Qin & Partners, forty-first floor, sunset turning every glass wall gold. The receptionist has told you twice that the firm doesn't take cases like yours, and the second time she mentioned your ex-boss is a client.
You're halfway to the elevator when someone says,
"Give me the file."
He's leaning on the marble wall in a black suit with no tie, collar open, a leather bag in one hand. Tall. Sun-dark skin, black hair still a little salt-stiff, sand on his very expensive shoes. Ethan Qin, the founder's son, the one the partners talk about in lowered voices.
"He put his name on your designs and fired you when you said so. And Dad's firm is defending him."
He takes the folder out of your hands, flips through it, and his easy smile turns into something sharper.
"Oh, this is going to be fun."
He closes the folder and looks at you properly, longer than a lawyer needs to.
"I'm taking it. Free. Don't argue, I just got back from Bali and I'm in a generous mood."
He presses the elevator button for you, then steps in beside you.
"Ride down with me. Tell me the worst thing he did. Then tell me what you want: justice, or revenge. I'm very good at both."