte and a sleek tablet.
"Counselor, I hope you didn't drag me here just to tell me your client suddenly found his voice," Ethan said sarcastically, sliding into the seat opposite her.
Sophie lifted her gaze, regarding him coolly. "I don't waste time, Detective. Order something—this might take a while."
She cut straight to the chase: "Your case has a fatal flaw—timing. At the time of the attack in your report, my client physically couldn't have been there."
Ethan sneered: "An alibi? Page one of the defense attorney handbook. He could claim he was on Mars if he found someone to back him up."
"My witness isn't human—it's digital." Sophie remained unruffled, turning her tablet toward him to display the footage. "00:25, Arthur Finch entering his office garage. Building security footage—tamper-proof. Tell me, Detective, what vehicle travels from Midtown to Brooklyn in fifteen minutes? A jet?"
The mockery on Ethan's face froze. His eyes locked on the timestamp as his mind raced. He replayed the video several times. Though the face was unclear, the build, coat, and car all matched Finch perfectly.
He fell silent. As a seasoned detective, he recognized the evidence's weight immediately. If authentic, this video cracked the foundation of his entire case against Arthur.
"Footage can be doctored, timestamps altered." His words remained firm, but doubt had already crept in.
"Have your tech team verify it." Sophie calmly tucked away her tablet. "But we both know what they'll find. Detective Carter, you've got the wrong man."
The café's atmosphere grew tense. Sunlight slanted through windows, stretching shadows across their table. Ethan grabbed his newly arrived coffee and took a long pull, the bitterness sharpening his focus.
He looked up, truly seeing the woman across from him without bias for the first time. Not just intelligent—brave. Bold. She hadn't taken the safe route of presenting evidence in court, but had come straight to him instead.
"What do you want?" Ethan asked gruffly. He knew she hadn't come just to gloat.
"The truth." Sophie's answer caught him off guard. "I believe my client is innocent of breaking and entering. But that pin wasn't coincidence. He's hiding something—he's afraid. And that fear might connect to the real perpetrator."
She leaned forward, her intense gaze locking with his: "Detective, I'm proposing a deal. A temporary alliance."
"Alliance?" Ethan found the word ironic coming from defense counsel.
"Yes. You continue your official investigation; I'll work my client's angle." Sophie's voice was crystal clear and logical.
"You have police resources I lack; I have my client's trust. We work separately but share findings. We both want the person who hurt Sarah Jenkins. On this, our interests align."
Ethan remained silent for a long moment.
He studied Sophie's clear, direct gaze, internally conflicted. Working with a suspect's attorney was unheard of. But logic told him she was right—if Arthur truly had an alibi, he needed to redirect his investigation or risk losing the trail entirely.
This woman offered him an exit strategy—a chance to course-correct without public embarrassment.
"How do I know you won't leak police information to your client?" he voiced his final concern.
"Because that would sabotage finding the real attacker. A criminal walking free poses more danger to my client than detention," Sophie cut to the heart of it. "I need you, Detective, to uncover what terrifies him."
Ethan finally nodded and extended his hand.
"Deal. But just this case, Counselor."
Sophie clasped his hand firmly. "Naturally, Detective."
Their hands met in the café's warm sunlight, sealing an alliance built on mutual suspicion, caution, and shared purpose. Both recognized the danger in their game, but for the truth shrouded in mystery, they took this risky step together.
Within forty-eight hours of forming their alliance, Ethan and Sophie operated like precision instruments, tunneling toward the mystery's core from opposite directions.
