When Sean returned to the drafty attic, the candle had burned down to half. He didn't take off the vest that had taken on the smell of tavern tobacco, but instead sat down at the desk he'd just cleared.
Though the daily grind and bathing left his long-neglected body feeling drained, his mind operated like a supercomputer running at full capacity, with every cog grinding frantically.
Two case files, two completely opposite logic of victory.
Sean spread out two smooth sheets of parchment, the quill pen making a faint hiss as it dipped into the inkwell. He had no intention of being a loyal defender— 'loyalty,' in Sean Woz's dictionary, was a variable that could fluctuate at any moment depending on the price tag.
On the left-hand page, he drafted the "Statement of Minehead Priority Based on the 1866 Federal Mining Act" for Smith. Exploiting errors in cadastral surveys, he skillfully designated the railway's proposed route as an "inviolable mineral improvement zone." Once this document was submitted, the railroad company would have to reroute its tracks three miles—a delay that could bankrupt Matthew.
On the right-hand page, he drafted the "Legal Notice on the Forced Expropriation of Public Transportation Encumbrances" for Matthew. Citing the federal government's pro-Western policies, he labeled Smith's mine entrance as "a malicious obstruction to national strategic infrastructure." Once enacted, this document would legally empower Matthew to carry explosives and blow up Smith's mine entrance.
Two daggers, two death sentences. It remains to be seen who will be willing to pay a high price for their own life.
Sean sneered, the quill's rustling in the dead of night sounded like Death sharpening his blade.
He worked tirelessly until the early hours of the morning. When the first light of dawn peeked through the window, he locked two crucial case files—those that could shape the town's fate—into separate folders. The relentless mental grind had drained him to the bone. Shawn slowly shuffled toward the creaking single bed, not even bothering to remove his shattered glasses, before sinking into a deep, dark slumber.
I don't know how long it has been.
A sudden, rhythmic knock at the door shattered Sean's dream of a Manhattan penthouse like a hammer.
"Jack, Jack! Get up quickly!"
Sean abruptly awoke, instinctively reaching for the smartphone on the bedside table, only to find the cold wooden frame. He rubbed his red-rimmed eyes and struggled to stand up, his drunkenness and sleep deprivation leaving him unsteady on his feet.
He pushed open the door, and the morning chill mingled with the fragrance of wildflowers, filling his face.
Lucy stood at the doorway, her expression unusually anxious today. Her originally fair face was flushed, and the hair on her temples, which had been running, now clung to her forehead. To her surprise, she was clutching a newspaper filled with the smell of ink in her hand.
"Lucy? What time is it now..." Sean's voice was hoarse, carrying the magnetic quality of someone still half-asleep.
"It's almost nine o'clock! Jack, look at this!" Lucy, disregarding the gender difference, barged into the room and slammed the newspaper onto Sean's file-stacked desk. Pointing to the front-page headline, she declared, "The county judge is due to arrive in town this noon! The sheriff warned that if no one can produce legal grounds to quell the fight between Smith and Matthew before noon, he'll send both ringleaders to state prison to work on the railroad!"
When Sean saw the word 'noon,' his eyes instantly turned from drowsy to icy clear.
"At noon?" he murmured, lips curling into a sinister smile. "It seems my two dossiers... will be auctioned off before they've even dried."
He turned to Lucy, his voice carrying a conviction that made the girl's heart race.
Lucy, go and borrow me a decent suit. If that's inconvenient, go to the barber's and get my old coat back from where I left it yesterday. This noon, I'll be the one to reinterpret the town's laws.