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Ignoring his comment, I asked once more, "Do you know where they are?"
He sighed, giving in. "They went to the club, the Red Serpent," he finally revealed.
Chapter 2
Griselda
ThelawfirmofJoe and Burrows was always bustling with activity. The office, with its large windows that let in plenty of sunlight, felt bright and inviting. The walls painted a calming shade of beige, were adorned with framed law degrees and awards.
Desks were neatly arranged in rows, each supplied with a computer and a phone and showcasing stacks of paperwork. The chairs were the ergonomic kind, ensuring comfort during the long hours spent working.
There was a steady hum of conversation between lawyers and assistants discussing cases or collaborating on projects. Joe and Burrows was a good place to work with the people in the office, comprised of a mix of ages and personalities.
The morning had already unfurled its demands - messages and emails popping up on my computer screen, a relentless reminder that everything was considered urgent. The Johnson trial was just three days away - time was of the essence.
"Griselda, the Johnson trial is kicking off soon. You got your game plan ready?" Liam, a fellow attorney, asked with a hint of concern in his voice.
The Johnson case was a battle we couldn't afford to lose. I proposed a last-minute strategy session, rallying the team to do a rundown of every argument that formed part of our client’s defense.
Soon, we were seated in the conference room with our collective brainpower focused on the trial. To us, the courtroom was a realm where our words could shape lives and destinies. And we were determined to approach each case with a unique blend of legal expertise and empathy.
My team consisted of four people, each with their unique roles and expertise. First, there was Matthew, our meticulous researcher and analyst. He had an eye for detail that often unearthed critical evidence.
Sophia, the strategist of the group, had an uncanny ability to see the big picture, which helped us formulate our legal approach. Third was Dave, our brilliant paralegal, who handled all the paperwork and ensured the smooth flow of the legal process.
Lastly, there was Luca, the youngest and most energetic, always willing to chase down a lead so we could finally connect the dots.
Together, we made up a formidable team.
Back in my office, post-meeting, the fast-paced race continued. It was the kind of day where every ticking second seemed to bring a new wave of tasks and demands, showing no signs of abating.
Amidst this frenzied pace, my phone buzzed, alerting me to a message from my boss, Mr. Gilbert. The message was brief but conveyed a clear directive: "Please come to my office."
Mr. Gilbert wasn't my favorite person in the office, to say the least. His approach was blunt, and he often displayed a tendency to ogle female colleagues. Despite this, I plastered on a fake smile and knocked on his office door, waiting for his invitation to enter.
"Griselda, have a seat," Mr. Gilbert gestured toward the chair in front of his desk.
It was one of those cold, leather chairs that felt unnerving to sit in. I obliged, trying to hide my discomfort. Without any preamble, he got to the point.
"We're switching you to another case," he stated, his tone carrying a brusque finality.
It was almost as if he enjoyed the discomfort news like this caused. My mind raced, protesting against this sudden change.
"But we've invested a lot of time preparing for the Johnson trial. It’s starting in three days," I protested, trying to reason with him.
Mr. Gilbert was unmoved, showing no signs of empathy for the dedicated, hard work our team had put in to prepare for the Johnson trial.
He explained that he had another case in mind for me, one he considered more suitable. He handed over a file, and as I skimmed through its contents, I could hardly suppress a feeling of incredulity.
The case involved a dispute over a neighbor's noisy dog—it felt like a trivial matter compared to the complex legal battles I was accustomed to.
"You can't be serious," I blurted out, my frustration getting the better of me.
Mr. Gilbert fixed me with a stern gaze, a warning in his eyes.
"Watch your tone, Griselda," he cautioned, reminding me of the hierarchy and the boundaries within the office.
I took a deep breath, suppressing my anger, and offered a swift apology. My mind was still grappling with the sudden change and the absurdity of the case I was being assigned.
