Chatper 315


    Chapter 315 A Change Of Heart


    E


    The courthouse’s archaic clock chimed, echoing through the expansive corridor. Warm sunlight filtered


    through the stained-ss windows, casting a kaleidoscope of colors onto the cold marble floor.


    The hum of hushed conversations filled the hallway as I pushed my way out of the bathroom. In a few


    minutes, I’d be back in court, facing another round of the tumultuous battle between Logan and the


    local tenants.


    I wasn’t looking forward to it; not in the slightest. And I especially wasn’t looking forward to it after my


    emotional conversation with Miss Smith in the restroom.


    Logan’s tall frame called out to me from the end of the hallway. “E,” he said, a strange sense of what


    almost sounded like remorse in his voice, “I’d like to talk to you.”


    The sunlight filtering through caught the flecks of gold in his blue eyes, but they bore an


    uncharacteristic uncertainty to them.


    “Oh, god,” I thought to myself as I approached. “What is it now?” “Does he look… remorseful?” Ema


    asked, perking up slightly. “Maybe he’s had a change of heart after all.”


    “Don’t get too excited, Ema,” I said inly in response. “And don’t give the jerk too much credit. I’m


    almost entirely certain that he doesn’t even have a heart in there to change.”


    I approached and stopped a couple of feet in front of him, noticing how the hallway was emptying as


    the others returned to court. “What is it?” I asked, checking my watch.


    “E,” he began, his voice lower than its usual confident timbre, “about earlier-*


    “What about earlier?” I interjected, raising a brow. “You mean when you tried to intimidate me, or when


    you referred to a single mother and her dying son as ‘just business’?”


    The chandeliers overhead cast soft light, reflecting off the high-gloss wooden benches and illuminating


    Logan’s conflicted expression.


    Logan’s eyes softened a little more. If I didn’t know better, I would say that his shoulders slumped a


    little, too. “It’s about both of those things,” he said.


    I sighed, ncing over his shoulder at the bailiff, who was standing by the courtroom door with an


    impatient look in her gaze. She held her wrist up and tapped her watch silently, signaling that it was


    time to return to court.


    “Go on,” I muttered. “But make it quick.”


    He hesitated, exhaling slowly. “I’m sorry. For all of it. That’s all I wanted to say.”


    I took a deep breath, pressing my lips together. “An apology,” Ema said. “Maybe that’s a start.


    Right?”


    “Wrong,” I answered her. “It means nothing. And knowing Logan, it’s just another maniptive tactic to


    bring me back to his side. And it’s not working, either.”


    I said nothing in response to Logan’s apology. partially because the bailiff’s impatient eyes were now


    boring holes in my skull.


    “Look,” I said, “It’s time to get back in court. Just remember, you may be…plicated in my life, but


    first and foremost right now, you’re my client and nothing more. I’m here to win this case for you


    because it’s my duty as yourwyer.” I paused, ncing away. “But after your behavior, I’ve been


    seriously reconsidering our agreement.”


    Logan frowned, running a hand through his jet- ck hair, which stood in stark contrast to the creamy


    backdrop of the courthouse walls. “E, we made a contract. It’s binding, is it not?”


    “Yes, we do have a contract,” I replied with a huff, the click of my heels echoing against the stone


    flooring. “But binding or not, if I’m dealing with someone who lies about his intentions, it automatically


    makes the contract null and void. I may need to rethink things.”


    He took a step closer, his scent-a mix of sandalwood and something uniquely Logan- filling the air. “I


    never lied about my intentions. But E, if you’re so unhappy with our arrangement, after this case is


    settled, you can leave. I promise I won’t stop you.”


    I blinked, taken aback by his concession. This was not the domineering Logan Barrett I hade to


    know. Before I could respond, the bailiff’s voice boomed, interrupting the cocoon of our conversation.


    “Counsel, please return to the courtroom. We’re waiting on you.”


    With a final nce at Logan, I proceeded towards therge wooden doors of the courtroom. To my


    surprise, Logan reached out, holding the door open for me. I murmured a quiet thank you, deliberately


    avoiding his gaze, and stepped into the room.


    Therge chamber felt even more imposing than before. The tall ceilings, nked by ornate moldings,


    dwarfed the attendees. The stained oak of the jury box and the witness stand contrasted with the deep


    green of the room’s carpeting.


    As I walked down the aisle, the room’s atmosphere was thick with anticipation. Heads turned, eyes


    following us, their whispers a constant, hushed undertone. The opposingwyer, Mr. Dney, a slender


    man with a shock of silver hair, stood as proceedings resumed.


    Clearing his throat, he addressed the room. “Your Honor, given the circumstances, my client sees no


    winnable oue here. He’s willing to vacate the premises. But evicting all the tenants-it’s tearing him


    apart.”


    Murmurs swept across the room, punctuated by the shuffle of papers and the soft creak of leather


    seats. I could feel the weight of Miss Smith’s gaze on me. When our eyes met, her look was one of


    usation, disappointment, and a plea for understanding.


    It felt like a dagger to my chest, the responsibility and the implications of the case pressing down


    heavily. As the room awaited the judge’s response, Logan, in a move that seemedpletely out of


    character, stood up.


    “Your Honor,” he began, pausing to look around the room. The sunlight streamed through the high


    windows, casting long beams that highlighted the dust motes floating in the air.


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    “Mr. Barrett?” The judge said, peering at Logan over his wire-rimmed sses. “Be seated.”


    But Logan remained standing.


    “Logan,” I hissed quietly, ring up at him, “what are you doing?”


    “Your Honor, I’d like to make another offer,” Logan announced,manding everyone’s attention.


    The judge leaned forward, interest piqued. “Go on, Mr. Barrett.”


    Logan took a deep breath. “I will cover thendlord’s missed rent. In return, I won’t build the za.


    Instead, I’d like permission to erect a statue on the premises-a tribute to themunity and its spirit.”


    A collective gasp filled the room. Even the judge seemed taken aback, his usually stoic face disying


    evident surprise. Mr. Grayson, mouth agape, blinked a few times as if processing what had just


    transpired.


    I felt as though the wind had been knocked out of me. All I could do was blink incredulously up at


    Logan, my eyes wide with shock.


    “Mr. Barrett, are you fully understanding the implications of your proposition?” the judge asked,


    eyebrows raised.


    “I am, Your Honor.”


    Mr. Grayson seemed to find his voice, albeit shakily. “If Mr. Barrett is genuine, my client may be open to


    discussing these terms.”


    With a nod, the judge dered, “Court will adjourn for today to give both parties a chance to discuss


    this new development.”


    The sound of the gavel echoed in the silent room, punctuating the end of another chapter in this


    ongoing saga. As the audience began to disperse, I turned to Logan, utterly shell-shocked. “What was


    that?”


    Logan looked at me, the sunlight illuminating his face, revealing the soft creases around his eyes.


    “A change of heart, E. Or maybe, just maybe, it was there all along.”