23. Abigail
ABIGAIL
Over the next two weeks, my confidence erodes like a sandcastle at high tide.
At home, everything with Will feels easy.
We spend nearly every night together, talking about everything. Cases, childhood, the dreams we never said out loud until now. And he listens. Really listens. He looks at me like I’m the most fascinating thing he’s ever seen.
He’s gentle. Thoughtful. He sneaks up behind me in the bathroom just to kiss my shoulder while I brush my teeth. He lets me steal all the hot water in the shower and never says a word when I leave my towel on the floor.
He cooks for me. Rubs my feet without being asked. Pours me wine as we curl up on the couch, our limbs intertwined, the rhythm of his breathing syncing with mine.
I’ve never had this before. Never let myself have it. And now that I do, I don’t want it to end.
But at work, it’s like watching a stranger wear his face.
“I can’t do this,” I admit to Judy.
We’re watching another courtroom recording of Will, and even through my laptop screen, he makes the walls of my office feel like they’re closing in.
The man on camera doesn’t miss a single beat. He’s precise, methodical, terrifying. His voice is calm, but every question slices. He’s relentless in the way a storm is relentless. Quiet at first. Then devastating.
He commands the room without raising his voice. His posture alone exudes authority. He doesn’t stumble, doesn’t overreach. Just waits. Watches. Wears down his opponent until they give him exactly what he wants.
That speech he gave at The Quarterly? It wasn’t just for show. It was a warning. And like a fool, I didn’t listen.
If I had watched these tapes sooner, maybe I would have settled then. Maybe some part of me already understood what he was capable of and deliberately chose not to look too closely. It was willful ignorance, dressed up as optimism.
But who combs through footage before a trial’s even scheduled?
Someone smart.
Someone who isn’t pretending they’re built for this.
“Oh my god,” Judy says, snapping me out of my spiral.
I squint at the screen, trying to see what she’s reacting to. Then I freeze.
My jaw drops.
Will’s opposing counsel is Neil.
I scramble to turn down the volume, irrationally afraid he might somehow hear the audio through the walls.
From what I can gather, Neil’s client was seriously injured in a T-bone crash with a commercial truck.
Will is representing the insurance company.
On-screen, the plaintiff is on the stand, shoulders hunched under the weight of Will’s relentless cross-examination.
The man looks like he’s shrinking under the courtroom lights.
But it’s Will I can’t stop watching.
I know that look. Even through the pixelated footage, it’s unmistakable. He’s enjoying himself.
He rises with the ease of someone who’s done this a thousand times. Calm. Measured. Then, the tempo shifts. His voice sharpens. His cadence quickens. Each question cuts deeper, peeling away the man’s story layer by layer.
“So, you’re claiming zero fault in the accident. Life was perfect. No stressors, no distractions?” Will says.
“I never said that.”
“You testified nothing affected you that day. But we know fatigue and emotional distress contribute to accidents, don’t we?” He pauses. “So which was it?”
The man falters. “I—maybe I was upset.”
Will tilts his head. “Upset how?”
“My landlord called about late rent an hour before.”
“Ah.” Will’s smile doesn’t reach his eyes. “And that didn’t impair your driving?”
“It wasn’t—”
“You hid this because?”
Silence.
The plaintiff glances at Neil like a man about to drown.
I slam the spacebar, freezing Will mid-sentence, his eyes alive with something close to glee.
This isn’t the man who kisses my forehead when I’m half-asleep. This isn’t the man who bought me a car so he didn’t have to worry about me getting around. This isn’t the man I love.
“I can’t believe I feel bad for Neil,” Judy says.
“Same.”
Judy doesn’t try to talk me down. Instead, she laces her fingers through mine and squeezes.
“You’re good,” she says. “Really good. But this? This is like stepping into fire and hoping not to burn.” She gestures toward the paused video. “He’s tearing that guy apart.”
She’s not wrong.
“But maybe he’ll go easy on you,” she adds, not even trying to sound convincing.
We both know better.
There’s a difference between hearing about a shark and watching it tear through a seal in real time. Between knowing your opponent is dangerous and seeing him dismantle someone in front of you.
That trial is just three weeks away.
Three weeks.
I picture Will circling Donovan, dissecting his testimony until he blurts something damaging just to get out from under the pressure.
I knew Donovan wasn’t a strong speaker. I knew he folded easily.
Will had been polite in comparison to this in our initial meeting, and Donovan still flinched.
What will he do in open court with Will pressing him from every angle?
Will doesn’t need a smoking gun. He just needs enough uncertainty to raise doubt. And he’s already a master at that.
“You could still settle,” Judy offers gently.
But why would Pinnacle settle?
They didn’t hire Will to play fair. They brought him in to win.
If our roles were reversed, if I had Will on my side, I wouldn’t settle either.
Trying to open negotiations again now would be a mistake. A sign of weakness. I might as well walk in wearing a blinking sign that says ‘Terrified’.
I only have one option now.
Fight.
When Judy leaves, I stay frozen for a few seconds before reaching for my phone, and making the call.
“Donovan? We need to talk.” My voice doesn’t shake. That’s something. “We’ve got a lot of work to do.”