His Nanny Mate (Moana and Edrick Morgan)
Chapter 320 By Eve Above Story

Chapter 320 A Real Lawyer

Ella

The rhythm of my heels echoed through the polished marble hallways of the courthouse.

Today, I was representing Logan in a preliminary hearing, a chance to sit face to face with the opposing counsel and discuss the evidence that had been uncovered thus far. The evidence I had, courtesy of Logan’s credible witnesses and backed by solid statements, made me confident.

I had spent the last month working like a dog to uncover the mystery surrounding this murder, and one thing was clear: Logan was not related to the murder in any way, and I had the evidence to prove it.

This was a winnable case, and I had every intention of proving Logan’s innocence. But as I turned the corner, I froze, taken aback by the figure before me. Standing just outside the conference room was none other than Attorney Richard Westbrook.

Even among the legal fraternity, his reputation was legendary in this city. He was known for his ruthlessness in the courtroom, but also for his decades-long streak of wins. His tall frame, salt-and-pepper hair, and trademark black glasses gave him an air of authority.

Swallowing my initial shock, I walked up to him, extending my hand with genuine respect.

“Mr. Westbrook, I’m Ella Morgan,” I said, offering a polite smile. “It’s an honor to finally meet you. I’ve followed a lot of your cases and have learned quite a bit from your work.”

He looked down at my hand, then back up to meet my eyes, offering a half-smile.

“Ms. Morrigan,” he responded curtly, not returning the handshake. “Pleasure.”

I swallowed. “It’s… Morgan,” I corrected him, withdrawing my hand. Mr. Westbrook shot me an unreadable glance, almost as though he couldn’t care in the least what my real name was.

“Maybe he’s just thinking,” I said inwardly, feeling my wolf bristle at the disrespect. “He’s a busy man.”

“Or he’s a Class A Asshole,” Ema interjected. A soft growl coming from her rumbled in my mind. “God, I hate men sometimes.”

Resisting the urge to chuckle at my wolf’s annoyed demeanor, I put on a smile for Mr. Westbrook and straightened my blazer. “Well, Mr. Westbrook, I must say that you’ve been quite the role model for me,” I said, lifting my chin to meet the older man’s icy gaze. “Your biggest case-Trainer v. Lindale’-was truly amazing. The way that you pulled that final card out of your sleeve, causing the case to turn in your favor, was impressive.”

Mr. Westbrook smirked, then hmphed. “Yes,” he said, looking down his nose at me. Or rather, through me. “It was one of my finer works. As for you, though…I can’t say I’ve heard of you, Miss…?”

A slight frown creased my brow as I cleared my throat. “Morgan,” I repeated, resisting the feeling of anger bubbling up inside of me. “Ella Morgan. I’m still relatively new to the game,” I said, doing my best to maintain a neutral tone. “But I believe in thorough work.”

His eyes scanned me briefly. “Hmm, fresh blood,” he muttered more to himself than to me. “This should be interesting.”

The door to the conference room opened, and the mediator motioned for us to enter. Mr. Westbrook and his client headed in ahead of me, but Westbrook stopped midway and shot me a sideways look.

“Where is your client?”

I swallowed, looking around. Logan was nowhere to be found, and it was past time for him to be here.

I was just about to answer with some excuse when I heard the unmistakable sound of shoes clicking rapidly on marble, labored breathing, and someone calling my name.

“Ella!”

I turned to see Logan, breathless, jogging down the corridor towards us. His usually neat hair was mussed, and his tie was askew. In his hand, he clutched a leather briefcase, its flap open and a few papers peeking out.

Before I could react, a smirking Mr. Westbrook, who had clearly caught sight of Logan’s hasty entrance, came into view.

“Ah, Mr. Barrett,” he said with a chuckle, looking Logan up and down. “Excellent first impression, I must say.” His voice dripped with sarcasm.

Without waiting for a response, Westbrook turned on his heel and walked into the conference room, the door closing heavily behind him. Logan made a move to follow, but I grabbed his arm, pulling him aside.

“What the hell, Logan?” I hissed, my hands flying to his hair, trying to smooth it back into place. “You look like you’ve been in a hurricane!”

Logan winced slightly, letting me fuss over him. “I’m sorry,” he panted, catching his breath. “There was an accident on the freeway. Traffic was a nightmare. I tried calling, but my phone died.”

I frowned, tugging down on his shirt to straighten it. “Did you run from the parking lot?”

He gave a sheepish grin. “Maybe.”

Taking a step back, I examined him. He still looked a bit disheveled, but it was an improvement. “Alright,” I said, exasperated. “You’re here now. That’s what matters.”

Logan nodded, a grateful look in his eyes. “I promise I’ll make it up during the meeting.”

I leaned in close, fixing him with a stern gaze. “Good. Now get inside and don’t make a fool of yourself again.”

Westbrook’s eyes darted around the room, resting briefly on Logan before settling back on me.

“Is there not going to be a senior attorney present?” he asked condescendingly. “I was under the impression I’d be discussing this case with a more… experienced counterpart.”

Logan’s eyes flared momentarily, but he held his tongue. I took a slow breath, reminding myself that I had prepared for this. “Mr. Westbrook, I am the lead attorney on this case,” I stated clearly. “Now, if we can get back to the matter at hand?”

Westbrook leaned back in his chair, steepling his fingers. “Very well, sweetie. Enlighten me.”

The word ‘sweetie’ hit me like a slap in the face. It was patronizing, intended to demean and undermine. Every fiber in my being wanted to react, to challenge his blatant disrespect, but I forced a smile.

“As you wish,” I began, proceeding to lay out the case details and the evidence supporting Logan’s alibi.

Throughout my presentation, Westbrook interrupted with sarcastic comments, asking me to repeat myself, questioning my interpretation of the law, and insinuating that perhaps I was in over my head.

Logan’s jaw clenched with every snide remark, his knuckles white against the table. “Tell me, dear,” Westbrook interjected at one point, “where did you study law again?”

His mocking tone was grating, but I refused to be baited. “Harvard Law, Mr. Westbrook. Now, as I was saying…”

He chuckled softly. “Ah, Harvard. They sure are letting anyone in these days. Tell me, did you happen to take a class on professional decorum? Because I’m still waiting for the real lawyer to show up.”

I bit the inside of my cheek, trying to push down the growing frustration. “I assure you, Mr. Westbrook, I am more than qualified to represent my client in this matter,” I said evenly. He simply smiled, leaning back in his chair. “We’ll see, won’t we?”

The meeting continued in much the same vein, with Westbrook making passive-aggressive comments at every opportunity. By the time it ended, I was mentally and emotionally exhausted.

Exiting the room, the pent-up anger and humiliation came to the fore. I slammed my hand against the wall, barely stopping myself from forming a fist and punching it. The cold, hard surface sent a sharp pain up my arm, but it was a welcome distraction from the emotional turmoil.

Logan rushed to my side, placing a gentle hand on my shoulder.

“Ella, breathe,” he whispered, his tone soft but urgent. I took a shaky breath, pulling myself together. “I’m sorry, Logan. It’s just… he’s so infuriating.”

“And to think he was practically my hero,” I thought to myself, biting down hard on the inside of my cheek.

Logan smiled, a hint of sadness in his eyes. “Westbrook’s been playing these games for years, Ella. It’s how he operates. He tries to get into your head, make you second guess yourself.”

“He made me feel so… insignificant,” I admitted, looking down.

Logan tilted my chin up, forcing me to meet his gaze. “That’s exactly what he wants. But here’s the thing, Ella. You’re one of the brightest lawyers I’ve ever met. This case is your chance to prove him-and anyone else who doubts you -wrong.”

I nodded, wiping away the hint of tears that had formed. “Thank you, Logan. I promise, we’re going to win this.”

Logan squeezed my shoulder reassuringly. “I have no doubt. Westbrook might be good, but he’s not infallible. And he has no idea what he’s up against with you.”