Chapitre 68: Vance - 8.1
Restraint exhausted me. I collapsed onto my bed still in my tattered suit. Maybe I will commission a knife-proof one from Jim. The night's events played over in my mind, the adrenaline slowly ebbing away.
I woke up the next morning to the sound of my phone ringing incessantly in the living room. Groaning, I rolled over and walked out of my bedroom, stumbling towards the phone.
"Hello?" I answered, my voice still thick with sleep.
"Vance, glad to hear your voice! It's Lafayette," came the man on the other end. I straightened up immediately, surprised to hear from him.
"Mister Lafayette? How did you get my number?" I asked, rubbing the sleep from my eyes.
He chuckled. "I have my ways. Just wanted to check up on you. How are things going?"
I glanced around my apartment, still a mess from the night before. "I've got some promising candidates and I'm interviewing this week."
"Great to hear," he said, a note of approval in his voice. "Make sure you choose wisely. The future of the firm depends on it."
"Will do," I replied, but before I could say more, he ended the call.
I stood there for a moment, pondering his words. Shaking my head, I hung up the phone on the receiver. I prepared another steak omelet and dressed in my navy suit.
I took the elevator down to the lobby, finding the debris from the previous night's fight cleaned up. The door had already been replaced, and a contractor was surveying the damage.
I walked over to the manager. "Good morning, Thomas. How's it looking?"
The manager sighed, running a hand through his thinning hair. "The cleanup's mostly done. The door's replaced, but the rest will take a bit longer."
"Do you have an estimate on the costs?" I asked.
He handed me a piece of paper with a breakdown of the expenses. I glanced over it and nodded. "Go ahead with it. I'll cover the costs if the insurance refuses."
"Thanks, sir. I am certain all the tenants appreciate it," he said, relief evident in his voice.
Leaving the building, I headed straight to my tailor. The bell above the door chimed as I entered.
"Jim, I've got another project for you," I said, handing over the tattered suit.
Jim eyed the shredded fabric and shook his head with a smile. "You sure know how to keep me busy, Vance."
"I loathe to keep ruining your handiwork. Could you put some of what the police wear in it? Like bullet proof but for knives?"
"Knife-proof, huh? I'll see what I can do, but it won't be cheap."
"Thanks, Jim," I shook his hand before leaving the shop.
As I passed by a subway entrance, a wave of nausea hit me. I had to lean against a wall to steady myself. I turned away from the subway yet again opting to run across town.
I pushed myself just above a trained runner's speed, the exercise helping to clear my mind and calm my nerves. By the time I reached the office, I felt more centered, ready to face whatever chaos lies inside.
Entering the office, I saw Sarah at her desk, already busy with the morning's tasks. She looked up and gave me a nod. "Good morning, Vance. Emelia's interview is scheduled for ten."
"Thanks, Sarah," I replied, heading to my office.
As I settled into my chair, I pulled over the large pile of papers the paralegals had assembled for me. The stack was daunting, a testament to their diligence and dedication. I took a deep breath and started sorting through the papers, each one representing a piece of the puzzle I was trying to solve.
The first set of documents pertained to Castle Doctrine cases. I skimmed through summaries of past rulings, noting patterns and precedents that could be useful. Each case had its nuances, but the underlying principles were clear—defense of property, reasonable force, and the blurred lines between protection and aggression.
Next, I moved on to Vigilante Laws. These were trickier, filled with gray areas and subjective interpretations. The paralegals had done an excellent job of highlighting key cases where the law had been challenged or upheld. I made notes on the margins, jotting down questions and thoughts to explore further. Some cases bore eerie similarities to recent events, and I couldn't help but feel a personal connection to the material.
Samaritan Clauses came next. These were designed to protect those who stepped in to help others, shielding them from legal repercussions if things went wrong. I found myself nodding in agreement with many of the rulings, understanding the importance of encouraging people to help without fear of being sued. Yet, some cases were more complex, involving situations where the line between help and harm was thin.
Finally, I reached the Heliox Torts. These cases were unique, involving the legendary hero Heliox and the legal precedents set by his actions. Reading through them was like stepping into a history book, each case a chapter in the story of a hero who had defined a generation. The paralegals had meticulously documented the impact of his actions, both positive and negative, on the legal landscape. I found myself lost in thought, wondering if I could ever live up to such a legacy.
Hours passed as I combed through the documents, my desk gradually becoming cluttered with notes and highlighted passages. The work was exhausting, but it also felt vital. These cases were more than just legal precedents—they were the framework of a world where heroes and villains existed, where ordinary people like me had to navigate extraordinary circumstances.
I paused, rubbing my temples, and glanced at the clock. It was almost time for the first interview. I would return to my reading to establish a set of parameters for me to operate within on my outings.
The door opened, and Sarah led Emelia Walters into the room. Emelia was young, just 24, but her eyes held a determination that belied her age. She wore a navy-blue suit, her hair pulled back in a sleek ponytail. I rose to my feet and scanned her with a sharp gaze. She approached the desk with confidence, extending her hand.
"Mr. Vance, I take it?" she said, her voice steady.
I stood and shook her hand, offering a warm smile. "Yes, Miss Walters. It is a pleasure to meet you. Have a seat."
She sat down, her posture straight, her hands folded neatly in her lap. I took a moment to study her resume, though I already knew it by heart. Graduated top of her class, passed the bar early, and interned at a well-known firm. She was impressive on paper, but I needed to see how she handled herself in person.
"Tell me, in your own words, what makes you an ideal candidate for this position?" I began, setting the paper aside.
She didn't hesitate. "Well, I have my bar license and have nearly finished my degree. I have worked for a few years as an intern under a hospital's legal department."
"That's enough of that. We do things a little different here than most places. I would like to get to know about you, not your accreditations." I firmly said.
"I've always been passionate about justice. Growing up, I saw firsthand how the system can fail people, especially those without the means to defend themselves. I wanted to be a part of changing that, to ensure that everyone gets a fair shot." Emelia explained.
Her answer was earnest. She might just have the right spark to fit in.
"That's a noble goal," I replied. "But law can be grueling, and it's easy to get disillusioned. What keeps you motivated?"
She took a deep breath, her eyes meeting mine with unwavering resolve. "My family. They've sacrificed so much to support me. My father worked long hours, my mother took on extra shifts. I owe it to them to make the most of this opportunity and to fight for what's right."
Her words struck a chord. I saw a reflection of my younger self in her, driven by a deep-seated need to make a difference. I leaned back in my chair, nodding thoughtfully.
"Emelia, how do you handle pressure? Being a trial attorney can be demanding, and you'll face situations where the peoples futures hang on your fiduciary capability."
She smiled, a hint of pride in her expression. "I've always thrived under pressure. During my internship, I helped with a particular case. It was complex and involved a lot of late nights, but I managed to turn it around and secure a win for our client. It allowed him to continue practicing medicine. It's in those challenging moments that I find my strength."
Her answer was confident but not arrogant. She spoke with the assurance of someone who had faced adversity and emerged stronger. I felt a growing sense of certainty that she could handle the responsibilities of this job.
"Tell me about a time you faced a moral dilemma in your work," I said, watching her closely.
Emelia paused, considering her response. "During my internship, there was a case where the evidence against our client was overwhelming, but I discovered that some of it had been obtained illegally. My superiors wanted me to ignore it, but I couldn't. I brought it to their attention, and we ultimately decided to withdraw from the case. It wasn't an easy decision, but it was the right one. I find a joy in challenges like that."
Her integrity shone through, and I couldn't help but be impressed. She was always striving to do what was right, no matter the cost.
"Emelia, I believe you have what it takes to succeed here," I said, standing up and extending my hand again. "Well, congratulations. You're next challenge will be at Pembrose & Lafayette. Monday morning, eight sharp."
She shook my hand, a smile spreading across her face. "Thank you, Mister Vance. I won't let you down."
"Just between us, I do not like being called mister." I jokingly said.
État de l’alimentation hebdomadaire
-- Classement
Power Stone 
-- Power
stone