Page 109 of Corrupt

“Others find it suffocating,” I said, before I could stop myself.

Wolfe’s smile deepened. Not triumphant. Appreciative.

“Quite. But unpredictability comes at a cost. Especially for men in your position.”

“I’m not naive.”

“I wouldn’t insult you by suggesting otherwise.” Wolfe leant back, folding his hands loosely. “But you are ambitious. And ambition requires… clarity. You’ve worked very hard to place yourself where you are, Tristan. It would be a shame to let temporary chaos blur your focus.”

“I’m not planning to.” Though the certainty thinned even as the words left my mouth.

Especially now.

Wolfe nodded, apparently satisfied. “Good.”

He turned his head towards the tall windows, where Lincoln’s Inn lay washed in late morning light. Orderly, ancient, unyielding. Stone that had watched centuries pass and barely noticed. It struck me then how convincing the illusion was. How things moved. Lives bent. When really, most people were set on their tracks early and spent the rest of their time mistaking momentum for choice. I belonged here. In rooms like this. In conversations folding neatly into precedent and expectation.

Razor didn’t.

And the thought hit harder than I expected. That no matter how much he wanted out, how fiercely he fought it, the wheel turning his life might never slow enough to let him step clear. Some systems weren’t built to release you. They just rolled on, grinding down anything that tried.

“Whatever happens,” Wolfe turned back to me, “it’s worth remembering you don’t have to navigate these things alone. Mentorship exists for a reason.”

I frowned. “Mentorship?”

“Of course.” His gaze settled on me, steady, assessing. “That’s why you’re here. I make a point of looking after promising people.” He lifted his glass, took another sip, eyes still on mine. “I saw you in full flow at Highbury Magistrates the other day.”

My chest tightened. Not with pride, but with the growing awareness that this, too, had been inevitable. Perhaps that’s what Father and Marcus had been trying to explain. That I needed to accept my fate and be vigilant about it.

“You were at Highbury?”

“I was.” He set his glass down. “I’m consulting on a matter your father’s involved in. Your brother too, I believe. Quite the family enterprise.”

He smiled as if it were a compliment.

“Which case?” I reached for my glass, needing to hold it while I recalled how Razor had been there, too. “I thought you advised on Crown-level matters. Not Magistrates’ hearings.”

“I do, usually.” Wolfe tilted his head. “But this one is… interesting.”

Interesting was never a neutral word.

“It looks standard enough on the surface.” He leant back, crossed his legs, a figure of absolute control and authority. “Low-level charges. Runners. Procedural housekeeping.” Then he peered at me with a curved grin. “But the thing about cases like that is they rarely exist in isolation.”

I felt the cold slide into place behind my ribs.

“There’s a history. Longer than the file suggests. Threads running back further than anyone involved would care to admit.” He took off his glasses and slipped them into his inside jacket pocket. “Some of them brush up against matters that are… less tidy.”

“Such as?” I wasn’t sure I wanted the answer.

Wolfe smiled, thin and almost indulgently. “Such as institutional blind spots. Old compromises. Systems quietly tolerating things until they can’t anymore.” He reached for his glass again. “Corruption is rarely dramatic, Tristan. It’s administrative. Incremental. Everyone involved believes they’re only doing their part.”

He took a sip, watching me over the rim.

“That’s why people like your father matter. Why people like you matter.” He pointed a finger at me from around his wineglass. “And why I keep a close eye on who’s coming up through the ranks.”

The back of my neck prickled. Not fear exactly. Awareness. A sense of being catalogued. Logged.

Corruption.