All last night, I had tossed and turned, unable to fall asleep for longer than probably an hour at a time. Most of the dark hours I had spent staring at the ceiling, finding shapes in the shadows that passed over the walls, and unsuccessfully willing myself to fall asleep. It was funny, actually, that everyone I knew tended to think of me as this big, tough attorney with a big ego and a hefty dose of swagger. It probably would’ve surprised most of my contemporaries to know just how many nights I spent this way, rolling around in bed with my stomach twisting into knots.

I was obsessive about everything, picking every interaction and every mistake to pieces from the claustrophobic cell of my own bed. Penelope, who was one of the few people in my life to have ever seen me in my true state (perpetual over-thinking) joked one time that I could find something to stress about in heaven. I had laughed it off with her at the time, but honestly, she was right.

Even when everything seemed to be going well, my mind was constantly playing out impossible negative scenarios, toying around with fate and reality to the point of nearly driving myself crazy.

And right now, I had something truly worthy of obsession going on in my head. This was no made-up scenario. I really was in the biggest of pickles, and I couldn’t wrap my head around what I should do. There were so many factors at play here. There was the usual dark cloud hanging over me. My father’s notoriety, my desperation to both follow in his footsteps and yet distinguish myself as a different, better attorney (and a different, much better man).

There was the worry I still had about sleeping with Rodney the other night. Bits and pieces of memory from that night had been resurfacing in the front of my mind again and again, unsummoned, like those annoying boxes that pop up to remind you to update your computer. I wanted to just push that memory aside for now, but my brain seemed totally unwilling to cooperate. I could be in the middle of a workout or in mid-conversation with a colleague, and suddenly, there it was: Rodney Barrington’s beautiful, huge cock, right in the forefront of my thoughts. I could hardly imagine a more distracting image for my brain to hyper focus on.

Then there was the information I gleaned while eavesdropping on Mark Delaney’s braggadocious conversation at the bar the other night. I still didn’t know what exactly to make of that. I had a nagging feeling that something was terribly wrong, that Rodney and I were being played by both sides. We were the scapegoats for some bigger picture, something we were too tunnel-visioned to see-- and what’s more, I was starting to think that the puppeteers of this big conspiracy had selected Rod and I purely based on the knowledge that we were bitter rivals.

They probably assumed that we would be too busy leaping at each other’s throats to pay attention and put two and two together. For the most part, and for the longest time, they were right to believe that. But I was finally beginning to piece together the full image, one that outsized Rodney and me. This fraud case was a smokescreen for something else. That was the bizarre, seemingly impossible answer that kept coming back to me over and over again. It was the only answer that made sense in my mind.

But then again, I was starting to think I couldn’t quite trust my own mind to make sense of anything. I was second-guessing myself every step of the way, annoyed and frustrated with my own actions or inaction. I was torn in so many different, incompatible directions lately and I didn’t know what to do to make it right again.

I needed to stop fixating on Rodney, but I just couldn’t push him out of my mind. And even if I’d been able to, he would only come marching back into frame, since I was forced to face him in court. I couldn’t escape him, even if I’d wanted to. And then, of course, there was that most recent concern that had cropped up. Why had Rod suddenly disappeared last night? I had turned away for just a moment, only to return to an empty room. He left no note, no voicemail, no email-- nothing. No indication as to why he suddenly turned tail and fled.

I hoped I would get a chance to ask him about it today. I had been up since five in the morning again, only this time I had gone straight to my home gym to work out rather than just letting myself stew in anxiety in bed. By the time Penelope showed up at seven, I was already showered and dressed for the day, and already exhausted after my morning workout. I was still upstairs when I heard the front door open, and I hurriedly went downstairs to join her.

“Hey boss,” she greeted me cheerfully as I came down the stairs. She quirked an eyebrow, looking my ensemble up and down. “Wow, you look sharp.”

“Got court again today,” I replied simply.

“Well, you’re definitely going to outshine that Barrington douchebag,” she said, which made me smile. Then she tossed me a brown paper bag, which I caught easily.

“What’s this?” I asked, unfolding the curled top to peer inside.

“Everything bagel, lightly toasted, with roasted red pepper cream cheese and a fruit cup. That’s your usual breakfast order from Sammy’s, right?” she quipped.

I nodded. “Yep. You know, you never cease to amaze me, Pen. How do you keep track of all these details?”

She shrugged and tapped her forehead with one finger, winking at me. “Mind like a steel trap. Plus, I’ve got, like, a thousand Excel spreadsheets on my laptop. I don’t miss a thing.”

“Fair enough,” I chuckled. I was grateful to have her around-- she never failed to brighten my day just a little bit. “So, how are you?”

“Oh, I’m great. Amazing, actually. Because guess what?” she said, looking at me sideways with barely-contained excitement on her face.

“What?” I asked, happy to play along.

She walked up to me and slowly raised her left hand, wiggling her manicured fingers. My eyes went wide as I saw the big, sparkly diamond ring on her finger. “Holy shit!” I gasped, grabbing her hand to get a better look.

Penelope let out a high-pitched squeal of excitement. “Right? I’m fucking engaged!”

“Damn, Pen! That’s fantastic! Congratulations,” I gushed. “This diamond is incredible.”

“I know! Turns out Meg has great taste in jewelry, too. And apparently, I’m the world’s heaviest sleeper ever, because when I asked her how she managed to somehow guess my ring size perfectly, she informed me that she once measured my ring finger while I was asleep and I didn’t wake up at all. Which is… kind of concerning on my part, but whatever,” she giggled.

“I am so happy for you, Penelope. You and Meg are perfect together,” I said genuinely.

“Thanks, Hud. And we haven’t set a date yet, but when we do, you’d better be there. You’re totally going to be in my wedding party, like it or not,” she said, grinning.

I burst out laughing. “Are you going to put me in a bridesmaid dress?”

“Hey, don’t give me ideas like that,” she snorted, “or I might just go through with it.”

My phone buzzed, informing me that it was high time for me to head to court. “Ah, okay, I have to go. But you can tell me all about the proposal and everything later, alright?”

She nodded, still grinning. “You got it, boss. Go get ‘em. Quincy’s waiting.”

I grabbed my briefcase and my breakfast and headed out, slipping into the car. Quincy drove me to the courthouse in the usual comfortable silence as I ate my food on the way, and when we got there, I realized I still had plenty of time to kill, and I hadn’t had my coffee yet. So, I thanked Quincy and decided to head down the street to the nearby coffee shop for a cup of joe to top off my breakfast. The good news of Pen’s engagement had put me in considerably higher spirits, but when I walked into the cafe, my heart sank.

Rodney was there, in line at the register. I considered just walking right back out of the cafe, but the fatigue in my body reminded me that I did, in fact, require my morning coffee. Damn my caffeine addiction, I thought grumpily.

I stepped into line behind Rod, who immediately bristled and turned to give me a brief glare. It was like he could sense my presence long before he even saw me with his own two eyes. I gave him a rather sheepish smile, thinking maybe he would start a conversation if I looked friendly and civil enough. But instead he just turned back away, ignoring me. I frowned, confused.

I leaned in and very quietly said, “Hey, what gives? I thought we were on better terms last night and then you just up and left. What happened? Did I say something wrong?”

He just sighed, not even allowing me the courtesy of a glance. Now I was getting angry and, embarrassingly, a little hurt. Whatever had happened between us, surely I didn’t deserve this kind of cold treatment. “Rod, what’s going on, huh?” I whispered. He shuddered and continued to ignore me completely.

“Next in line, please,” chirped the cashier, and Rodney stepped up to place his order. To my confusion, he was cheery and chatty with the barista, a total departure from the cold shoulder he was giving me. After him, I ordered my coffee to-go and stood as far from him as I could while I waited. He got his first and marched out of the coffee shop, not even giving me a passing look.

This was not a great start to the day, and as I grabbed my coffee and headed toward the courthouse, I wondered what fresh hell he was planning to unleash on me in court today. I tried to tell myself that maybe Rod just didn’t want to be seen chatting with me and being on friendly terms, since we were embroiled in an important, controversial court case together-- on opposing sides. Perhaps he was just worried about compromising his credibility or mine. I could understand that. It was a reasonable justification. But still, a little voice in my head kept reminding me that something didn’t feel right.

Not long after, we were ushered into court and the proceedings began. I stood next to Bill Marriott, trying to maintain composure and not give away my true feelings or concerns. Maybe all of this was a farce, but for now, I still needed to pretend like everything was normal. I was doing my best to keep from looking over at Rodney and Mark Delaney, but all of that changed when Rod made a startling announcement.

“The defense would like to call Cora Simmons back to the stand,” he declared matter-of-factly. I frowned, looking at him like he was mad.

“Uh, Your Honor, didn’t the defense already cross-examine Miss Simmons last week? Why is she being called back?” I spoke up.

“I’m rather curious about that myself, Mr. Barrington,” Judge Ramirez said, raising an eyebrow as he looked down at Rod through horn-rimmed glasses.

“Some new evidence has come to light recently and I would like the opportunity to re-examine Miss Simmons’s testimony, if that’s alright,” he replied firmly.

The judge deliberated for a moment and then said, “Permission granted, but try not to drag this on for long, Mr. Barrington. I would prefer to keep the re-hashing of past events to a minimum in my courtroom, thank you.”

“I appreciate it, Your Honor,” Rod said, as the guard escorted Miss Simmons back to the stand. She looked nervous and uncomfortable, her face ashen and pale. Rod sauntered up to her with his hands clasped behind his back. He was in full showboat mode, which instantly put me on edge. What did he have up his sleeve?

“So, Miss Simmons, you are an accountant for Southwestern First Bank, are you not?” he began simply. She nodded.

“Y-Yes. That’s correct,” she said softly into the microphone.

“And as part of your position in the company, you would have access to financial files specifically linked to Southwestern First Bank customers and accounts?” he asked.

She looked confused and said, “Yes. Of course.”

I stood up suddenly and said, “I apologize, but haven’t we heard all of this before?”

“Yes, this is beginning to feel a bit like deja vu, Mr. Barrington. Ask some new questions or move it along,” Judge Ramirez chided. Rod seemed utterly unbothered.

“Gladly,” he said. He began to pace slowly back and forth as he asked another question. “Miss Simmons, would Southwestern First Bank have access to records from other financial institutions? Specifically, would you have been able to look at Mr. Delaney’s accounts at other banks or credit unions?”

She looked bewildered. “I-I can’t say. I, um, I’m not sure I follow.”

Rod didn’t let up one bit. “Sorry, I’ll simplify the question: have you ever accessed records regarding Mr. Delaney’s finances and credit that came from institutions outside of Southwestern First?”

She closed her eyes and drew a long, slow breath. My stomach turned. Oh, no.

“Answer the question, Miss Simmons,” prompted the judge.

The accountant opened her eyes, which were misty with tears, and leaned forward to reply quietly, “Yes.”

“And you have seen proof of failing investments of Mr. Delaney’s that moved through banks other than the bank at which you work?” Rod asked.

“Yes,” she admitted.

“Is that normal?” he asked.

“Yes.”

“Is that legal?”

She paused, then sighed. “No.”

“So, Miss Simmons, you are admitting to the court that Southwestern First Bank accessed my client’s confidential information illegally in order to make their accusation of falsifying a loan application?” Rod interrogated, those blue eyes bright and flashing. He was enjoying this.

“Can he do this? Are you really going to let him do this?” hissed Mr. Marriott beside me, his eyes bulging with worry.

I stood up again, adrenaline coursing through my veins, and asked loudly, “Your Honor, my opponent has cited ‘new evidence’ as reasoning for this cross-examination, and yet the prosecution has not seen proof of this so-called evidence.”

“What’s your point?” Rod snapped.

I glared at him. “My point is that I have no way of knowing what this new evidence is or, more importantly, how exactly it was discovered.”

I saw just a brief flicker of comprehension on his face, and that was enough to confirm my suspicion. Yes, what he was telling the court was true, but it was also confidential information that was kept under lock and key. The bank had buried it deep, deep inside. Rod had taken this evidence from my own laptop while he was alone in my office. I had left him for just a minute, and in that time, he had rifled through my stuff and gotten the information he needed. That was why he left without a word last night. That was why he had even wormed his way into my life in the first place. He had only slept with me to get my guard down, to trick me into trusting him, when all along he was a snake in the grass.

Just like he was in college. Rodney Barrington had not changed one bit.

As the two of us were locked in a mutual death glare, Judge Ramirez sighed and announced wearily, “Well, gentlemen, I must take some time to process this new information and determine how to proceed from here. Court is adjourned.”

I looked at the judge in horror, my heart racing. This spelled very bad news for the bank and for my case. Bill Marriott was white as a ghost and staring at me with disappointment. Delaney looked positively tickled pink at the news. And to my surprise, Rod himself looked almost… remorseful? But that couldn’t be possible. Rod was remorseless. He was a traitor. A backstabber. Right?