Chapter 9 #2
My blood runs cold. They have to be talking about Dmitri. I know Dean is up to something if the head of the Smirnov Corporation is alone in there on the exact day most of the legal team is tied up. It’s a low, manipulative move that reeks of my ex.
I don’t hesitate as I move past the water cooler and stride to the door from which I can hear the distinctive, deep rumble of Dmitri’s voice.
My mind snaps into lawyer mode again. I’m not just Clara Benson, the newly hired counsel for the Smirnov Corporation, I’m Clara Benson, the only thing standing between a billionaire CEO and a lengthy stay in federal prison.
I open the door without knocking, ignoring the shouts of officers behind me. But they’re too late. The three men in the room look up when I enter, and the conversation freezes. The captain of the unit, an older man I recognize as Assistant District Attorney Henderson, and Dmitri.
I don’t miss how his eyes widen before he masters his expression to cold indifference again.
“I apologize for the interruption,” I announce, stepping firmly into the center of the room, “but this interrogation is over.”
Henderson looks surprised, then annoyed. “Excuse me? Who are you?”
“Clara Benson, in-house counsel for the Smirnov Corporation. An attorney now represents Mr. Smirnov, and this interrogation is immediately finished.” I look at Henderson, then the unit’s captain, whose name I’ve forgotten, probably on purpose.
“Any further questioning must be deferred until I have time to confer with my client, review the materials seized, and establish the scope of your inquiry. I trust you are aware that any statement taken from Mr. Smirnov from this moment forward, without his expressed, advised, and written consent to waive counsel, will be considered inadmissible.”
Dmitri is watching me with a glimmer of surprise, amusement, and appreciation in his eyes, along with something else sharp and ravenous.
“He hasn’t asked for a lawyer, Ms. Benson.” DA Henderson recovers quickly. “He was cooperating.”
“Regardless, he has one now, DA Henderson,” I counter, turning to the captain. “Under what charges is my client being held? Do you have an arrest warrant separate from the original search warrant, or is this still a holding action based on the initial probable cause?”
The captain hesitates, glancing at DA Henderson. “We’re currently processing the information gathered under the warrant.”
“The executed warrant that was constitutionally flawed,” I clarify for them, every word ringing with all the professional contempt I can muster. “Since you failed to secure a statement and given the dubious legal foundation for this morning’s operation, I demand Mr. Smirnov’s immediate release.”
“We’re not going to release—” the captain begins.
“If you had sufficient evidence to charge Mr. Smirnov, you would have already charged him,” I interrupt sharply. “The fact that you are still here, fishing for a confession without counsel, confirms what I established in my own interrogation, and that is, you have nothing.”
DA Henderson narrows his eyes. “We have until later tonight to—”
“I am cutting that time short,” I tell him, giving him a polite but dismissive nod.
“Mr. Smirnov and I are leaving, along with whoever else you’ve detained.
You may serve us with formal charges or subpoenas when you have probable cause.
Until then, you are exceeding your authority. Mr. Smirnov, let’s go.”
Dmitri rises without a word, his gaze never leaving mine. His silence, combined with my aggressive, legally air-tight intervention, shuts up the three men in the room, and no one protests as we leave.
Dean is waiting for us just outside the door.
He leans against the wall, now a picture of calm, cool restraint.
Nothing is left of his earlier fury, save for a burning in his dark eyes only I can see because I’m so practiced at looking for it.
It’s there because I systematically demolished his attempt to corner, manipulate, and ultimately crush me.
I barely spare him a glance as we pass, but Dmitri drops back.
Startled, I turn to look at him. He looks my ex up and down, weighing and measuring him, before a wolfish smile, slow and contemptuous, spreads across his lips.
It’s the smile of a man who understands power on a level Dean never will.
Dmitri also understands that he won this round.
His body language is relaxed as he slips his hands into his pockets and stares Dean down in casual victory.
He looks Dean dead in the eye and says, “You came to my place of business to prove how big you are, Detective Johnson,” his voice a low rumble, menacing in its hush. “Turns out Clara didn’t need me to defend her from you, after all, you piece of shit. You lost one hell of a woman.”
With that, Dmitri places a hand at the small of my back and guides me out.
I feel Dean’s gaze on my back like heat from a fire, but I keep walking.
The doors slide open, the cold, chaotic, beautiful freedom of the city greeting us.
My adrenaline starts to recede the farther we get from the precinct.
Dmitri speaks in rapid Russian to someone over the phone. I’m guessing he’s ordering a car.
I feel a deep, weary satisfaction.
I won.
But the victory doesn’t feel quite as shiny as it should, because there is still the nagging knowledge, growing brighter and brighter, that I am standing beside the head of a major criminal enterprise.
I hate that Dean was right.