After the Divorce: Crushed on My Lawyer Ex-wife

#91 “I Want You to Do Some Research on the Sophia Case.”

Alexander returned to the hotel. Determined to untangle the web of deception, Alexander sought solace on the sofa, armed with a pen and a sheet of paper. He had decided to write down everything incriminating about Sophia on a sheet of paper. This simple act, a cathartic release, was a technique he had honed over the years.

The television droned on, broadcasting the latest developments in Sophia’s case. Alexander, immersed in his thoughts, meticulously scrutinized the charge sheet. He unreservedly believed that Sophia was telling the truth, he had seen it in her eyes as they sat in the apartment that was supposed to be her grandfather’s. Sophia couldn’t have lied to him, which made him think Cassie was the one not telling the truth.

As he chewed on the end of the pen, Alexander couldn’t shake the suspicion that Cassie, the girlfriend of the deceased, held the key to the truth. It was suspicious to Alexander that the deceased had notified his girlfriend in advance of a threat.

He thought it was over-planned, meaning he expected the worst. The man had shown a photo of Sophia, a photo that had so fittingly ended up in the police the other day. Every piece of evidence was so neat that it was impossible.

There are thousands of criminal cases in which years go by without finding a perpetrator or solid evidence, and there are thousands of perfectly stacked evidence against Sophia.

Alexander thought it was comical. Even if she imagined a sleazy lawyer like Sophia Johnson was involved in drug dealings, why would she be so careless in her work? Why would she go out on her own to make a drug deal when the risk is so great?

The risks involved, the sheer impracticality of her engaging in such a venture with her financial means, baffled him. It wouldn’t make sense for a petite woman like her to do such a dirty job as handling a drug selling herself. She would hire some man to do the deal.

Alexander shook his head at the absurdity, angry at the detectives for not seeing through such an obvious detail. He decided that if he wanted to help Sophia he had to start with Cassie.

Mechanically, Alexander dialed his assistant, Laura, the sound of typing on the other end indicating her readiness.

“Laura, I have a task for you,”

formalities, his focus solely on

can

research on the Sophia case. I want to know everything about the deceased and

and the day of the incident. He hoped to discover any overlooked clues

the city had swallowed the breadcrumbs of intrigue, leaving

with the realization

sofa and instinctively reached for the remote. Clicking on the television, he was met with the glaring reality of Sophia’s predicament. The murder case, now a sensational spectacle, had outgrown the confines of police investigations,

and conviction, narrated the tale of a well-known American lawyer suspected of committing murder on the streets of London. The vibrant city, usually indifferent to the personal dramas of its transient inhabitants, had become the stage for a saga

residents, caught in the surge of sensationalism, had already rendered their verdict. The collective sentiment, amplified by the relentless hum of news cycles, demanded retribution. Calls for the swift apprehension and punishment of the alleged perpetrator echoed through the airwaves, drowning out any nuances that might have colored

hotel room, Alexander felt the weight of public opinion pressing upon him. As the images flickered on the screen, Alexander’s sense of frustration and helplessness

the room, anxiety gnawing at him like an incessant

way outside. The city, usually indifferent to individual dramas, carried on with its relentless pace. He retraced Sophia’s steps, navigating the labyrinthine streets with

at the location where Sophia had encountered the mysterious man, Alexander sought out the surveillance footage that might hold the key to unraveling the enigma. The security cameras, silent sentinels of the

images flickered on the screen, revealing the dance of shadows and light that characterized the city’s nocturnal tableau. However, the figure in question remained elusive, a blurry specter defying easy identification. Frustration mounted as Alexander strained to discern details that could pierce the

talking with the man she informed the police about. In the video, he can see that he was giving something to Sophia and then leaving. The mysterious man retained his inscrutable anonymity. His features eluded the

just returned to his hotel room exhausted, the air thick with tension. He needed a breakthrough, a glimmer of hope

with a new email. It was from his secretary,

Case

Sophia Johnson

Dear Mr. Stone,

conducted further research into the