Chapter 2: My 3 Supernatural Gifts
The offices of Pearson Hardman were already alive despite the early hour, lights burning steadily behind glass walls, associates moving with quiet urgency as though sound itself might be audited if it grew too loud.
Louis Litt stood at the center of the bullpen, jacket already off, sleeves rolled up, files spread across the long table in front of him with a level of order that only he seemed capable of maintaining.
The documents had arrived late the previous night, transferred over from RKZ, and Louis had not liked that one bit, not because the work was sloppy, but because of the unreasonable deadline of the client whom he had just poached.
Atlas Vector Technologies.
Nordhaven Infrastructure.
A border breach of contract issue layered with regulatory exposure, asset entanglement, and the added complication that Atlas Vector's previous apartment had poached critical operational data, which meant discovery was going to be ugly, hostile, and time-sensitive. Louis skimmed faster than most people read, eyes catching inconsistencies, margins tightening almost instinctively as he flipped through the stack.
He exhaled sharply, clearly unimpressed, and let the file drop into the bin with a dull thud.
"Alright people. We have a new client and we have a lot of work to do so you'd better buckle up your bootstraps cause the client expects this done in three days. I want every single document inside of this file that I'm sending to you right now summarised by the end of the day. And then you'll be awaiting my further commands."
He did not wait to see their reactions.
Louis turned and walked straight back into his office, door closing behind him with more force than strictly necessary, already pulling the same documents back out onto his own desk because there was no chance he was trusting this case entirely to a bullpen full of associates who were utterly useless.
He sat down, and began going through the material again, slower this time, more deliberately, marking sections, cross-referencing clauses, circling risks that were obvious to him and invisible to everyone else. This was not a case you delegated blindly, not when timelines were compressed and exposure ran high, not when one wrong interpretation could unravel weeks of leverage.
If this was going to be done properly, Louis Litt was going to do it himself.
And he would make damn sure everyone else kept up.
…
4 days later and it was 10 in the morning when Jessica Pearson walked into Louis's office with the same calm confidence that marked every step she took, her tailored dress sharp and impeccable, hair pulled back just enough to let her face convey the steady authority that had carried her to the top of Pearson Hardman's hierarchy, where she stood as Managing Partner with a reputation that both intimidated and commanded respect in equal measure.
Louis was clearly worn down, surrounded by stacks of papers that seemed to grow taller every hour, his desk littered with pens, coffee cups, and loose printouts that looked as if they might swallow him entirely if they settled on him the wrong way.
When Jessica closed the door behind her, she did not announce herself with dramatics; she simply looked at him, and the weight of that quiet presence was enough to make anyone straighten up a little.
"Louis, I hear that Atlas hadn't gotten the report that you said you would send over."
He watched her as she approached, gestures unhurried but precise, eyes already scanning the messy desk as though she could see through the piles without a second glance. Louis exhaled, somewhat reluctantly civil, and said, "Jessica, I know, but the timeline that was set was—"
"No need to panic," she interrupted gently but with unmistakable certainty, "I understand, since I also looked over the request before I came down to meet you. What they asked was highly unusual. The amount of work that they'd given us would—"
Louis stopped her before she could finish, sighing, throwing his pen down onto the table in frustration.
"It would take us at least two weeks, I know," he said, all tension and exhaustion raw in his voice. "And when I asked them why they expected us to get it done in three days, they said that RKZ operated in this way. They would usually be able to finish all this type of stuff up."
Jessica paused, not in confusion exactly, but in a moment of assessment, eyes moving toward the window as she considered more than just the words on that desk, before she sat opposite him and continued, deliberate and measured.
"That is strange," Louis said, as both of them were trying to figure out what was going on…
Watching the city rise and fall beyond the glass before returning her gaze to him with that same steady appraisal. "What is strange?"
"When we poached this client, they'd sent over the files summarizing every single document inside and indexing most of the tabs within a day." Louis stated.
Jessica didn't see any issue with it at first, shrugging like the milestone was just another piece of routine legal logistics, and said, "Yeah, well, isn't that expected and normal?"
Louis didn't dismiss her, but he didn't agree either. "I thought so too."
"Until I called a contact in RKZ, and apparently the majority of this work wasn't even reviewed. I mean, the majority of this work wasn't even done by a partner. The Junior Partner simply handled the litigation, and another person was the one who did the entirety of the grunt work within a day."
Jessica regarded him thoughtfully, eyebrows lifting just enough to indicate surprise without judgement, the kind of subtle reaction that said she wasn't dismissive, just curious and alert to the implications. "You mean one attorney finished what dozens of attorneys would have taken more than a week in a day?"
"Yeah," Louis replied, not proud so much as baffled, and maybe even a little insecure at how that reflected on his own team.
Jessica considered a moment longer, brows knit not with doubt but with calculation, and then she said, "Text me the name of that guy."
There was authority in her voice — practical, decisive — and Louis nodded, thankful for the extension she had already secured before this conversation began.
"I was able to talk to Atlas and they gave us an extra week for the deadline, so you don't have to worry, Louis."
He acknowledged the information quietly, not satisfied, but undeniably grateful for the reprieve, and Jessica stood, smoothing the front of her dress and walking back toward her office with the same composure she carried when she commanded a room. Behind her, Louis returned to the papers, eyes flicking back to the mountain of work that no longer quite felt like an impossible climb.
Once she was settled in her own space, Jessica pulled out her phone and sent a message with the name she had just heard: Michaelson Kent.
Typing that name, watching the text deliver, she awaited the usual background check results from her man, already sensing that there was something interesting about this associate from the way Louis had described the work done in a day — a kind of efficiency that didn't fit the normal scale of associate performance, and something about that warranted a closer look.
Because in this city, in this world of law, talent showed itself most clearly in results — and right now, she felt like she could see a new star that was about to rise…
…
(Kent Pov)
A week after that conversation, it seemed like miracles were real.
Barely two weeks after I had sent the files over, I was sitting across the table from the Managing Partner of one of the three biggest law firms in the entirety of New York, having dinner as if this were the most natural progression of events rather than something that should have raised eyebrows across half the legal industry.
Jessica Pearson herself had formally requested to meet me, not through intermediaries, not through recruiters, but directly, and now she was here, sharing a table with me.
We were at a restaurant called Trinidad, the kind of place that did not advertise itself loudly because it did not need to, refined without being performative, dimly lit without feeling secretive, the kind of establishment where five-course meals were paced deliberately and wine glasses were refilled before you noticed they were empty.
Jessica asked questions throughout the evening, about my work, my approach, my habits, my expectations,, each one probing without pushing too hard.
By the time dessert arrived and disappeared, it felt like she had already formed several conclusions.
As the waiter cleared the table and topped up our wine, she finally leaned back slightly and asked the real question.
"How about we get down to business?"
"I'm all ears, I've been waiting for this all night," I told her eagerly, offering a smile that was confident.
She seemed satisfied by that, taking a gentle sip of wine before shifting gears entirely and asking, "How was Harvard like?"
"Fun," I replied honestly.
"That's how you were going to reply to me? Fun?" she asked, laughing a little.
"No, really," I said without backtracking, "I genuinely found it fun. Throughout my life I always wanted to be something more, do something more. When I was younger, people would ask me what I wanted to be in the future, and I would honestly not be able to answer them. But I would tell them that I wanted to do the most intellectually challenging thing."
She paused at that, then asked, "So why not do medicine?"
"Sure," I replied evenly, "I won't lie to you, books-wise and difficulty-wise, medical practitioners probably have it really hard. But I felt a sense of power in the law. Knowledge that couldn't be taken away from me. An understanding of the fundamental rules of the world. Of how the world is governed."
She accepted the answer without visible enthusiasm, not impressed, but not dismissive either, and I could tell she was filing it away rather than judging it in isolation.
How could I tell?
One of my other gifts.
One of the things I had been given in this world was the ability to work like a maniac, something I privately called my Hundred-Body Solution. When no one was watching, when I was not being recorded, when there were no eyes to observe, I could function in conditions that were superhuman.
Hours collapsed into minutes, effort condensed into efficiency, and in the span of a single hour, I could do the work of tens of people by myself, cleanly, accurately, without degradation in quality.
It came at a cost.
It exhausted me mentally, strained something deeper than muscle or focus, but over the years I had adapted, learned where the limits were, learned that five or six hours at that level was sustainable, while days would demand recovery afterward.
I first realized it in high school, juggling AP classes while working part-time, wondering why tasks that crushed others felt merely dense to me.
Basically…my first skill made me into a 1 man army.
The second realization came when I joined Speech and Debate back in Highschool. When I noticed that faces told stories before mouths ever did, micro-movements betraying confidence, hesitation, irritation, interest, all readable if you knew where to look.
This skill was the one that I was using right now…and it was basically The Donna. Inside of this world it seemed to be a common skill among the best of the best secretaries, and was shown for 4 characters.
Donna, Grecthen, Amy and Dr Agard.
As for my third skill…well that was one I tend to not use. Passive persuasion…it made people instinctively trust and listen to me when I said something.
Back in Harvard I used to use it on the Jury during Mock Trials…and sometimes even on professors. It was something that made me a killer of a litigator, if I ever got the chance to show it off properly…
But each of my skills had their own downsides, yet that was for another day.
Jessica shifted her line of questioning.
"I did some research about you," she said.
"I would be surprised if you didn't," I responded.
"I hope you don't mind my personal question," she continued, "but I see that when you were 18, you moved away from your family. Never moved back. Why is that?"
It was personal, undeniably so, but I found that I did not resent it. In fact, I welcomed it, because I could see why she was asking…her face told me an entire story, afterall. This was not curiosity for curiosity's sake, but evaluation, the same kind she had once applied to Harvey Specter, not identical, but close enough to recognize.
She wanted to know where I stood.
Whether I would stand with her, or against her, when the lines inevitably blurred.
So I decided to be honest.
"I didn't have the best upbringing," I said calmly. "It was mediocre, I would say. My parents fought all the time, but they tried to convince us that it was normal household conditions. Coming from a half-Asian, half-white household, I guess that was expected."
I continued without embellishment.
"My brother was able to escape. He left for London when he was young. But I was stuck. So I decided I was going to move as soon as possible. This doesn't mean that I don't value family or loyalty. But it means that above all else, I look out for how I will be able to perform in this world. My family, in my opinion, weren't the kind of people who would bring out the brightest potential in me. So I thought a change was in order."
I let the words sit between us, unpolished and complete, knowing that whatever she decided next would not be based on sentiment, but on alignment.
And that was exactly what I was waiting for.
"Alright then," she said, and I could tell from the way her posture eased slightly that my answer had landed the way it needed to.
She did not fully align with my values, not completely, not in the way people who shared backgrounds or instincts sometimes did, but she respected the fact that I had chosen myself over a situation I recognized as corrosive, and in her world, respect mattered more than agreement. She leaned back just enough to signal that the evaluation had shifted into something closer to mutual disclosure, and then she shared a little about herself.
"My situation could be said to be fairly similar. I had an extremely strict upbringing, so I know how it's like to want to prioritize yourself. I'm glad that I was able to end up seeing a successful young man though."
I smiled at that, genuinely, not because the praise mattered, but because she was offering a sliver of personal context without being prompted, something she did not do lightly. I already knew her story, every pivotal moment, every compromise and every hard-earned victory.
She smiled again, then said, "Level with me."
I nodded.
"How long do you think before your firm makes you a partner?"
I thought about it for a moment, and decided to be honest.
"From what I hear, the firm takes tradition very seriously," I said evenly. "They already broke it by making me the youngest Senior Associate ever. Usually it takes five years at the minimum, I became one in four, at the young age of twenty-seven. But from what I hear, they don't intend to make me a partner for at least another three to four years."
It was not a good negotiation tactic, not on paper, not in any playbook I had ever read, because exaggeration would have strengthened my leverage, and claiming an imminent promotion might have forced her hand. But from the way Jessica Pearson observed people, from the way her questions were framed and timed, I knew that honesty was the sharper tool here.
She seemed satisfied, not surprised, and from the subtle shift in her expression, I could tell she had already verified most of what I said independently, understood the internal politics of RKZ, and knew exactly how long someone like me would realistically be kept waiting.
Then she said it.
"Come to Pearson Hardman, and I guarantee, within six months, maybe a year, you will be a Junior partner."
I felt the satisfaction settle in quietly, because I understood what that promise really meant. Six months if I proved myself beyond doubt, a year if I merely confirmed her expectations, and nothing at all if I failed to justify the gamble. It was not generosity, it was a challenge, and one I was more than willing to accept.
I would still be the youngest partner in Pearson Hardman history.
That alone was worth the move.
"We can get to salary negotiations later," she said, raising her wine glass slightly. "How about now a toast to a future Junior Partner at Pearson Hardman."
I mirrored the gesture without hesitation. "To Pearson Hardman."
The glass met mine softly, the sound understated but decisive, and as I leaned back in my chair, I knew this was not a leap of faith, but a calculated step forward, one more alignment between preparation and opportunity.
This was another step in the right direction in my life.