Chapter 50: The Mike Conversation
SCOTT RODEN
The bar was one of those deliberately generic places near courthouses everywhere—dark wood, brass fixtures, the smell of beer and fried food. Lawyers from every firm in Manhattan came here after hearings, neutral ground where opposing counsel could drink without their partners knowing.
Mike was already there, corner booth, two beers on the table.
"Wasn't sure what you drink," he said as I slid in across from him. "Figured beer was safe."
"Beer's fine."
We sat in awkward silence for thirty seconds. He picked at the label on his bottle. I took a long drink, let him work up to whatever he wanted to say.
"I thought you'd be easier," Mike said finally. "Harvey told me you were good but not great. That you'd gotten lucky beating me in the Kerrigan case. That you'd probably phone it in at a satellite firm."
"And now?"
"Now I think Harvey was wrong." Mike met my eyes. "Your discovery motion was better than anything I've filed. Your timeline presentation was airtight. Your case law was current. You beat me because you were better prepared and smarter about it."
I studied him. No defensive posture, no hidden agenda. Just genuine acknowledgment.
"You're good, Mike," I said. "Your response brief was solid. Technical, well-argued. You just got stuck with Harvey's strategy instead of trusting your own judgment."
Mike's expression shifted—surprise mixed with something else. "You actually mean that."
"Why wouldn't I?"
"Because I lost. Because you won. Most lawyers in your position would gloat or at least not compliment the losing side."
"Most lawyers are insecure." I took another drink. "You filed a competent defense brief. I filed a better offense brief. That's not about you being bad—that's about me being thorough. Learn from it, do better next time."
Mike laughed, short and genuine. "Harvey would never say something like that. He'd tell me I lost because I wasn't thinking like him."
"Harvey's brilliant but he has one major flaw."
"What's that?"
"He thinks there's only one way to be good at this job—his way. So he misses other kinds of excellence." I gestured at Mike. "You're not Harvey Specter. Trying to become him means losing what makes you good."
Mike was quiet, processing that. The bar noise filled the silence—conversations, laughter, the clink of glasses.
"Why did you leave Pearson Hardman?" he asked finally.
"Jessica forced me out. Harvey made my position untenable. They didn't like that I built client relationships independent of partner supervision."
"That's what associates are supposed to do."
"That's what they say. But they mean build relationships that serve the firm, not yourself. I built relationships that would follow me anywhere." I met his eyes. "That made me dangerous. So they eliminated the danger."
"By firing you."
"By offering severance and a neutral reference in exchange for my resignation. Cleaner that way."
Mike shifted uncomfortably. "That's... harsh."
"That's corporate law. You're useful until you're threatening. Then you're gone."
"Is that why you joined Hardman's firm? Revenge?"
I thought about how to answer that honestly. The System ran probability calculations about what Mike would believe, but I dismissed them. This conversation felt too genuine for tactics.
"Partly," I admitted. "Hardman offered me a path forward when no one else would. He's also using me as a weapon against Pearson Hardman. I'm aware of that. But I'm using him too—for cases, experience, advancement opportunities I wouldn't get elsewhere."
"Sounds complicated."
"Most things worth doing are."
[ **Blackmail Archive: Updating Profile** ]
Mike Ross - Additional Observations Genuine character traits: Values honesty, struggles with confidence, seeks validation Professional qualities: Brilliant legal mind, thorough researcher, emotional advocate Current limitations: Harvey's mentorship style, imposter syndrome from secret Threat assessment: High competence if properly directed Note: Likeable despite fraud foundation
The System cataloged it all while I watched Mike. He was good company—smart, self-aware, willing to acknowledge mistakes. Under different circumstances, we might have been friends.
Except for the secret neither of us could talk about. Him because he didn't know I knew. Me because the System prevented me from exposing it.
"Can I ask you something?" Mike said.
"Sure."
"Do you like working for Hardman? Honestly?"
I considered that. "Hardman's transparent about what he wants—to hurt Pearson Hardman. That's almost refreshing after Jessica's corporate manipulation. But he's also building a firm on revenge instead of principles. That's unstable long-term."
"So you're planning to leave."
"Eventually. When I've built enough reputation and client relationships to be portable. Probably two years."
Mike smiled. "You've already thought it through."
"I always think it through."
"That's the difference between us. You calculate everything. I feel everything."
"Both approaches work. They're just different." I finished my beer. "Harvey dismisses calculation because he relies on instinct. But instinct without preparation is just arrogance. You've got the emotional intelligence—add the preparation and you'd be formidable."
"Harvey says preparation is for people without natural talent."
"Harvey's wrong about a lot of things."
Mike laughed at that, genuine and loud. A few nearby lawyers glanced over. He lowered his voice. "I can't believe you just said that."
"It's true. Harvey's brilliant, but brilliance without self-awareness is a liability. He dismissed me because I didn't fit his model of what an associate should be. Cost him a good lawyer and earned him a competent opponent."
"You really think that bothers him?"
"I think today was the first time Harvey Specter realized I'm not going away. Yeah, that bothers him."
We ordered another round. The conversation drifted to normal things—law school stories (Mike pivoted smoothly away from details, I noted), difficult clients, the particular insanity of Manhattan rent. Easy conversation between two people who understood the same professional pressures.
But underneath, I couldn't stop thinking about the fundamental wrongness of it. Mike was brilliant—genuinely brilliant. His photographic memory meant he could recall case law instantly, see patterns in documents, connect precedents faster than most lawyers with decades of experience.
He'd be an incredible lawyer if he'd actually gone to law school.
Instead, he was a fraud. A well-meaning, client-serving, professionally competent fraud. But still a fraud.
And I could never use that knowledge without destroying my own credentials in the process.
[ **System Reminder: Active Restriction** ]
Mike Ross Fraud Knowledge: Restricted Direct exposure attempt = Retroactive credential nullification Observation permitted. Action prohibited.
I dismissed the notification with a mental gesture Mike couldn't see. He was talking about a case he'd worked on involving contract interpretation, explaining how he'd found an obscure precedent that won it.
"How'd you find that case?" I asked. "It's not commonly cited."
"I read a lot. Like, everything." He shrugged. "I remember everything I read, so I just... accumulate knowledge."
Photographic memory. The reason Harvey had hired him despite the fraud. The reason he could survive as a fake lawyer—he'd memorized enough real law to pass.
"That's a hell of an advantage," I said.
"Sometimes. Other times it's overwhelming. Can't forget anything, including mistakes."
"Must make it hard to move past losses."
"Yeah." He looked down at his beer. "The Kessler case is going to bother me for a while. I should have caught that Marshall precedent. Should have anticipated your arguments better. Should have trusted my research over Harvey's instincts."
"Learn from it. That's all you can do."
We finished our second round. Mike insisted on paying—"You won, least I can do"—and we walked out into the cool evening.
"Thanks for this," Mike said. "I know we're technically opponents, but... it's nice to talk to someone who gets it. The pressure, the expectations, the constant feeling that you're one mistake away from losing everything."
That last part made me look at him sharply. He wasn't talking about normal associate anxiety. That was specific fear—the fear of exposure.
"You're better than you think," I said. "Trust yourself more."
"Harvey says—"
"Harvey says a lot of things. Doesn't make them all true."
We parted ways on the street—him toward the subway, me in the opposite direction toward my apartment. I walked slowly, thinking about the conversation, the contradictions, the system's restriction.
Mike Ross was a good person doing good work built on a terrible lie. He cared about clients, worked his ass off, and tried to do right by everyone around him. In a different universe, without the fraud, he'd probably be one of the best lawyers in New York.
But in this universe, he was a time bomb. Eventually, someone would discover the truth. Eventually, the whole thing would explode. And when it did, everyone connected to him—Harvey, Jessica, the firm—would suffer.
Unless I could somehow prevent it without exposing it.
The System offered no solutions. Just continued cataloging information I couldn't use.
My phone buzzed. Text from Donna: How was drinks with Mike?
Good. He's genuine. Bit too much hero worship of Harvey, but genuine.
That's Mike. Heart on his sleeve, brain in his photographic memory, secret in his past.
I stopped walking, staring at that message. Secret in his past. Donna knew. Of course she knew—she knew everything at Pearson Hardman. Which meant she was complicit in keeping the secret too.
Everyone has secrets, I typed back.
True. But some secrets are more dangerous than others. Be careful which ones you keep.
Always am.
I pocketed the phone and kept walking. Donna's warning was clear: she knew I knew about Mike, and she was telling me to leave it alone. Whether for Mike's protection or her own, I wasn't sure.
Didn't matter. The System's restriction meant I couldn't act on it anyway.
But I could watch. Could prepare for the eventual explosion. Could maybe position myself to help when it happened—or at least stay clear of the blast radius.
[ **Blackmail Archive: Entry Updated** ]
Mike Ross - Comprehensive Assessment Strengths: Photographic memory, genuine empathy, strong work ethic, client focus Weaknesses: Insecurity, Harvey dependency, fundamental fraud vulnerability Threat Level: Minimal (unless provoked), High (when secret exposed) Personal Assessment: Worthy opponent, decent person, tragic trajectory Action: Monitor. Prepare. Do not engage with fraud directly.
The System's summary was accurate but cold. Mike wasn't just a data point—he was a person. Flawed, complicated, trying his best with the cards he'd been dealt.
Just like everyone else.
I got home, poured a drink, sat on my couch looking out at the city lights. Somewhere out there, Mike was probably reviewing the Kessler case, looking for what he'd missed. Harvey was probably planning his next move against Hardman's firm. Jessica was probably calculating firm politics. Donna was probably managing everyone's drama while maintaining her own secrets.
And I was here, knowing things I couldn't act on, building a career on competence while surrounded by people building theirs on secrets and lies.
The System hummed quietly in the background, organizing information, running probability models. But it couldn't solve the fundamental problem: I was bound by rules that everyone else seemed free to ignore.
Harvey had hired a fraud. Jessica was covering for it. Donna was complicit. And I was the only one who couldn't do anything about it.
My phone buzzed one more time. Text from Mike: Thanks again for tonight. Made me feel less alone in this.
I stared at that message for a long time before responding.
Anytime. We're all fighting our own battles.
Yeah. Some battles just feel more impossible than others.
I didn't ask what he meant. I already knew.
The fraud was eating at him. The constant pretense, the fear of exposure, the knowledge that everything he'd built could collapse at any moment. That was its own kind of prison.
And I couldn't help him escape it.
I set the phone down and finished my drink. Outside my window, Manhattan continued its endless dance of ambition and deception, success and secrets, winners and losers all pretending they belonged.
I'd won today. Beat Harvey, settled the case, proved my worth.
But sitting alone in my apartment, knowing what I knew about Mike Ross and being powerless to do anything about it, it didn't feel like much of a victory.
Just another day in the particular hell of knowing too much and being able to do too little.
The System offered no comfort. Just continued running its calculations, preparing for battles I could fight while ignoring the ones I couldn't.
I went to bed and tried not to think about Mike Ross's inevitable downfall and whether I'd be collateral damage when it happened.
Tomorrow, I'd go back to work. Build cases, serve clients, advance my career.
Tonight, I'd just live with the contradictions.
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