3. Marcella
three
Marcella
Three Weeks Later
Luther Young’s smug face flashes onto my screen—slick hair, steel eyes, the grin of a man who thinks he’s already won.
I hope he chokes on it.
God, the mere sight of him makes my teeth grind.
“I see you wasted no time serving Dr. Caldwell.” He leans back in his chair like this is a casual chat between colleagues instead of a battle line being drawn.
I match his energy, tilting my head slightly. “It’s a strong case.”
“Not as strong as you think.” Luther exhales through his nose. “Neurosurgery is high-risk. Poor outcomes don’t always equal malpractice.”
“I’m aware. I also know the difference between an unavoidable complication and a preventable mistake. After reviewing the file, I’m confident Dr. Caldwell’s decisions will show deviation from the standard of care.” My eyes bore into his for emphasis.
He’s unbothered, which pisses me off. “You’re jumping the gun, Delgado. You won’t have a single expert opinion back your claim. You’re filing first and looking for proof later.”
“You’re dead wrong. The proof is in Miranda’s medical records.
” My lips curl into a smug grin. “I also have an independent review from an outside neurosurgeon who already sees red flags. I have a devastated family who was assured by your client this was the best course of action. Let’s set up Caldwell’s deposition and figure out a fair settlement. ”
Luther taps his pen against his desk, unimpressed.
“Well, it’s going to be awhile before my client’s available.
He’s one of the most coveted neurosurgeons in the region and has an intensive schedule.
You know how disruptive litigation is to a physician of his caliber who’s in the business of saving lives.
The earliest he can do it is three months from now. ”
“Three months is unacceptable.” I don’t even blink.
He disgustingly sucks some remnant of food through his teeth. “It’s not up to you.”
“No. It’ll be up to the judge when I file a motion to compel. When I argue you’re deliberately obstructing discovery.” I purse my lips.
Luther narrows his beady eyes.
“Dragging this out won’t change the facts,” I continue, my voice cool as ice cream.
“It won’t change the fact a twelve-year-old girl went into the operating room expecting to get better and instead will never wake up.
It won’t change the fact her parents are clinging to the hope she’ll somehow recover.
It won’t change the fact I’m coming for Dr. Caldwell with everything I have to make sure Miranda has justice. ”
“Mediation may be required ,” he reminds me as if I don’t know. “Why don’t you spare me the theatrics and cut the bullshit. Give me a number and I’ll take it to my client.”
“I never settle before mediation.” I wave my hand dismissively.
Luther sighs. “Then I guess we’re going toe to toe.”
“Guess so.” I give him a tight smile before clicking out of the meeting.
I sit in silence for a moment, fingers tapping against my desk, staring at the blank screen where Luther’s smug expression had been seconds ago. He thinks he’s won the first round. I know how he operates—stalling and obstructing and dragging cases out, hoping his adversary will lose momentum.
He is forgetting something critical.
I don’t lose momentum.
Leaning back in my chair, I exhale slowly. The fight doesn’t usually bother me—this is what I live for. What I’ve built my career on. The strategy. The battle. The win.
I’ve gone up against some of the most powerful attorneys in Seattle, and I’ve beaten them. I’ll beat Luther too.
I glance at the clock. It’s later than I thought, and my stomach twists—not in hunger. More like a familiar gnawing sensation I’ve grown used to following aggressive conversations. Still, given my schedule, I need to get something to eat now before my afternoon full of meetings.
By the time I step into the Finney Cooper cafeteria, the lunch rush has passed, leaving a steady hum of conversation and the rhythmic clatter of utensils. I pick up my usual grilled chicken salad and chamomile tea, an order so ingrained I don’t even have to think about it.
It’s the safe choice—healthy and something no one will give me a side-eye for eating.
Despite my regular workouts and dedication to a constant calorie deficit, I’ve gained two pounds this month, and I feel it, in the way my sweater rides up over my stomach.
How the sleeves of my blouse feel tighter on my upper arms.
It’s depressing.
With lunch in hand, I take a seat near the window alone and attempt to shake off my gloomy mood by reading on my iPad. Halfway through pushing my food around my plate, a familiar voice pulls me from my thoughts.
“Mind if I join you?”
I glance up, startled, to find the founder of the firm, my law partner, Joe Finney, hovering over me with a fresh coffee in hand.
Immediately, I slam my iPad shut and gesture to the chair across from me. “Of course.”
“I had to conflict out of a potential client this morning,” Joe says as he sits.
My eyebrows furrow, confused. “ Okay ?”
“A young neurosurgical resident, Seamus McGloughlin.” His gaze narrows indecipherably.
I blink. I wasn’t expecting to hear his name. “ What ?”
Joe watches my reaction, carefully. “He was referred by his brother and is looking for representation for any potential exposure he might have on a malpractice case. It didn’t take long to realize it’s the same lawsuit you filed against his mentor.”
“Why is he preventatively worried about liability?” My hackles are up. This is strange. Did he do something in the operating room that contributed to Miranda’s condition?
Joe tilts his head slightly. “Considering his background and some of the legal shit his family’s been through, he’s not stupid. He knows how this works.”
“I don’t understand.” I exhale, shaking my head.
“Sure, I might bring him into the suit if I learn something relevant during discovery. As far as I can tell, Caldwell is the one who made the surgical decisions and anything McGloughlin did would fail under vicarious liability. The fact he called, however, makes me think I should reconsider.”
Joe hums, sipping his coffee. “Have you looked into him yet?”
“I have.” I don’t say how I really feel for obvious reasons.
Seamus McGloughlin isn’t merely good-looking. He makes you imagine his hands all over your body before you can stop yourself. His eyes…
God, his eyes.
Deep, blue, kind in an unsettling way. I’ve known men like him—they look trustworthy and make you believe you have a future. Then you learn the hard way—you don’t.
Good thing he’s off limits. Too young. Eight years younger than me.
Eight years. Jesus. Back then, I was clawing my way up in this firm, desperate to make partner. Seamus has his whole future ahead of him. He’s a baby. The way my body reacts when I think of him feels…inappropriate. For so many reasons.
“Marcella?” Joe leans back as I cycle through my thoughts. “You need to be aware of something else. Seamus isn’t some doctor caught in the crossfire of your case. His family has deep ties to some of our most high-profile clients.”
Shit .
I frown. “How deep?”
Joe’s mouth twitches like he was waiting for this specific question. “His brother, Connor, is the bass player for Less Than Zero.”
My neck stiffens. I knew his last name sounded familiar.
Joe continues, “Connor is married to the actress, Ronni Miller. She’s one of our biggest estate clients. Then there’s Tyson Rainier—also in Less Than Zero. His wife, Zoey, used to work here. She now runs The Rainier Foundation, also our client.”
I exhale slowly, my pulse picks up. Am I going to get conflicted out of a potential goldmine of a case?
“There’s something else you may not know,” Joe arches a brow, “a year or so ago, Seamus is the reason Alex Deveraux survived an emergency surgery. Jace Deveraux is Less Than Zero’s drummer.”
I do remember hearing something about it, of course I had no idea Seamus was involved.
Joe watches as I absorb the information. “You see the conundrum here?”
I nod slowly, my thoughts spinning.
“You’re a win-at-all-costs kind of lawyer.
It has made you extraordinarily successful and I’m proud to call you my partner.
The thing is, it seems there’s more at play here.
Collectively, these clients bring in a ton of revenue for the firm.
More importantly, these people trust us with their reputations.
I’m not telling you how to run the case, I’m asking you to be smart. ”
“I will.” I roll my shoulders back as he stands. “Thank you for all of the insight.”
As I watch him leave, I feel annoyed. Angry, maybe. I can’t help but wonder, would Joe instigate the same conversation with a male partner under similar circumstances?
Do I really need to tread carefully?
The problem is—I don’t know how. My career is my entire life. Winning is my only priority. I’ve clawed my way to the top, sacrificing everything to get here. I want to take Bryce Caldwell down for what he did to Miranda.
I sit in this too-big cafeteria as my tea grows cold. Seamus McGloughlin permeates my thoughts. He’s young, talented and has a bright future in front of him. If he had a part in Miranda’s demise, though…
This situation blows.
Whenever a case is this tough, a part of me wonders if I chose the right career path.
I’ve sacrificed too much to question any of it now.
The girl I used to be would barely recognize this version of me.
I don’t know if it makes me a fighter…
Or a coward.