Page 59 of Claim

“That’s not how this works.” I shook my head. “And you’re right to be wary.”

He eyed me. “Am I?”

“Very much so.” I shifted. “Have you had counsel before? Properly. Been in the dock?”

“No.”

“Lucky you.” I sobered. “So let me be clear about what I do, and how I help.”

“Legally?”

“Legally,” I agreed. “Exclusively.” Unfortunately. I leant forwards, forearms on the table. “I don’t tell the prison how to behave. I tell the court what they’ve failed to do. I don’t stop hands being laid on you; I make sure the consequences of doing such reach those who can’t ignore them.”

He narrowed his eyes.

“My role is to control the narrative before it controls you. To take what’s happened to you in here and turn it into something the judge has to engage with. Bail. Conditions. Scrutiny. Pressure.” I held his gaze. “I can’t protect you with muscle. We both know that. And frankly, I’d be curious to see what the other man looks like right now.”

Razor snorted and looked away, chewing the inside of his cheek. “There were several of them.” He glanced back to me. “You think just one bloke can get this much on me?” He shook his head, a wry smile. “C’mon, Tricky. You know me better than that.”

I glanced back to the file, desperate not to give myself away. “Then I can make it legally dangerous for anyone to lay a hand on you again.”

He furrowed his brow. “So… less touch him and die and more touch him and get a strongly worded letter?”

“A strongly worded letter that ruins someone’s week and keeps you out of a cell.”

“And how much does that cost me?”

I frowned. “In what sense?”

“You charge, right? Rich boy. Per hour. Per letter. Per fucking miracle.” He gestured vaguely between us. “How much is all this?”

“You’re on legal aid.”

He blinked. “You do legal aid cases?”

“Yes. Most juniors do.” Then, after a beat, “My senior doesn’t, usually. She earns the sort of money that makes headlines.”

Razor furrowed his brow. “So why’s she anywhere near this?”

“Because I asked her to be.”

I hoped he’d read the part I couldn’t say out loud. The part I wasn’t allowed to spell out. Or charge for. That I’d done it for him. That all of this was because I was in love with him.

“So…” I opened the file and clicked my pen, letting the sound reset the room. And myself. “Start from the beginning.”

“Of the raid?”

“No. We’ll get to that later—”

“I wasn’t holding.” Razor leant forward abruptly, as if the words had been clawing at him for days, waiting for my face. For someone. “I wasn’t.”

The movement cost him. He sucked in a breath, hand going instinctively to his ribs.

I stopped writing. “I know.”

He blinked. “How?”

“There’s no seizure listed. No exhibit numbers. No chain of custody. You’re charged with intent. Intelligence-led.” I met his gaze. “Which tells me you were empty-handed. And that you’re in here because someone wants you in here.”