Chapter 4 4

The next morning, the atmosphere at Sterling, Thorne & Finch, one of Wall Street's most prestigious law firms, was thick with a tension Ciel could feel in her bones. Colleagues who usually greeted her with a warm smile now avoided her eyes, their faces a mixture of pity and fear.

The red light on her office phone blinked insistently. It was a summons. Elias Finch, the firm's senior partner and her one-time mentor, wanted to see her in his corner office. Immediately.

She walked in without knocking. Elias was at his expansive glass desk, rubbing his temples, his usually immaculate silver hair disheveled. Several letters lay scattered in front of him. Termination of service notices.

"Sit down, Ciel," he said, his voice strained. He didn't wait for her to comply. He slid a data report across the desk. "Three of our biggest corporate accounts pulled their retainers this morning. Unanimously. Without warning."

Ciel looked at the names on the report. She wasn't surprised. The holding companies behind all three traced back to one entity: Bolton Global.

"Dion Bolton sent a very clear message," Elias said, his voice laced with a weary anger. "A warning shot across our bow."

He opened a drawer and pulled out a familiar-looking legal file-the one for Baylie Kane's foundation. He pushed it toward her.

"I don't care what's going on between you and your husband," Elias said, his tone shifting from weary to demanding. "But you will not let your domestic squabbles sink my firm. You will take this case. You will fix this. That is an order."

Ciel stared at the file. She could feel the weight of every eye in the office on her through the glass walls. She thought of Elias, the man who had once given a lecture on legal ethics that had inspired her to become a lawyer, now telling her to sacrifice her principles for profit.

She took a deep breath, the air tasting like ash.

"I can't, Elias," she said, her voice quiet but firm. "There are serious financial irregularities in that foundation's books. Taking them on as a client would be a violation of my professional ethics."

Elias slammed his hand on the desk. "Ethics? We're on Wall Street, Ciel, not in a damn philosophy classroom! This is about survival!"

He stood up, his face flushed. "If you don't take this case, you're done. I'll pull you from every active file. You'll be benched. Indefinitely. Is that clear?"

The threat hung in the air, heavy and suffocating. She looked at the man she once respected and felt a profound sense of sorrow. He had already made his choice.

Now she had to make hers.

"Perfectly clear," she said softly.

She turned and walked out of his office. The sound of her heels on the marble floor was the only sound in the dead-silent workspace.

Back at her cubicle, she ignored the furtive glances from her colleagues. She sat down, her movements deliberate, and woke up her computer.

She opened a new, blank document.

At the top, she typed two words: Resignation Letter.

Her fingers flew across the keyboard, the words pouring out of her, fueled by a cold, clear resolve.

As she was typing, her phone lit up on the desk. A text message from Dion.

Have you thought it over?

The casual arrogance of it, the assumption that she would eventually crawl back, made her stomach clench.

With a flick of her thumb, she opened his contact, scrolled down, and pressed 'Block'. The action was small, but it felt monumental.

She hit 'Print'. The printer in the corner hummed to life, spitting out two clean, warm pages. She took a pen from her desk and signed her name at the bottom, the ink a decisive black slash.

She was about to stand up and walk to the HR department when her desk phone rang. It was the receptionist.

"Ciel? There's a Ms. Baylie Kane here to see you. She's waiting in the lobby."

Ciel's blood ran cold. Baylie. Here. Now. A public spectacle was the last thing she needed.

She had to handle this. And not here.

She grabbed her coat, tucking the signed resignation letter under her keyboard. She walked toward the elevators, her jaw set, her eyes glinting with the cold fire of battle.

The numbers on the elevator display descended. 3... 2... 1...

She was going to end this, once and for all.