Chapter 201: Two Lawyers
Foggy and Matt had been close friends since their law school days. They studied together, passed the bar together, and joined Hogarth's law firm as interns together. Whatever they did, they pretty much did as a team.
When Foggy heard that Matt had taken on a case assigned by "the boss," he decided to tag along—partly out of curiosity, partly because this was technically their first real case post-graduation. It felt meaningful.
"Uh… my finances are pretty tight. I probably can't afford two lawyers," Fiona said cautiously.
"Don't worry. I'm just here to help—free of charge," Foggy said with a smile.
"Thank you. Here are the materials," Fiona replied with relief, handing over the documents.
"You didn't tell me our client was such a beautiful woman," Foggy whispered to Matt as he reviewed the files.
"I can't see her. I haven't touched her face either. Is she really that beautiful?" Matt, being blind, could only tell someone's appearance by touch.
"She's stunning," Foggy nodded.
"Ms. Gallagher," Matt began, running his fingers over the Braille documents.
"Just call me Fiona," she quickly said.
"Alright, Fiona. When we visited your mother, Monica, she didn't seem very cooperative. How exactly did you manage to get her signature on the custody waiver?" Matt asked.
"Um… is that important?" Fiona replied nervously.
"Yes. If we go to court, your mother will likely be present. If she challenges the authenticity of this document and you can't give a convincing explanation, it could be very problematic," Matt said.
Fiona hesitated, reluctant to admit the signature was forged. Matt noticed her hesitation but didn't press further.
"We'll go over the documents back at the office and file an appeal. I'll contact you once the court date is set," Matt said after some additional discussion.
"Thank you so much," Fiona said sincerely.
"I'll walk you out," Foggy offered eagerly.
After seeing Fiona off, Foggy returned to his seat, loosening his tie. "There's something fishy about this case."
"Not just the custody waiver—the tax form too," he continued. "According to her file, Fiona didn't graduate high school. She dropped out early to take care of her family, and her income has always been unstable."
"Yeah, both the tax form and the waiver are probably forged," Matt nodded.
"The tax form is easier to work around. Judges don't usually check it thoroughly—it's more of a formality. But that waiver… it's risky. Still, given her mother's record—alcohol abuse, drug use, child abandonment, and a history of mental illness—the judge will likely side with Fiona," Foggy said.
"This is our first real case," Foggy added. "And our first client just happens to be a total knockout."
"Too bad I can't see her. I don't know what kind of woman could leave you so love-struck," Matt replied.
"She's unlike anyone I've ever met. There's something about her… a kind of energy. It's hard to describe, but it's magnetic," Foggy admitted.
"She's still our client," Matt reminded him.
"I know, I know. But hey, if we pull this off—the boss might finally take notice of us. No more filing grunt work, no more being stuck in that broom closet. Imagine it: real offices, with big picture windows, and our names on the doors. Oh, it's gonna be amazing!" Foggy said dreamily.
Both Matt and Foggy were recent law school grads, newly licensed, and interning at Hogarth's firm. Since they were the lowest on the totem pole, they got the least glamorous jobs—filing, paperwork, document sorting. Their "office" was really just an old janitor's closet, barely big enough to move in, with no windows and stacks of boxes everywhere.
"Quit dreaming. Focus on how we're going to explain that forged document in court," Matt said, splashing cold water on Foggy's fantasy.
"You're no fun," Foggy grumbled as he picked up the paperwork again.
"If Fiona's father were still around, it'd help a lot. Having him support her in court would really strengthen the case. But he's been missing for nearly half a year now," Foggy said, reviewing the files.
That father—Frank Gallagher—was, at that moment, on the road to Chicago with Jesse Pinkman.
Walter White's product was pure, high-grade, and flawless. But the New Mexico market was oversaturated. Unless some major dealer like Crazy Eight got taken out and left a power vacuum, there was no room for newcomers.
They didn't have the connections to move product themselves. Pinkman and Walt were no help when it came to distribution.
So Frank decided to pivot—skip New Mexico entirely and head to Chicago.
There's an old saying: humans thrive when they move; trees die when uprooted.
Frank didn't know anyone in New Mexico, but Chicago? That was his city. Especially the South Side—he had ties with nearly everyone there. In Chicago, he knew the players, the networks, and how to move product discreetly.
Every American city had its own market, and Frank had plans to link up with his old contacts. The only problem? The trip. Flying or taking the train with product was suicidal.
So they had no choice but to drive.
Even that was risky. If they got pulled over with this much product, they were done for.
They'd turned all their raw materials into finished goods—twelve pounds of it, thanks to Walter's efficiency. Twelve pounds of high-purity meth. If it got discovered en route, they wouldn't just lose the stash—they'd lose everything.
---
(