The glow of Jackson's desk lamp cast a dim, amber light, cutting through the silence of a room filled with the scent of bitter coffee and stacks of old newspapers. Behind his massive teak desk, Jax was fully absorbed. His long fingers moved nimbly across the keyboard while his left hand held a black pen, occasionally scratching small notes into the margins of the legal documents before him.
He was constructing a timeline, gathering fragments of evidence, and building a web of arguments solid enough to dismantle the tower of lies erected by Nathan Rhys. His focus was so intense that the frown on his forehead seemed to deepen behind the lenses of his glasses.
Tok, tok.
A steady knock on the door broke the quiet stillness. "Come in, it's unlocked," Jax called out, his voice heavy and raspy from a lack of sleep.
