In an office on the 13th floor of the Raymond Tower, there was a middle-aged man. He had a receding greasy slick back with grey streaks and wrinkled, sun-kissed skin that shone under the overhead light.
His black formal shoes were propped on top of his desk as he leaned far back into his chair—his black blazer had been tossed across his stale-aired office.
"So basically, this Mother follower knocks on my door," he began in a thick Italian-American accent. "I open up and boom, she's got the biggest rack I've ever seen in my life. Almost stumbled. But I kept calm, I say 'What can I do ya for?' and I'm totally expecting her to start running on about some religious kook bullshit. But for some reason, she just smacks me!"
He spun once, then twice, then three times, in his chair as he recounted the events.
"So I'm like 'What the hell was that for?' and she storms off saying how she's gonna sue me for sexual harassment. I say 'I'm the best fuckin' lawyer in the Ember Union lady.' But of course, she doesn't take my word for it. Ends up taking me to court with a dumpster fire case. Then I absolutely mop the floor with her third-rate lawyer 'Richard Maier,'"
He scoffed at the name's mention.
"Uh-huh."
"Yeah, back in Law School we all called him 'Little Dick,' and he hasn't stopped trying to take me down since. But really, I at least respect the dedication. It's an unwinnable battle going against me though," the man chuckled. "You know, thinkin' back on it now, I think that lady thought I asked 'Can I do you?' like a sexual thing, probably cause of my accent. Hell, I should fuckin' counter-sue."
"How would you even win that?"
"I'd find a way," he smirked. "But a real damn shame about that lady though. I'm pretty sure she was looking for marriage partners, and I'm not really one to settle down in one spot, but boy for that pair of jugs I would've done some fuckin' compromising. Probably had a good face too, but she was deep in the Mother church 'cause she was wearin' those half-masks thingies that they wear. Like, how the hell do they even see through those things?"
"Pretty sure it's the effect of an Art the Church of the Mother gives to their top brass."
"Yeah, yeah kid you think you know everything?" the man wagged his finger. "Seems like you know something, seeing as how you're at my desk right now and haven't run for the hills after my little story."
"Nah, I know you're the best lawyer in the Ember Union," Mark replied.
Mark was no stranger to Italians, but this guy was straight ripped out of Godfather. Honestly, if a real Italian were here, he would be appalled at this disgusting stereotype.
But Tony Russo was the undisputed God of Law.
'You don't get an office space in Raymond Tower for free without being something special.'
"Heh. Good answer. But now that I'm lookin' at you…" Tony squinted as he inspected Mark from across his desk. "A little young to have big-time legal trouble, aren't we? And you're either weird or broke cause you're wearin' an Academy uniform on a weekend. Which one is it?"
"The latter."
"So, the fuck you doin' here for? I cost money kid."
"I have money."
"What? How much?"
"How much do you cost?"
"It's a case-by-case basis."
Mark promptly slid his court papers across the desk. In response, Tony put on his glasses and began to read line by line.
"Start explainin' and don't hold back. Lawyer-client confidentiality and all that."
"Basically, some Traveler kid stole an ingredient from the Alchemy Lab. I saw it and ran back to my dorm but I didn't report anything. They can't find the real culprit, witnesses only saw me enter, and their trackers malfunctioned, so no hard evidence for anything."
Tony flipped to the next page.
"Did you do it?"
"No, just wrong place wrong time."
"So what else is there?" he asked. "Cause there's no way they're getting you with that flimsy trash."
"Well they know I went to Straw Ridge, and a jacket with my name on it got sold to the Underground…"
Tony looked at Mark through the top of his glasses, pausing as he observed the boy in front. Then he chuckled.
"The fuck's a rat doin' at Kolzig-Bondra? What're you going to the Underground for?"
"Skills. And I was a few Coppers short, so I sold my cloak," Mark shrugged.
Tony read through the last page, raising his glasses up when he finished.
"Welp," he plopped the court papers back onto the desk and leaned back. "It's obvious they're desperate. A PR move is all—just tryin' to show that the Academy is doing whatever it can to solve the case. Which is a whole lot of nothin'. They can't do shit."
"Can you do it?"
"Of course I can do it," Tony replied. "It'll be done in a day. When they see my name contacting them they'll drop it immediately. Or else this'll all end with you getting 100 Gold in the settlement after I counter-sue them for overall incompetence."
"And your price?"
"Seventy Gold."
"Fifty."
"There's no haggling here kid. Sixty-five."
"Do you know who I am?" Mark asked.
"I've seen a little bit of you somewhere, Mark di Abbott. So, what should I know about you?" Tony scooched forward and folded his hands together.
"For starters, I'm in Class 1-A blowing up the newspapers for beating nobles up," Mark elaborated, his tone confident and convincing. "I'm a one-way ticket to getting more business, and I know that's what you really want. Not to mention that I'm a Raymond VIP."
Tony squinted as he rubbed his chin in thought.
'Business has gone dry under the Raymonds. It was good in the beginning, but over the years there's been no one to sue the Royal Family or their allies anymore—that's how effective he's been. He needs my business.'
"What? DId you hire an investigator to research the Russo-Raymond firm?" Tony asked. "Your monetary status is all over the place kid."
"I have my own means. And my wallet is a bit volatile at the moment, but I do have the money, you can count on it."
"Alright, fine," Tony conceded. "Fifty it is."
And with a firm handshake, Mark had secured his legal freedom.
"But keep beating those pricks up kid," Tony smirked. "As long as you got money I'll keep bailing you out."
"Pleasure doing business."