Vance - 4.1

In the weeks that followed the devastation in the courthouse, I visited Mister Pembrose regularly as he lay recovering in Bluff General Hospital. Tragically, a small, sharp piece of glass pierced Jessica's skin. During the chaos the shard wiggled deeper and lodged itself into her intestines. leading to sepsis during her ambulance ride. Unfortunately, the doctors failed to manage to keep the infection from claiming her life.

At first, Mister Pembrose's condition was precarious. Found unconscious in the subway after the incident, doctors speculated that a combination of the explosion, the manipulated gravity, or perhaps the fall might have contributed to his state. They diagnosed him with multiple stress fractures, severe bruising, a dislocated right shoulder, and mild internal bleeding. But unfortunately a subdural hematoma in his brain was most alarming, necessitating medication that kept him in an artificially induced coma to mitigate potential brain damage.

Surprisingly, no one else from our firm stopped by the hospital to visit with Pembrose on his potential death bed. Each day after work, I walked to the hospital, spending hours in his ICU room. Occasionally, a few of his old friends—men from Michael's past—would drop by to leave a card, but they never returned. Despite only knowing him professionally, Michael Pembrose always occupied a large place in my mind as a figure of immense respect and inspiration. He is my hero.

Back at the office, the atmosphere was fraught with tension and overwork due to his absence. Clara, stepping in as interim chief, was barely keeping the threads of the company together. The stress only grew more intense when we received news that Lafayette would be visiting our branch.

"In light of Mister Lafayette's impending visit and the concerns from our board regarding the stability of our branch during Mister Pembrose's incapacitation, we need to divide our efforts," Clara announced at a hastily called meeting. "I propose two teams: one to manage our current caseload and another to prepare for Mister Lafayette's arrival. I'll need Vance, Henry, Jules, and Anthony to assist with the latter."

After the meeting dispersed, Clara pulled us back into the conference room. "Henry and Anthony, I need you to embody the excellence that Pembrose & Lafayette are known for. Vance, you represent the best of our new generation, those who studied our founders in law school. And Jules, please organize a special reception for Lafayette; you know best how to appeal to our visitor from Space City. Tonight, take care of yourselves. Trim your hair. Steam your suit. I want everyone dressed their bests 6:00 a.m. sharp."

The bell above the door chimed as I entered "Trimmed Traditions," greeted by the familiar blend of shaving cream and sandalwood. Sam spotted me entering, while he was behind another client, his hands moving with practiced ease.

"Vance, my friend, you're just in time to save me from this bore," Sam joked, gesturing to the chuckling customer in his chair.

"Hope you've got some excitement left for me then, Sam. I need a cut that screams 'my manager has trouble with crisis management'," I quipped, settling into the waiting area.

"Ten minutes, and I'll give you 'boardroom-ready' or 'bail hearing chic', whichever you need more," Sam shot back, his scissors flying through the air with precision.

When it was my turn, I sat down in the chair and spun once around, relishing the routine. "The former, Sam. There's a high-profile day ahead."

"As opposed to the low-profile life you lead?" Sam teased, trimming with an expert's touch. "I swear, Vance, one of these days your hair's going to turn white with the stunts you pull."

"Just as long as it's all there to turn white, I'm not complaining," I laughed, feeling more relaxed with each snip of Sam's scissors.

"Anything new since we last spoke?" Sam questioned. "Did you get that job you were up for?"

"I did. Thanks for asking." I continued after blowing hair trimmings off my nose. "That same day though I was hospitalized for a few days from the subway bombing." 

"Oh, damn. You okay?" Sam replied with a tone of genuine concern. 

"I am now. Doctor Walters said that I heal quicker than most." I responded as Sam finished up the line work, "How much do I owe, Sam?"

"Ten, like always." He replied.

I reached for my bifold and retrieved a crisp Jackson, "Thanks again Sam! Remember to call if those guys drop back in." I grabbed my blazer and headed for the door.

"Of course! Thanks for all the help with the already. Take care Vance." Sam waved goodbye, "Don't go and get hospitalized again."

"Sure thing," I added halfway over the threshold, "I am pretty resilient now."

About an hour later after a cab ride to my place and a jog a few block over, I pushed open the door to Jim's Boutique, my favorite tailor shop nestled in-between a bodega and a furniture store. Jim looked up from behind the counter, feeding fabric away to his sewing machine,. Jim split into a grin.

"Vance! What the hell happened to you?!" Jim greeted, eyeing the blazers in my hands.

"Explosion damage and bullet holes are in this season, Jim. Could you please patch it up before a board meeting?" I begged, handing over the beleaguered pieces.

Jim took the suit jackets, his fingers tracing the damage. "You know, I offer a frequent disaster discount. Should have told you sooner."

"Sign me up," I chuckled. "Need it by morning, Jim. You're a lifesaver."

"Only if you run and grab me some caffeine. I'll be up all night fixing the wardrobe for Bluff City's most daring legal eagle. It'll be ready—bullet holes are optional this time," Jim promised, already finding his fabrics.

I headed to the ICU to sit with Mister Pembrose, a routine that had become a grounding part of my daily life.

To my surprise, another man was already there, standing over Pembrose's bed. 

"Vance, I was hoping to catch you here," He said, his voice smooth, almost rehearsed. "I've been following your career with great interest. There's a project back home that could use someone with your unique capabilities."

His offer, though intriguing, came at a time when loyalty to Pembrose and the firm was paramount. 

"Thank you, but I must decline. My place is here, especially now," I responded, my decision firm.

"Ah! Pardon my rudeness. " The older gentleman turned, extending his hand. "I am Henry. Henry Lafayette. I would like to transfer you the the Space City branch. I believe someone with your talents could shine more brightly there."

"Again, thank you for the consideration; however, I am quite loyal to the bonds I have made here in Bluff City."

Lafayette nodded, seemingly expecting my response. "Very well, Vance. But the offer remains open." With that, he left mumbling some undiscernible words while walking out the door.

I sat with Michael for the next few hours until the sun hung low in the sky. That evening, as I walked home from the hospital, the night air felt cool. The refreshing temperature and rhythmic sounds of nightlife helped relax me on the way to the penthouse. I turned to cut through an alleyway conjoining two avenues. The buildings casted deep shadows leaving only the silhouettes of a dumpster and several empty boxes.

Two figures rounded the corner of the building on the far end of the alley. I glanced back, three more men stood behind me. As they drew closer, I managed to discern they were all wearing ski masks.

"Just give it up, real easy-like," one snarled, brandishing a knife.

"Fellas. Let's not do anything dangerous. I am positive everyone wants to go home. I am afraid I have already used all my cash today. Been pretty busy." I said as I raised my hands. 

The men stepped closer. only several yards away now. 

"Is that so? So much for a bonus. Boys!" The men lunged at me, knives out.

My adrenaline surged. My vision narrow. My breathing slowed. I caught the nearest assailant's arm and accidentally crushed his wrist. He recoiled from the pain and dropped his knife. 

The second guy stabbed for my shoulder, but I blocked the blade with my palm. I struck the inside of that man's arm, trying to knock away his knife. He screamed as his shoulder dislocated. It's hard to pull your punches when your blood is rushing. 

The three behind me tried to attack simultaneously, but I leaped above their heads, landing behind them. I grabbed a trash bag out of the dumpster and threw it at their backs. The garbage burst, spilling rotten fruit parts, use papers, and take-out containers all over them. The three turned back, disgusted with their new accessories.

"You." The middle one pulled a hand cannon out from within his pants. 

I wanted to turn and run.

"Slimy." He chambered a round.

His hands moved faster than my frozen feet.

"Mother-" He pulled the trigger.

I stared down the barrel, unable to move. Half from pure fear and half out of morbid curiosity. Heliox was bulletproof. Am I? 

The large caliber projectile seemed to leave spirals in the air as it barreled toward me. The round collided with my cheek, knocking my head to the side. I lost my balance and hit the ground. 

As they left, one of the injured ones mumbled, "I hope boss doesn't mind you dead. He didn't say you'd be that good."

Their words lingered in my mind as I watched them flee. Someone had sent them, someone who wanted to intimidate me, but clearly, they both picked bad henchmen and underestimated me.