Chapter 39
Benjamin
The office hung suspended in morning stillness. Too early for the mindless chatter that would later fill these halls. Too late for Benjamin to reconsider the path he'd chosen.
He sits at the head of the long conference table, sleeves rolled up. Before him: a spread of files, marked-up depositions, decades-old transcripts. Niel Winters' name printed across too many pages like a scar that never healed.
It's official now. The case is open again.
And everything that comes with it is breathing down his neck.
He'd made his choice when he called Julian. There was no going back now. The thought sits heavy in his chest, a weight he's been carrying since that night at the bar. Julian would deliver—he always did—but at what cost?
Ben flips another page, eyes scanning the text without truly absorbing it. The words blur together, a mess of legal jargon that once felt like home but now feels like chains.
They have proof Niel wasn't guilty. What they don't have? The full picture.
The evidence Crawford buried. The witnesses who vanished. The rot beneath the verdict.
Crawford. The name alone makes Ben's fingers tighten around his pen. The man had been untouchable for too long.
A puppet master pulling strings from the shadows, dismantling lives with surgical precision.
Across the table—Kath.
She's all focus. Elbows on the table, one hand turning pages, the other toying absently with a pen. And then—she does something small. Barely a twitch.
She bites the cap of her pen while reading.
He sees it. Notices it.
His gaze snares on that unconscious gesture—the gentle pressure of teeth against plastic, the subtle creasing between her eyebrows as she loses herself in the documents.
This isn't calculation. Not another move in their perpetual chess match.
Just Kath, adrift in concentration, unguarded in a way she rarely allows herself to be.
It's not seduction. Not strategy.
It's instinct. Vulnerability. Uniquely hers.
Ben watched her from across the table, trying not to linger too long on the way the light slid over her features. She didn’t look up. Didn’t notice.
“We need something he won’t be prepared for,” she said finally, her pen tapping once against the folder before stilling. “Something that knocks him off balance.”
Ben nodded once, eyes on her but thoughts already racing ahead.
“Julian’s supposed to be good at that, isn’t he?” she added, glancing up now—sharp again, focused. “The unexpected.”
He didn’t answer immediately.
Kath leaned back in her chair, arms crossing. “I’m curious what your brother actually delivers.”
Ben exhaled through his nose. “So am I.”
They both fell silent, the weight of it settling in.
Whatever came next—it wasn’t going to be clean.
◆◆◆
Ben stood just outside the glass wall of the office, a file gripped tightly in one hand. Not hiding. But not stepping in either. Not yet.
His eyes narrowed as he watched Julian—his brother—leaning against Kath's desk with that infuriating ease. Like he owned the space. Like he belonged there. Like boundaries were just suggestions that applied to other people.
Julian had always been like this. Taking up space. Crossing lines. Pushing just to see what would break.
Ben’s fingers flexed around the folder, the thick cardstock bowing slightly under the pressure.
Inside, Kath didn't even flinch at Julian's presence.
She simply glanced up from her notes, expression blank and sharp. No warmth. No welcome. Just cool assessment.
Julian, of course, remained unbothered. Effortlessly charming in that dangerous way of his. He crossed his arms and flashed that carefully curated smirk—the one Ben had seen a thousand times before. The one that meant trouble.
"Before you start throwing things at me—" Julian's voice carried through the glass, "let's clear the air."
Kath raised a brow. Just one. The gesture was small but loaded with skepticism.
"Oh?" Her voice was dry as dust. "This should be good."
Ben narrowed his eyes, watching Julian's face. He knew that expression too well—the one where Julian was deciding how much of the truth to weaponize. Calculating exactly which version would cause the most interesting reaction.
"Alright... maybe I was a little extreme yesterday."
A pause. His grin curved wider.
"But you can't tell me you didn't have fun."
Ben watched as Kath's eyes narrowed, her lips pressing into a tight line. Her entire posture shifted—spine straightening, shoulders squaring.
"That's debatable," she replied flatly.
Julian leaned in slightly, his voice dipping. Not flirtatious—strategic. The distinction was important. He might be many things, but he wasn't stupid enough to make a genuine play for Kath. Not after Ben's warning.
"Look, I had to know a few things," Julian said, his tone measured. "How far you're willing to go for this case. If you'd survive my style. If dear Benjamin was as invested in you as I suspected."
A beat passed between them.
"And, you know..." Julian's smirk widened. "I enjoyed it."
Ben's posture grew subtly tenser, a flicker of tension crossing his features as he listened.
Julian fucking enjoyed it. Of course he did.
That was the problem with Julian—he treated people's lives like a game, their reactions like entertainment.
Everything was just another performance for his amusement.
Julian's voice lowered, taking on an almost sincere quality. Almost.
"But here's the thing, Winters—people who work with me? They need to handle the heat."
Another beat.
"You did. So let's start fresh."
Ben watched as Kath tilted her head, arms crossed firmly over her chest, one brow still raised in skepticism. Her posture was defensive but controlled. She wasn't giving Julian anything.
"You think a few words and a smirk make up for everything?" she asked, voice cool and sharp.
Julian chuckled, slow and easy, like they were old friends sharing an inside joke.
"No. But they don't hurt."
He shrugged like it was nothing. Like this whole conversation was just banter. As if he hadn't deliberately pushed every button he could find just to see what would happen.
"Besides..." Julian continued, watching her closely, "you're not the type to hold grudges. You're too smart for that."
A pause. His voice softened, just slightly.
"And honestly? I think we'll make a good team."
Ben watched from the doorway.
Kath said something—dry, clever, too low for him to hear—but it made Julian laugh. That laugh. The one he used like a calling card in rooms he wanted to own.
Ben didn’t step in. Didn’t speak. Just stood there, shoulders rigid, eyes locked on the exchange.
Julian leaned in a fraction, smiling like they shared some private joke. Like he belonged there.
And Kath?
She didn’t shut it down. She didn’t even seem bothered.
Ben’s fingers flexed around the edge of the folder.
Julian had always had a way of slithering into places he wasn’t invited—spaces he had no right to fill. Watching him try it here, now, in this office, with her...
It grated.
He shifted his stance. Just enough to move. Just enough to stop himself from doing something he'd have to explain later.
It was fine. It was nothing.
He just really hated that smug, effortless smile.
Kath exhaled, shook her head.
"You're impossible," she muttered.
Julian grinned wider and slid into the seat beside her like he’d been invited. Like he’d always belonged.
“That,” he said, placing a hand to his chest with mock sincerity, “I’ll take as a compliment.”
He held out a hand. Easy. Unbothered. A casual offering.
“Truce?”
Ben tensed.
It was just a handshake. Just civility. But something about it twisted under his ribs.
Kath looked at the hand for a beat. Then, with a faint sigh,
she nodded and clasped it.
“Fine,” she said. “Let’s not make it weird.”
Julian tapped the desk twice, sealing it like a pact only he understood.
Then he glanced up—eyes locking on Ben.
That smirk again. Not sharp. Not mocking. Just victorious in the quietest, most infuriating way.
Ben didn’t react. Outwardly.
But in his head?
“Snake.”
He looked away—slow, deliberate. Because if he kept watching…
◆◆◆
It was later now. The building had quieted, offices emptied one by one. Only the hum of the overhead fluorescents and the distant creak of settling walls filled the silence. The hour—and the weight of the day—hung heavy.
Julian had just returned.
No announcement. No dramatics. Just the door swinging open and him stepping inside with that usual, effortless calm.
He dropped a file onto the center of the table like it was nothing. No grand gesture. No smirk. Just… a move.
His expression was unreadable. For once.
"This is what I've got," Julian said evenly.
He sat. Arms folded. Watching.
"It's all legal," he continued. "But it's not enough."
Ben reached for the file, his movements measured and precise. Flipped it open, eyes scanning the contents methodically. Depositions. Bank transfers. Names. Hints. Shadows.
Each page revealed another thread in Crawford's web, but nothing concrete enough to hang him with. Nothing that couldn't be explained away by a skilled attorney. And Crawford had those in abundance.
His posture tightened as he absorbed the information. Julian had been thorough—more thorough than he had expected. But it still wasn't what they needed. Not quite.
"It's a start," he said quietly.
He watched as Kath leaned forward, her hand brushing the edge of the folder.
Her focus was absolute, eyes darting across the pages, absorbing everything with the same intensity she brought to every case.
Ben found himself studying the furrow between her brows, the slight press of her lips as she concentrated.
"This proves Crawford's connected," Kath said, frustration evident in her voice. "But it's not solid. Nothing admissible. Nothing that'll stick."