Chapter 4 Katie
Katie
I’m still buzzing from this morning’s meeting. My first day, and I’m already assigned to a massive case. Who would’ve thought?
So far, I’ve managed to avoid Stephan Marek’s penetrating stare, but now that I’m on his team, my luck’s about to run out.
I peek over the top of my cubicle and spot him through the glass, phone to his ear, expression unreadable. I sink back into my chair, pull out the turkey sandwich Mom packed for me, and unfold the napkin she slipped inside.
Good luck today! We love you! —Mom and Mary
The handwriting makes me smile. I may be in my thirties, but a lunchbox note still works its magic on me.
The intercom on my desk phone buzzes, startling me. My mind goes blank. How do I even answer this thing?
“The flashing button,” Carmen, my cubicle buddy, says from behind me, amusement in her voice.
I press it. Annie’s voice fills the small space: “Ms. O’Shea? Mr. Marek would like to see you in his office. Now.”
The line clicks off.
Carmen whistles. “Someone’s in trouble.”
I swallow hard. “I can’t be in trouble. I haven’t even been here long enough to get into trouble.”
Despite my words, sweat still forms on my palms.
My chair squeaks as I stand. I inhale deeply and try to gather enough courage not to tremble like a wet kitten in front of him.
“Good luck,” Carmen says as I head toward his office.
“He’s ready for you,” Annie says, her tone brisk but kind.
I twist the handle, and a rush of cold air hits me. Stephan sits behind his desk, gaze fixed on a document, pen moving in slow, deliberate strokes.
The office takes my breath away, again. A fireplace anchors the far wall, flanked by floor-to-ceiling windows that frame the city in steel and sky.
Mahogany shelves line the room, filled with law texts and leather-bound volumes.
The air smells faintly of balsam. It feels more like a study than an office—intentionally personal. He must have designed it himself.
“You wanted to see me, Mr. Marek?” My voice wavers just enough to betray me.
He looks up from his computer. “Yes. Please, take a seat, Katie.” He gestures to the chair opposite him.
I sit carefully, praying the hem of my dress stays where it should.
Stephan leans forward, forearms resting on the desk. “How’s your first day going so far? I saw you got here early. Well done. I like that.”
My heart flutters.
“Old habits,” I say, tucking a stray lock of hair behind my ear. “It’s been good so far. I didn’t expect to be put on such a big case right away.”
“Trial by fire.” The corners of his mouth lift in what might be approval—or amusement. “I actually wanted to talk to you about the case.”
I stiffen, unsure if this is a test or something else.
“You mentioned your sister has leukemia,” he continues. “So I assume you’re familiar with the drug we’re defending.”
“I am,” I say slowly. “HT-47. It wasn’t right for her particular cancer.” It’s not the whole truth. The next-generation drug, HT-47-K, might be her only real chance.
His shoulders ease back. “Good. Then you’ll have no problem working on this case.”
I shake my head. “No, sir—if I can call you that. If anything, it gives me more reason to work hard. Halcyon may be the only company capable of saving my sister.”
He doesn’t say anything. The silence stretches, taut but not uncomfortable. He studies me the way he studies a contract—line by line, looking for flaws.
Finally, he nods once. “That’s a good answer. But let’s keep that between us. We wouldn’t want you having a conflict of interest.”
Relief flutters through me, though the weight of his stare quickly follows it.
“Yes, sir,” I say, straightening in my seat.
“This case will be demanding,” he continues. “You’ll be reviewing depositions and data, in-depth medical testing information, drafting discovery requests, and preparing witness outlines. Long hours. Unpleasant details. If that’s going to be a problem, now’s the time to say so.”
“It’s not,” I say quickly. “I can handle it.”
A faint smile crosses his lips. “You’ll learn that in this firm, saying you can handle it and actually handling it are two very different things.”
“I understand.”
“Good.” He leans back, but his eyes don’t move from mine. “I’ll see you at the discovery team meeting at one.”
I stand, smooth my skirt, and leave his office—but I can feel his gaze following me until the door shuts behind me.
Back at my desk, I release the breath I’d been holding the entire time I was in there. Anxiety and adrenaline twist together in my stomach, and I can’t tell if it’s intimidation or attraction.
“So, what did he want?” Carmen asks, spinning around in her chair. The afternoon sun catches in her dark hair, making it gleam. Carmen’s been here a few months longer than I have, and it shows—her wardrobe is slowly shifting from Basics to the designer pieces the senior associates wear.
“He just wanted to welcome me to the team,” I say, leaving out the part about my sister.
She arches a brow. “Marek? Wanted to welcome you to the team?”
“Is that weird?” My chest tightens.
“Stephan Marek is a stone-cold shark. I’ve been here six months and seen him smile once. So yeah, it’s weird. He’s not nice. He’s all business.”
I bite into my sandwich, eyes flicking toward his office. The blinds hang shut.
Thirty minutes pass in a blur as I frantically Google everything I can about Halcyon Pharmaceuticals.
Their homepage looks sterile and polished—bright blue logos, stock photos of smiling doctors, the usual corporate propaganda.
But the deeper I dig, the worse it gets: clinical trial lawsuits, FDA investigations, settlements hidden behind nondisclosure agreements.
I scribble notes in the margins of my legal pad until the words blur together. Every headline feels like a punch. This is who we’re defending?
I shake my head, forcing myself to focus. This job is my chance to save my sister. Ethics can wait.
The clock on my screen flips to 12:55. My stomach tightens—five minutes until the discovery team meeting.
I glance around, waiting to see when the other associates stand. As a nun, I was taught that promptness is a virtue—but I don’t want to look overeager or sit somewhere I shouldn’t. I still don’t know how the hierarchy works here.
At 12:57, my Catholic guilt wins out. I grab my laptop and materials and head for the conference room.
The smaller room feels more like a war room than a meeting space. The blinds are half-drawn, muting the skyline into a haze of silver and gray. A long table dominates the center, covered with binders, highlighters, and fresh coffee—an indicator we might be here awhile.
I take a seat near the end, close enough to hear but far enough not to draw attention. A few other associates whisper introductions—names I forget instantly.
The door opens, and every conversation dies.
Stephan Marek walks in, crisp and composed, a stack of files under one arm. He doesn’t need to ask for silence; it follows him automatically.
“Good afternoon,” he says, setting the files down.
“If you’re in this room, you’re on the Halcyon discovery team.
That means you’ll spend the next few months digging through hundreds of thousands of documents—emails, medical records, internal memos.
Everything the other side might use against us, we’ll see first.”
He pauses, letting the gravity of it settle. “As I said before, discovery wins or loses a case before trial. We don’t miss things here.”
No one breathes.
He begins assigning roles—data review, deposition prep, and research on medical literature. When he gets to my name, my pulse jumps.
“O’Shea,” he says without looking up. “You’ll work directly under me. Medical summaries and witness coordination. Report to my office by seven-thirty tomorrow morning with everything you’ve found so far.”
A flicker of pride warms my chest, but unease follows closely behind. If anyone thought I was receiving special treatment, it wouldn’t just reflect on me. It would reflect on him. And on the case. I straighten in my chair, suddenly aware that every mistake—and every success—will be visible.
My pen stutters against the page. “Yes, Mr. Marek.”
He finally looks up —just a flicker of his gaze across the table—and for a heartbeat, I forget to breathe.
Stephan starts outlining what they know so far.
“The plaintiffs are a group of adult patients—mostly middle-aged—treated with Halcyon’s HT-47 as part of a combination therapy for leukemia and lymphoma.
Several later developed secondary cancers, and their attorneys are arguing causation based on a few inconclusive studies. We’ll dismantle that.”
He moves methodically through the file, every sentence clipped and precise. I try to take notes, but his voice is so measured, so calm, it almost hypnotizes me.
Focus, Katie. Write it down. Keep up.
He gestures toward a slide projected on the wall. “HT-47 is a platinum-based chemotherapy drug. Toxic in large doses, yes—but there’s no proven correlation to secondary malignancies. We’ll use epidemiological data and alternate risk modeling to build that out.”
I write down each point, though the words blur. My attention drifts—to the measured rhythm of his speech. He doesn’t rush. He never has to. This is his domain.
“Medical summaries will be crucial,” he continues. “Every patient file needs to be catalogued—treatment plans, dosage history, environmental factors, lifestyle risks. If you find a single inconsistency, I want it flagged and on my desk.”
He looks up from his notes, scanning the room. When his gaze lands on me, it’s brief, but I feel it all the same.
“Understood?”
A chorus of yes, Mr. Marek follows. Despite my tight throat, I manage to say the words.
He nods once. “Good. I’ll expect preliminary reports by Monday. Remember—discovery isn’t about what we hope to find. It’s about what they don’t want us to.”
He closes the folder, and the room shifts back into motion—chairs scraping, laptops snapping shut. I gather my things carefully, willing my hands not to shake. My notes are a mess of half-sentences and ink lines that don’t make sense, but at least I look busy.
Back at my desk, I drop my notebook and stare at the mess of my notes.
The afternoon sunlight shifts across the floor, staining the cubicles gold.
The smell of burnt coffee lingers in the air.
I drop my notebook on the desk and stare at the mess of my notes—half-finished sentences, arrows, and doodles that make no sense.
“Wow, looks like you’ll be busy tonight,” Carmen says. “Personal researcher for Mr. Marek. You'd better just get a bed and sleep here.”
I swallow hard and try to remember why I’m doing this. For Mary.
“It’s a good thing I have no life then,” I joke, but I can’t help feeling a tingle of excitement at the thought of being close to Stephan again.
Carmen leans in conspiratorially. “If you ever figure out how to make him laugh, tell me your secret. The partners treat him like a weapon they keep polished and locked away.”
“I’ll keep that in mind.”
We lapse into silence. Around us, the office hums with the end-of-day rush—phones ringing, printers spitting out contracts, the low murmur of associates planning to stay late.
By six, my eyes are burning from the screen. I shut down my laptop, stack my files, and sling my bag over my shoulder. Carmen’s already halfway through another cup of coffee.
“Heading out?” she asks.
“Yeah. I need to clear my head before tomorrow.”
She gives me a mock salute. “See you in the trenches, Sister Katie.”
I smile at the nickname, though it hits closer to home than she knows. As I step into the elevator, I catch a glimpse of Stephan’s office through the glass wall. His lights are still on. He’s at his desk, phone to his ear, face unreadable.
The doors slide shut before I can look away.