Vincent POV
"Did she go back already?" I muttered, glancing once toward her workspace.
"…yeah, she did."
I exhaled, leaning back slightly.
What's actually irritating me right now?
She doesn't recognize me. At all.
I mean, fine—it was dark that night. I didn't exactly show my face properly. I had to be careful… I'm not someone who can just walk around unnoticed.
But still—
She could've asked.
Have we met before?
That's it. One question.
I could've handled the rest. Changed the direction. Kept it under control.
But no.
Nothing.
I clicked my tongue lightly.
"Leave it."
The more I think about it, the more pointless it gets.
I picked up the file again.
"…she's smart though."
That, I can't deny.
The way she noticed patterns—not rushed, not exaggerated… just enough to question.
Not many people do that on their first day.
I went through the documents again, slower this time.
If the video is pre-recorded…
then the defense will shift to timeline.
They'll argue that the time of death doesn't conflict with his presence.
They'll bring in external proof—CCTV footage, entry-exit logs, anything that places him at home.
I nodded slightly.
"Expected."
And if that holds—
then this stops being a direct act.
It becomes indirect.
No businessman with that kind of reputation handles things himself.
If he wanted Reeves out—
he'd have someone else do it.
Which means…
the case shifts completely.
From presence—
to planning.
I closed the file and stood up.
No point overthinking in the office.
I reached home earlier than usual.
The place was quiet… as always.
A bit too quiet.
The apartment looked the same—clean, structured, exactly how I left it. Black exterior, minimal interiors, everything in place.
It's a good space.
Just… empty.
I tossed the keys aside and dropped onto the couch, exhaling like I'd been holding my breath the whole day.
For a moment, I just stayed there.
Still.
And then—
her face.
Again.
I shut my eyes.
"…this is not helping."
Every time I close my eyes, it's the same.
Her expressions. The way she argues. The way she pauses before saying something.
It makes it harder than it should be.
Working with her like nothing's happening—
is not as easy as I thought.
So the only thing I can do?
Keep it controlled.
Short answers. Neutral tone.
No space for anything unnecessary.
I opened my eyes again and sat up.
"Focus."
Case first.
Everything else—later.
"Vincent," I muttered to myself, "you've handled worse. Don't overcomplicate this now… especially when you're the one who chose her."
That was on me.
I pulled the files toward me and spread them across the table, arranging them properly.
"Alright…"
Pen in hand.
Start.
First: alibi.
If that stands, nothing else matters.
So we don't attack him directly.
We question the evidence.
Reliability of recording.
Chain of custody.
Who handled it. Who submitted it. Any possible gap.
Even a small break—
is enough.
I tapped the pen lightly.
"Don't prove it's fake… just make it questionable."
That's enough to move forward.
Second: behavior.
Her observation.
Timed repetition.
Clean responses.
"…too clean."
I wrote it down.
Behavioral improbability.
Not strong alone.
But useful.
Third: technical.
No timestamp.
No duration.
That's a problem.
Lack of verifiable metadata.
If that gets questioned—
the alibi weakens.
If it weakens, we get space.
I leaned back, thinking ahead.
Defense won't sit quiet.
They'll say:
no direct proof no expert backing speculative argument
"…fair enough."
So don't push too far.
Keep it tight.
Controlled.
I stood up, pacing slowly.
"Your Honor…" I said under my breath, testing it.
"The defense presents a recording as definitive proof… yet fails to establish its complete authenticity."
I stopped.
Too aggressive.
Reset.
Again.
"Your Honor, the prosecution is not asserting fabrication. We are questioning the reliability of evidence that lacks basic verification."
Better.
Calmer.
Stronger.
I continued.
"An alibi stands only when its foundation is unquestionable. In this case… that standard is not met."
I paused.
Yeah.
That works.
I sat down again, flipping through the pages.
"If the alibi weakens…"
Motive comes back.
Financial disputes. Internal tension.
"And if motive stands…"
Then we move.
Not presence.
Planning.
I wrote it slowly.
Possibility of orchestration.
I leaned back, closing my eyes for a second.
Not perfect.
But enough to enter court.
That's all I need right now.
My phone buzzed.
I picked it up. "Yes, Mr. Sanchez."
"Sir, Adrian Cole has officially registered his case with Blackwood JLE Firm."
"…I see."
"And sir.. he has requested a meeting with you. Tomorrow."
I paused.
"With me?"
"Yes, sir. For discussion… possibly settlement."
A brief silence.
"Schedule it," I said. "Tomorrow. I'll handle it."
"Yes, sir."
The call ended.
I placed the phone down and looked back at the files.
So he wants to talk.
Before court.
I leaned back slightly.
"…fine."
No point guessing now.
Tomorrow—
I'll see what he's actually after.