Reggie

Reggie
Tristan’s POV
The study room felt smaller than usual. It wasn’t the size, the ceilings or the dark oak shelves lined with books I hadn’t touched in months, the faint scent of aged whiskey lingering in the air. It had always been my refuge. My control room, where I had spent years building my company.
This evening already felt like a courtroom before the verdict as I walked out of my study room, down the hallway towards the lounge. I stood by the window, staring out into the dim stretch of my driveway, the world beyond it blurred by the weight pressing behind my eyes. My hand came up unconsciously, pressing against my chest. The ache was there again, it was dull and persistent, like something was tightening slowly around my ribs.
The knock on the door shook me out of my ache and thoughts, I saw a car parked behind mine in the driveway. I walked towards the door and opened it.
“Mr. Crane?” The man asked.
“Yes, Reggie?” I confirmed. He was all professionally dressed.
“Correct.” He replied. I stepped back and opened the door wider, so that he could enter.
Reggie stood just inside the doorway, his presence was calm in a way that felt almost foreign to me right now. He seemed to be in his late thirties, composed, sharp eyes that missed nothing. He didn’t carry the arrogance most lawyers did, just quiet confidence.
“Tristan,” I corrected, gesturing for him to enter. “We can discuss this in my study room down the hallway.” He nodded as he stepped further inside as I closed the door behind him, and we both walked down the hallway to my study. Once inside we both moved towards the leather chairs across from my desk. “Make yourself at home,” I said. He placed his briefcase down with careful precision, like everything he did had intent behind it.
“I appreciate you seeing me on short notice,” he said.
“I didn’t exactly have a choice,” I muttered, running a hand through my hair before sitting down behind my desk. He studied me for a moment, long enough that I knew he was already assessing more than just the case. “Mark Stern speaks highly of you,” I added. “He said that you’re the best.”
Reggie allowed a faint smile. “Mark exaggerates. But I don’t lose cases like this.” That should’ve reassured me, but it didn’t.
I leaned forward, “So you have read the complaint?”
“I have,” he said, opening his briefcase and pulling out the document. “And I would like to hear everything from you directly. Every detail. No omissions.”
So I told him everything. Grace, the camp, the push, Elona collapsing, the baby, the confrontation outside Lucenti, the photo, the threats and my threats. I didn’t soften it, I didn’t dress it up. By the time I finished, my throat felt raw. Reggie didn’t interrupt once.
When I was done, he leaned back slightly, steepling his fingers together. “Good,” he said.
I couldn’t believe that that was his only answer to everything I had just poured out. “Good?”
“You didn’t lie. That makes my job easier.”
I let out a dry breath. “Glad one of us is optimistic.”
He slid the document across the table towards me. “Let’s break this down.”
My eyes scanned the bold header again.
Notice of Civil Complaint: Harassment, Defamation, and Career Sabotage.
Each word felt like a punch. “She has flipped the narrative,” I said quietly.
“She has weaponized it,” Reggie corrected. He tapped the paper. “This is not about truth. This is about perception.” I clenched my jaw. “She is accusing you of harassment, intimidation, defamation… and...” he paused slightly, “Inappropriate interest in a minor.”
My stomach twisted. “That’s a lie.”
“I know,” he said calmly. “But it’s a strategic one.”
I stood abruptly, pacing across the room. “She pushed Elona. She caused...” I cut myself off, dragging a hand down my face. “And now I’m the one on trial?”
Reggie watched me carefully. “Yes,” he said. “Because she moved first.”
I stopped pacing. “What does that mean?”
“It means she’s trying to control the narrative before you expose her.”
The moment of silence stretched between us. “And the photo?” I asked.
Reggie exhaled lightly. “Problematic.”
I scoffed. “That’s an understatement.”
“It shows proximity, and aggression. Body language that can be interpreted as threatening.” He met my eyes. “Context will matter. But optics always come first.” I leaned against the desk, my chest tightening again. I pressed my palm against it, breathing slowly. Reggie noticed immediately. “Sit,” he said.
“I’m fine.”
“You’re not,” he replied calmly. “And if you collapse before tomorrow’s hearing, that helps no one.”
Reluctantly, I sat down on my chair. He poured water from the glass decanter on my desk that I brought to my study before he arrived and handed it to me. “Drink.” I took it. The cold hit my throat like clarity. “You’re under pressure from multiple fronts,” he continued. “This case, the situation with Elona, your business. Possibly other legal matters. Mark mentioned something about a housing dispute?”
“Camille,” I muttered.
“We will get to that,” he said firmly. “But not now.” His tone shifted to something sharper. “We focus on Grace first.”
I nodded. “Good.”
He leaned forward slightly. “Here’s what matters, she has made serious allegations, but allegations are not evidence.”
“And the photo?”
“One piece,” he said. “Not a case.” I let out a breath. “She has also overplayed her hand.”
“How?”
He tapped the section about the miscarriage claim. “This.”
My chest tightened again, but not from anxiety this time. “She denies it,” I said.
“Yes. And if we can prove otherwise, if we can establish that there was a pregnancy, and that an incident occurred, her credibility collapses.”
My jaw clenched. “Elona…” I said quietly.
“She becomes key,” Reggie said.
I shook my head immediately. “I don’t want her dragged into this.”
“You may not have a choice.”
The words hit harder than anything else he had said. I looked away. “She has already been through enough.”
“I understand,” he said, softer now. “But this is how we win. Carefully and strategically. Tomorrow,” he continued, “Is just the preliminary hearing. No verdict, no final decisions, just positioning.”
“And if I lose that?”
“You won’t.”
The certainty in his voice made me look at him again. “You don’t sound worried,” I said.
“I’m not.”
“Why?”
“Because I’ve seen cases like this before,” he said. “Young plaintiff. Emotional claims. Influential defendant. It’s designed to look like abuse of power.”
I swallowed. “And is it?”
“No,” he said simply. “It’s a counterattack.” That sat heavy in the air.
Reggie closed the file. “You were angry. You confronted her. That’s not illegal.”
“I threatened her.”
“You spoke emotionally,” he corrected. “There’s a difference.”
I huffed a bitter laugh. “Tell that to the court.”
“I will.” For the first time since this started, something in my chest loosened. It wasn’t gone but less suffocating. “You need to rest tonight,” Reggie said, standing up.
I didn’t move. “I won’t.”
“You will,” he said firmly. “Because tomorrow, you need to be composed, not reactive.”
I looked up at him. “And you?” I asked.
“I will be at the courthouse before you arrive,” he said. “Everything will be prepared.” He paused, then added: “You can trust me, Tristan.”
Trust was an important word for me now after the death of Rowan, I hope that Reggie knows what he is doing. I stood up slowly. “Alright,” I said. “We fight this.”
A small, confident smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. “We win this.” He gathered his things and moved towards the door. “And Tristan?” I looked up. “Don’t let them make you doubt your reality,” he said. “That’s how cases like this are lost.”
The door closed behind him, and I was alone again. The study room was silent. But this time, it didn’t feel like a courtroom, it felt like the calm before the war. My hand drifted back to my chest, pressing against the ache. Tomorrow, everything changes and I would be ready.