The coffee machine was halfway through its scream when the phone rang.
Not a polite ring.Not the gentle buzz people pretend to miss.
This one cut through the apartment like it knew something Miguel didn't yet.
He stared at it for a second too long. The display glowed white against the dark kitchen. Unknown number. Always is.
"Yeah," he said, voice rough, thumb already rubbing the rim of his mug.
There was breathing on the other end. Controlled. Professional. The kind that waits for permission.
"Mr. Delgado? This is Detective Harris, NYPD. Are you sitting down?"
Miguel laughed once. Short. Dry."Depends. You planning to sell me something?"
Silence. Then—
"Your senior partner, Alan Cho, was found dead outside the courthouse last night."
The coffee machine clicked. Steam hissed. The mug overflowed and spilled across the counter, hot and careless.
Miguel didn't move.
"How?" he asked.
Pause. Papers shifting."Gunshot wound. Close range. Head."
Miguel's fingers tightened around the mug until heat bit back. He welcomed it. Let it burn.
"When?"
"After hours. Around eleven."
Eleven.Alan always stayed late. Always said the building was quieter when everyone else went home. Less noise. Less bullshit.
Miguel swallowed. His throat felt packed with cotton.
"Was it a robbery?"
"No wallet missing. No phone. Clean scene."
Clean. That word again. Cops loved it.
Miguel looked toward the hallway. The bedroom door was half open. Sofia was still asleep. He could hear her breathing. Slow. Safe. For now.
"I'll be there," he said.
"Mr. Delgado—"
"I said I'll be there."
He hung up before the detective could finish pretending to care.
....
The courthouse looked wrong at dawn.
Too calm. Too neat.
Yellow tape cut across the steps like a bad joke. A few reporters hovered near the barricade, clutching coffee cups and rehearsing concern. A camera guy yawned. No one cried yet. That would come later. When the microphones were on.
Miguel ducked under the tape. A uniform tried to stop him.
"I work here," Miguel said, flashing his bar card without slowing.
The uniform hesitated. Then stepped aside.
Good. Still had some weight.
The blood was already gone. Pressure-washed off the stone like it never mattered. Only a dark stain remained near the third step. Easy to miss if you weren't looking for it.
Miguel stared at it anyway.
Alan had stood here a thousand times. Complaining about judges. About clients. About how the law only worked if you leaned on it hard enough.
Now it leaned back.
A detective approached. Mid-forties. Tired eyes. Coffee breath.
"You Delgado?"
Miguel nodded.
"Did you know the victim had enemies?"
Miguel almost smiled.
"He was a lawyer," he said. "Pick a number."
The detective didn't laugh.
They walked him through the timeline. Security cameras malfunctioning. No witnesses willing to talk. A bullet recovered but already bagged, labeled, shelved.
Efficient. Too efficient.
Miguel's jaw tightened.
"Who was he defending?" Miguel asked.
The detective checked his notes."City councilwoman. Janice Lee. Arraignment was supposed to be next week."
Miguel stopped walking.
"Lee?" he said.
The detective glanced up. "You know her?"
Miguel nodded slowly.
Alan had argued about that case three nights ago. Said it was "political." Said someone wanted it dead before it went to trial.
Miguel had told him to be careful.
Alan had smiled. That calm, infuriating smile.Relax. I've survived worse.
Miguel looked back at the courthouse doors. Glass. Steel. Flags hanging limp in the morning air.
"Detective," Miguel said quietly, "who benefits from Alan Cho being dead?"
The detective studied him for a moment.
Then he said, "That's what we're trying to find out."
Bullshit.
Miguel felt it settle in his chest, heavy and certain.
Alan wasn't killed by chance.He wasn't in the wrong place.
He was exactly where someone needed him to stop breathing.
Miguel turned toward the steps again. Toward the stain everyone else pretended not to see.
Behind him, the city woke up.Cars. Sirens. Voices.
None of it slowed.
And that was the problem.