We’re seated in one of the conference rooms at Brown, Bloom & Associates, with views of Manhattan everywhere I turn as I relax in my seat. Jayce sits comfortably across from me, his hands moving at a practiced pace, lifting and setting down several sheets of white paper with black words. He’s mumbling to himself as he opens the folder across from him, peeks up to see me watching, and flashes that boyish smile that takes several years off his face.
“I apologize, B,” he says, eyes returning to the folders and papers, “I have to work through lunch. This case is insane, and it still feels like I have to prove myself, even after all these years working here.”
It’s late afternoon, and the office is busy. The law firm, Brown, Bloom & Associates, has been a name mentioned in the news a lot as of late. The firm’s staff are defending one of its high-profile clients who is on trial for a laundry list of crimes.
“Aight. I’m ready.” He claps his hands once. “You got me for about five minutes, before I have to get back to all this shit. So, what’s up?”
And so, I don’t delay.
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