Marcus arrived at Conference Room A at 7:50 AM, deliberately early but not so early that it looked like he was nervous. Harvey and Mike were already there, which didn't surprise him. Harvey struck him as the type who would show up first to any meeting to establish dominance.
"Marcus," Harvey said, not looking up from the documents spread across the conference table. "Punctual as always."
"Louis is running two minutes late," Marcus said, setting down his briefcase. "Client call that went long."
"Of course he is." Harvey finally looked up, and there was something predatory in his smile. "Mike, coffee?"
Mike stood and walked to the coffee station in the corner, and Marcus noticed the slight tension in his shoulders. Whatever Harvey had him doing, whether it was researching Marcus's background or preparing for the Morrison case, it was taking a toll.
"So," Harvey said, leaning back in his chair with studied casualness. "Hexagon Energy. Interesting client to defend."
"Interesting case to prosecute," Marcus countered, sitting down across from him. "Fifteen million is a lot to ask for when your client has been consistently breaching delivery terms for eighteen months."
Harvey's smile didn't waver, but something flickered in his eyes. "You think you can prove material breach based on late deliveries?"
"I don't think. I know." Marcus pulled out his tablet and slid it across the table. "Morrison Steel has delivered late on sixty-three percent of their shipments over the past eighteen months. Average delay: twelve days. Cumulative cost to Hexagon: approximately eight million in lost production time."
Harvey picked up the tablet and scanned the data. Mike returned with coffee and looked over Harvey's shoulder, his expression shifting from curious to concerned.
"This is preliminary," Harvey said, setting the tablet down. "You don't have Morrison's internal shipping records. You're extrapolating from Hexagon's receiving logs."
"Which are admissible as business records," Marcus said. "And which shows a clear pattern of breach. Unless Morrison can prove circumstances beyond their control caused these delays—force majeure, Acts of God, supply chain disruptions—they're liable for material breach."
"We'll argue good faith performance," Harvey said. "Steel manufacturing has inherent uncertainties. Slight delays don't constitute a material breach when Morrison was delivering quality product within a reasonable timeframe."
"Define 'reasonable,'" Marcus challenged. "Because the industry standard is six to eight weeks. Morrison was consistently taking ten to twelve. That's not a slight delay; that's a pattern of failure to perform."
The door opened, and Louis walked in, looking harried and apologetic.
"Sorry, sorry," Louis said, setting down his briefcase. "Client emergency. Where are we?"
"Harvey was just explaining why he thinks consistent late performance doesn't constitute material breach," Marcus said without breaking eye contact with Harvey.
Louis caught on immediately and sat down beside Marcus. "And what did you tell him?"
"That the law disagrees with him."
Harvey's smile became sharper. "Marcus, you have a lot of confidence for someone who's never actually tried a case."
There it was—the opening salvo.
"You're right," Marcus said calmly. "I've never tried a case. But I've read every case that matters. I've memorized every relevant precedent. And I've already mapped out how this trial will play out in front of Judge Sanchez, who has a well-documented history of ruling in favor of strict contractual performance."
"Judge Sanchez?" Mike said, surprised. "We haven't even filed motions yet. How do you know who's presiding?"
Marcus didn't answer, just held Harvey's gaze.
The truth was his perfect recall had let him review the court's scheduling system and determine which judge would most likely be assigned based on docket rotation and case type. But he wasn't about to explain that.
"Lucky guess," Marcus said finally.
FALSE. The lie registered in his own mind, but no one else could know that.
Harvey stood, buttoning his suit jacket. "Here's how this is going to work. We're both going to prepare our cases. We're both going to file our motions. And in three weeks, we're going to stand in front of a judge and see whose argument is stronger. May the best lawyer win."
"I intend to," Marcus said, standing as well.
They shook hands, and Marcus felt the pressure of Harvey's grip—not quite aggressive, but definitely making a point.
As Harvey and Mike left, Louis let out a long breath.
"That was intense," Louis said.
"That was foreplay," Marcus corrected. "The real fight starts when we file our motion for summary judgment."
"Can we win on summary judgment?"
"We can," Marcus said. "But Harvey will oppose it, and it'll come down to Judge Sanchez's interpretation of material breach. If we're lucky, we get a favorable ruling, and the case settles. If we're not, we go to trial."
Louis loosened his tie slightly. "And if we go to trial against Harvey Specter?"
"Then we beat Harvey Specter," Marcus said. "Louis, you need to stop being afraid of him. He's good, but he's not unbeatable. He has weaknesses like anyone else."
"What weaknesses?"
Marcus thought about what he'd observed over the past two days. Harvey's ego, his need to be the most intelligent person in the room, and his tendency to underestimate opponents who didn't come from Harvard.
"He thinks he's already won," Marcus said. "That's his weakness. He's so confident in his own abilities that he doesn't prepare for the possibility that someone might actually outwork him."
"And you're going to outwork Harvey Specter?"
"I already am." Marcus gathered his materials. "I need access to Hexagon's full contract history with Morrison. Every amendment, every side letter, every email exchange. If there's language we can use to support our material breach argument, I'll find it."
"I'll have it sent to you by noon," Louis said. Then he hesitated. "Marcus, can I ask you something?"
"Of course."
"Why are you so confident? I mean, I appreciate it, but most associates would be terrified of going up against Harvey on their first case."
"Because I know something Harvey doesn't," Marcus said.
"What's that?"
"That the law doesn't care about reputation. It cares about facts, precedent, and who makes the better argument. Harvey's used to winning because people are intimidated before they even start. I'm not intimidated. That makes me different."
Louis smiled, and for the first time since Marcus had met him, he looked genuinely confident. "Good. Because I'm betting my reputation on you."
"Then let's make sure it's a bet worth making."
By 2 PM, Marcus had reviewed the entire contract history between Hexagon and Morrison. Seventeen amendments over five years, dozens of side letters, hundreds of email exchanges. His mind catalogued every detail, cross-referenced every clause, and identified every potential avenue of attack and defense.
And then he found it.
Buried in a side letter from three years ago, there was language about "timely delivery being of the essence" in the context of a specific rush order. Morrison had agreed that any delay in that shipment would constitute a material breach.
The language had never been removed or superseded. Which meant it could arguably apply to the entire ongoing contract relationship.
It was a thin argument, but it was something. And more importantly, it was something Harvey probably hadn't found because it was buried in old correspondence that most lawyers wouldn't bother reviewing.
Marcus was drafting the motion when his phone rang. Rachel Zane again.
"Ms. Zane," Marcus answered. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"
"I'm calling because Mike found something," Rachel said quietly. "In your background check."
Marcus felt a cold spike of adrenaline. "What did he find?"
"Your academic records show a gap year between undergrad and law school. Mike's trying to track down what you did during that year."
Marcus relaxed slightly. The gap year was real; he'd spent it working as a paralegal at a small firm in Boston while studying for the LSAT. Nothing was damaging there.
"There's nothing to find," Marcus said. "I worked as a paralegal. It's on my résumé."
"I know," Rachel said. "But Mike's being thorough. He's calling your former employer, checking references, looking for anything that doesn't add up."
"Why are you warning me again?" Marcus asked. "This has to be putting you at risk."
There was a long pause.
"Because I don't like watching Harvey bully people," Rachel said finally. "He's brilliant, and I respect him, but sometimes he takes things too far. You beat him fair and square on the Rayburn case. This vendetta isn't professional, it's personal."
"I appreciate the heads up," Marcus said. "But Rachel, if Harvey finds out you're helping me—"
"He won't," Rachel interrupted. "Just... be careful. Harvey doesn't forget, and he doesn't forgive."
She hung up before Marcus could respond.
Marcus sat back in his chair, processing. Mike was digging into his background, which was expected. But Rachel's repeated warnings suggested there was something more going on—internal politics, maybe, or a schism in Harvey's camp.
Either way, it was information worth having.
His phone buzzed with a text from an unknown number:
We need to talk. In person. Tonight. 8 PM. Bar on 52nd and Lex. Come alone. - M.R.
Mike wanted to meet. Privately.
This was either a trap or an opportunity. Marcus weighed his options for approximately three seconds before typing back:
See you there.
The bar on 52nd and Lexington was the kind of place where lawyers went to drink away bad depositions and failed negotiations. Dimly lit, expensive whiskey, and enough ambient noise that conversations stayed private.
Mike was already there when Marcus arrived, sitting in a corner booth with two glasses of scotch on the table.
"You're early," Marcus said, sliding into the booth.
"So are you." Mike pushed one of the glasses toward Marcus. "Macallan 18. Figured if we're going to have this conversation, we might as well do it right."
Marcus took a sip. It was excellent. "What conversation is that?"
Mike leaned forward, his voice low. "The one where we stop pretending we're just following our bosses' orders and start being honest about what's really going on here."
"I'm listening."
"Harvey is obsessed with beating you," Mike said bluntly. "Not just winning the Morrison case—beating you. Proving you're not as good as you think you are. He's got me researching your background, looking for weaknesses, trying to find anything he can use against you."
"And?" Marcus asked. "Did you find anything?"
"No." Mike took a drink. "Your record is spotless. Top of your class at Harvard, stellar references, clean background. There's nothing there."
"Then why are we having this conversation?"
Mike set down his glass. "Because I think we're both playing the wrong game."
Marcus raised an eyebrow. "Explain."
"Harvey and Louis hate each other. They've been competing for years, and now they're using us to fight their proxy war. You and I are both talented, both ambitious, both trying to prove ourselves. But instead of actually building our careers, we're spending all our time trying to destroy each other because that's what our bosses want."
"And you think there's a better way?" Marcus asked, genuinely curious.
"I think there could be," Mike said carefully. "What if instead of being enemies, we were... strategic allies?"
Marcus laughed. "You want to team up? Against Harvey and Louis?"
"Not against them," Mike corrected. "Just... independent of them. Look, I've been here two weeks, and I'm already exhausted. Harvey has me working eighteen-hour days, competing with you, proving myself constantly. And from what I can see, Louis is doing the same thing to you."
"I don't mind the work," Marcus said.
"That's not the point." Mike leaned back. "The point is that Harvey and Louis are using us. They get the credit when we win, and we get the blame when we lose. That's not a partnership, that's exploitation."
Marcus studied Mike across the table. The other associate was smart; that much was clear. But there was something else driving this conversation, something beneath the surface.
"What's your real angle here, Mike?" Marcus asked. "Because this sounds great in theory, but in practice, you and I are competing for the same cases, the same promotions, the same reputation. Why would you want to help me?"
Mike hesitated, and in that moment, Marcus saw it, the fear hiding behind the bravado.
"Because I can't beat you," Mike said quietly. "Not the way you work. You're faster than me, more thorough, more confident. If we keep competing head-to-head, you're going to win. And I..." He trailed off.
"You what?"
"I can't afford to lose," Mike finished. "I need this job. I need to succeed here. And if that means swallowing my pride and suggesting we work together instead of against each other, then that's what I'll do."
Marcus took another sip of his scotch, considering. Mike's fear was palpable, and his lie detection was picking up something underneath it—something Mike wasn't saying.
"You're lying," Marcus said calmly. "Not about wanting to work together. But about why."
Mike's expression froze. "What?"
"You said you can't afford to lose, but that's not the whole truth. There's something else. Something you're not telling me."
"I don't know what you're talking about," Mike said, but his voice was strained.
FALSE.
Marcus leaned forward. "Mike, I'm going to be honest with you. I can tell when people are lying to me. It's a skill I've developed, and I'm very good at it. So when I say you're hiding something, I'm not guessing. I know."
The color drained from Mike's face. "You're bluffing."
"Am I?" Marcus held his gaze. "Let me test it. You went to Harvard Law. True or false?"
Mike's jaw tightened. "True."
FALSE.
Marcus smiled. "See, now I know you're definitely lying. You didn't go to Harvard, did you?"
The silence that followed was deafening.
Mike looked like he might run, might deny it, might do anything except admit the truth. But then his shoulders sagged, and something in his expression broke.
"How did you know?" Mike asked quietly.
"Because I'm observant," Marcus said. "And because someone who actually went to Harvard wouldn't hesitate when asked about it. You hesitated. That tells me everything I need to know."
Mike ran a hand through his hair, looking defeated. "Are you going to tell Harvey?"
"That depends."
"On what?"
"On whether you're actually proposing something useful or if this is just you trying to protect your secret." Marcus finished his scotch. "You said you wanted to be strategic allies. What does that actually mean?"
Mike took a shaky breath. "It means we help each other. You're better at research and strategy. I'm better at thinking on my feet and reading people. Together, we could be unstoppable."
"And in return, I don't expose your fraud?"
"It's not fraud," Mike said defensively. "I didn't lie about being able to do the work. I can do the work. Better than most Harvard graduates, actually. I just... didn't go through the traditional path."
"You mean you didn't go to law school at all?" Marcus said.
Mike didn't respond, which was answer enough.
Marcus sat back, processing this. Mike Ross had somehow gotten hired at one of the most prestigious law firms in New York without a law degree. That took either incredible luck, incredible deception, or both.
"Harvey knows, doesn't he?" Marcus asked.
"Yes," Mike admitted. "He hired me anyway because I'm good at what I do."
"And if anyone else finds out?"
"I get disbarred. Harvey gets disbarred. The firm faces sanctions. Everyone loses."
Marcus considered his options. He could expose Mike, destroy Harvey's credibility, and eliminate his main competition in one move. It would be devastatingly effective.
But it would also be short-sighted.
Mike Ross, despite lacking a formal degree, was clearly talented. And having leverage over both Mike and Harvey could be far more valuable in the long term than destroying them.
"Here's my counteroffer," Marcus said. "We're not allies. We're competitors. But we're intelligent competitors. No sabotage, no dirty tricks, no using personal information against each other. We compete on merit, and may the best lawyer win."
"And my secret?" Mike asked.
"Stays secret. As long as you don't give me a reason to use it." Marcus stood, dropping cash on the table for the drinks. "But Mike? If you ever come after me personally—if you ever try to damage my career instead of just beating me professionally—I won't hesitate to burn your whole world down. Are we clear?"
Mike nodded slowly. "Crystal."
"Good." Marcus buttoned his jacket. "Now go back to Harvey and tell him you didn't find anything useful in my background. Because you didn't."
"And the Morrison case?"
"I'm going to win it," Marcus said. "But I'll win it fair. That's more than you can say for most people in this firm."
He walked out of the bar into the cool Manhattan evening, his mind already moving ahead. He had leverage over Mike Ross and, by extension, Harvey Specter. That was valuable. But more importantly, he'd established a line with Mike, compete hard, but compete clean.
In a firm full of sharks, Marcus was either honorable or naïve.
He preferred to think of it as strategic.
His phone buzzed. A text from Louis:
Hexagon's CEO wants to meet tomorrow morning. 9 AM. He's nervous about going to trial against Morrison. We need to reassure him.
Marcus typed back:
I'll prepare talking points. We'll make him feel confident.
Another text came through, this one from an unknown number:
Interesting conversation you had with Mike. Hope you know what you're doing. - R.Z.
Rachel had been watching them. Or had someone been watching them? Either way, she was more connected than Marcus had realized.
He texted back:
I always know what I'm doing.
Whether that was true remained to be seen.
Marcus spent the rest of the evening preparing for the Hexagon meeting. Client management was as important as legal strategy, if not more so. If Hexagon lost confidence and settled with Morrison on unfavorable terms, the case was over before it started.
He drafted a presentation showing the strength of their material breach argument, the weakness of Morrison's defense, and the likely outcomes at trial. He included settlement scenarios, risk assessments, and a timeline showing how quickly they could resolve this.
By the time he finished, it was past midnight. But the presentation was flawless.
Marcus looked out his apartment window at the Manhattan skyline, thinking about everything that had happened in the past three days. He'd started at Pearson Hardman.
Most people would be overwhelmed.
Marcus felt alive.
Because this was what he'd been preparing for his entire life, the chance to prove he was the best, to compete against the best, to win against impossible odds.
Harvey had already proven himself. He was the best closer in New York, a junior partner at a major firm, someone with everything to lose.
Marcus had everything to prove and nothing to lose.
That made him dangerous.
And in three weeks, when they faced off in court over the Morrison case, the entire firm would see exactly how dangerous it was.
Marcus smiled and went to bed, already dreaming of victory.