Chapter 13 - Lunch with Sarah Chen
Sarah Chen was waiting for me at our favorite upscale bistro in the financial district, sitting at a corner table beneath a striped canvas awning. She wore a sharp, tailored navy suit and oversized sunglasses that gave her the look of an intelligence operative on a covert mission. As I approached the table, she pulled down her glasses and grinned, gesturing to the empty chair opposite her. "You look rested," Sarah said, as I slid into the seat. "The mountain air must agree with you. You have that terrifying, glowing aura of a woman who just successfully liquidated her ex-husband's entire existence." I laughed, signaling the waiter for a sparkling lemonade. "The mountains were quiet," I admitted, unfolding my linen napkin. "No phone calls, no corporate backstabbing, no family dinners with hypocritical relatives. Just trees and fresh air." "Well, enjoy the peace while it lasts," Sarah said, sliding a thick manila folder across the mahogany table. "Because your peaceful vacation is officially over." I raised an eyebrow, picking up the folder. "What is this?" "Dean's legal team filed a desperate motion for a hardship hearing yesterday morning," Sarah explained, her tone turning professional and sharp. "They're trying to claw back a portion of the liquid assets you secured in the settlement, claiming he was mentally incompetent when he signed the papers because of the sudden collapse of Hart Industries." I opened the folder, scanning the legal jargon with practiced ease. My eyes narrowed as I read the plaintiff's ridiculous claims. "Mental incompetence?" I murmured. "He was sober, he had two corporate attorneys by his side, and he signed with his favorite Montblanc pen. The judge is going to throw this out before they even finish their opening statement." "Of course he is," Sarah smiled, taking a sip of her iced tea. "The judge is Judge Harrison. You remember him—we represented the municipal transit union in his court three years ago. He despises white-collar criminals who try to manipulate civil contracts." I closed the folder and slid it back into my bag. "When is the hearing?" "Thursday morning at nine," Sarah said. "I told Henderson we'd meet them in the chambers to handle the dismissal. Do you want to come?" I looked out at the bustling street, watching executives and lawyers hurry past, their briefcases swinging by their sides. "Wouldn't miss it for the world," I said, a faint smile touching my lips. "I want to see the look on his lawyer's face when they realize they're tilting at windmills."
