Chatper 316


    Chapter 316 The Mobster’s Generosity


    E


    Inside the confines of the counsel chambers, the atmosphere was saturated with apprehension. Heavy


    curtains blocked the outside world, leaving the room bathed in a warm, golden glow. Oak bookshelves,


    lined with hefty legal volumes, lined the walls.


    Between Mr. Grayson and myself sat a polished mahogany table, its surface gleaming in the soft light.


    “This is a… shock, to say the least,” Mr. Grayson said, fidgeting with the cufflinks of his pristine white


    shirt. “Mr. Barret, if I may ask: what changed your mind?”


    Logan smirked. “I like to keep some things close to my chest, Mr. Grayson,” he said, shooting me a


    sideways nce. “But know this: I am being genuine. No strings attached.”


    Mr. Grayson shot me a look, silently asking if Logan was telling the truth. I nodded, fingertips pressed


    against the table’s smooth surface. “My client ispletely serious, Mr. Grayson.”


    Mr. Grayson sighed contentedly, leaning back in his chair, the soft creak of leather echoing my own


    thoughts. Beside him, his client smiled softly and leaned over, whispering something inaudible in Mr.


    Grayson’s ear. When the client was finished, Mr. Grayson nodded and leaned forward again.


    “Very well. My client will agree to pay up his missed rent in full. We can set a date. But in return, he will


    allow this… statue of Logan’s mother to be erected on the premises.”


    I bit my lip, nodding again. “That’s a start. And the statue’s upkeep?” He stroked his silver beard


    thoughtfully. “He will ensure it never gets dirty or crumbles. Maintenance is on him.”


    A shadow of a smile appeared on my lips, but it was Logan’s next proposition that left me-and both the


    client and Mr. Grayson-absolutely floored.


    “One more thing,” Logan interjected, his confident tone slicing through the air. Mr. Grayson quirked an


    eyebrow. “Go on, Mr. Barrett.”


    Logan paused for a moment, taking a deep breath. I found myself more intrigued by this than I had


    expected; Logan had already floored me once by agreeing to make a new deal that involved allowing


    the apartments to stay.


    But I also felt a pit of dread beginning to form in my stomach.


    “There are always strings attached,” I said inwardly to Ema, feeling myself turn cold once again. “I


    knew it.”


    “Just hear him out,” she replied. “Maybe it’s not what we think it is.” Finally, Logan spoke. “I’ve been


    thinking of making an offer to purchase the property,” he said.


    “Bingo.”


    Finally, the client spoke up. “You want to purchase my property, Mr. Barrett?” he said, his voice rising


    worriedly. “Sir, with all due respect, this is my only form of ie. Not only that, but the tenants trust


    me. Surely there’s something else we can work out-


    Logan put his hand up to stop the client. “Don’t worry,” he said, “I’m not nning on buying it out from


    under you. I would just like to take over as a… business partner, let’s say. Not only will I pay for the


    renovations and upkeep, but you, thendlord, will still have full reign over the building’s matters. And


    of course, you’ll also retain a majority of the apartment rent. All I would ask for is a very small share.”


    I could feel my eyes widen, my heart drumming rapidly against my chest. “Logan,” I started, but he held


    up a hand, silencing me.


    “Consider it an… investment,” Logan said, looking almost nonchnt. “An investment?” I thought to


    Ema. “Or an unexpected act of phnthropy? He’ll never make any money off of something like this.”


    Inside of me, I felt Ema chuckle. “Maybe the Alpha mobster has a heart after all,” she said.


    Mr. Grayson blinked, processing the offer. “That’s… unexpected. And very generous, Mr. Barrett. I’ll


    need to consult with my client, but I believe…” He paused, ncing at his client, whose eyes seemed a


    little brighter. “…that he may be amenable.”


    Logan merely shrugged, his blue eyes intense and unreadable. “Let’s get the paperwork in order.”


    The speed at which things were unfolding was almost dizzying. In a matter of hours, the court had


    adjourned and Logan and I were outside, the bright sunlight a stark contrast to the room’s dim


    ambiance.


    I quickened my pace, matching Logan’s long strides. “What changed, Logan?” I inquired, searching his


    face for an answer. “Youpletely floored me in there. No offense, but I’m having a hard time


    believing that you just suddenly decided to be a phnthropist in the span of fifteen minutes.”


    Logan didn’t respond immediately, his gaze fixed forward. But the corners of his mouth tightened ever


    so slightly.


    “You’re not one to give in so easily,” I pressed, trying to decipher the enigma that was Logan Barrett.


    He paused, exhaling deeply. “You remember that single mother from earlier?”


    I nodded, the image of the distressed woman and her son still vivid in my mind.


    “She reminded me of my mom,” Logan admitted, his voice quieter, softer, a hint of vulnerability


    creeping in. “And I couldn’t help but think, my mom would want those people to keep their homes. It felt


    right to build her statue there, to have her memory be a beacon for thatmunity. Without any za


    or shops overshadowing it.”


    I looked at him, genuinely surprised, my earlier judgments crumbling. “So I was right,” I teased. “About


    what your mom would want.”


    Logan stopped, letting out an almost inaudible sigh. He turned to look at me, and the setting sun


    illuminated his face as it descended its final few inches over the horizon. Above us, the sky was a


    beautiful menagerie of pinks and purples.


    “You’re right more often than maybe I’d like to admit,” he finally said, his voice soft. There was a silence


    between us, but it felt lighter than it did before. Perhaps I had been wrong about Logan. “Hmm,” I


    muttered.


    Logan quirked an eyebrow. “What is it?”


    I shook my head,ughing slightly. “It’s nothing. It’s just… Maybe you’re not as cold-hearted as I


    thought, Mr. Barrett,” I mused aloud.


    Logan chuckled, a deep, resonant sound. “E, it’s always a mistake to assume you know someone


    entirely. Especially when ites to me.”


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    A silence stretched between us, punctuated by the distant sounds of the city-the hum of traffic, the


    distant murmur of conversations, and the gentle rustling of leaves.


    “But there’s one thing you should know,” Logan added with a smirk, breaking the lull. “I’ve already lined


    up our third case. Hope you’re ready for another wild ride.”


    I groaned dramatically. “Already?” I asked, smirking. “Can we at least take a breather?”


    He winked, nudging me yfully. There was a newfound glimmer in his eyes, a sparkle of something


    that gave me hope that maybe, just maybe, he had never nned on going against his promises


    before. Maybe he got a little off track. I liked to imagine, though, that this case had sparked something


    in him. And I hoped beyond hope that itsted.


    “That’s what the weekend is for,” he said. “And speaking of which, it is Friday, after all. And I’m thirsty.”


    I couldn’t hide my smirk as I folded my arms across my chest. “What are you saying?” I asked. Logan’s


    face softened. “I know a nice little ce that I think you’d like. What do you say?”