Stalked by the Lawyer by Emma Bray EPUB & PDF – eBook Details Online
- Status: Available for Free Download
- Authors: Emma Bray
- Language: English
- Genre: Action & Adventure Short Stories
- Format: PDF / EPUB
- Size: 2 MB
- Price: Free
Logan
MY FOOTSTEPS RESONATE against the stone as I approah one of my
wealthiest client’s door.
The mansion looms before me, its presence imposing under the cloak of
twilight. It’s an architectural masterpiece, with soaring columns that stand
like sentinels guarding the secrets within. This house, with its manicured
gardens and a facade kissed by moonlight, whispers of old money and quiet
power.
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I pause at the double oak doors, their intricate carvings a testament to
the grandeur beyond. My fingers graze over the brass knocker, feeling the
cool metal against my skin. With a practiced motion, I announce my arrival,
the sound sharp in the crisp evening air.
The door swings open, and I step over the threshold into this world of
elegance. Shadows dance across marble floors, and chandeliers glitter from
above, casting prisms of light that flicker like stars fallen from the heavens.
The door’s echo fades as my gaze lifts to meet my client. He stands
before me, a figure carved from the same stern granite as his home. His
handshake is an iron clamp, unyielding and cold—a silent assertion of
dominance.
“Logan,” he says, voice deep like the rumble of distant thunder. “Come
in.”
I step forward, the air shifting around me as I cross into his domain. No
corner of this grand foyer escapes the meticulous touch of affluence. It’s a
vault of treasures where even the silence seems expensive.
Well, my clients are rich, and that’s what makes me my money.
To my right, a grand staircase sweeps upward, its banister gleaming
with the polish of careful hands. Above, a crystal chandelier presides like a
crown jewel, each facet meticulously placed to scatter light across the
expanse of marble below.
“Beautiful, isn’t it?” Mr. Brimming’s voice cuts through my reverie, a
note of pride threading the otherwise stoic delivery.
“Indeed,” I reply, my words measured, careful not to betray too much
admiration. This chessboard of luxury is impressive, but I never let my
clients know my real feelings—on anything.
In the spaces between shadows and light, ornate paintings watch over
us, their subjects dressed in layers of historical finery. They whisper stories
of legacy and time, of wealth passed down through generations. The
furniture echoes this narrative. Each piece is a masterwork, from the plush
velvet settees to the dark mahogany tables, all poised with aristocratic
grace.
“Your collection is remarkable,” I comment, knowing full well each
item has been chosen to impress, to intimidate.
“Collected over many years,” he replies, his tone dismissive, as if the
effort to amass such splendor was nothing more than a trivial pastime.
I nod, allowing a brief smile to show my respect for the game he plays.
Power resides here, not just in the tangible opulence, but in the unseen
currents that run beneath the surface,
“Shall we begin?” I suggest.
“Of course.” He turns, leading the way, and I follow, my senses
sharpened. Clients don’t hire me for no reason. He’s hiding something, but
he’ll pay me to clean up his mess.
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