Mike found an empty cubicle in the bullpen, the hum of computers and hushed voices a strange new soundtrack to his life. He spread the thin pro bono file on the desk. It was a mess. A family named Alvarez was being pushed out of their apartment, the landlord using some shady loophole about "significant renovations." The evidence was a collection of poorly translated notes and a single, blurry photo.
He was deep in a zoning law statute, trying to find a precedent, when a shadow fell over his desk.
He looked up. Louis Litt was standing there, his arms crossed, his face a mask of simmering irritation. The humiliation from Harvey's office was clearly looking for a release valve.
"Ross," Louis said, his voice tight. "Let me see what you're working on."
Mike, trying to be helpful, handed him the file. "It's a pro bono tenant dispute. Harvey gave it to me."
Louis flipped through the pages with a disdainful sniff. "This? This is what you're wasting firm resources on? This isn't law. This is social work." He tossed the file back onto the desk, papers scattering. "Your work, your pace, your entire presence here reflects on me. Did you know that? All associates are my associates."
Mike kept his mouth shut, sensing the storm.
"I'm looking at you," Louis continued, his voice rising, drawing the attention of a few nearby associates. "I'm looking at this… this disorganized, unimpressive display, and I'm wondering what Harvey was thinking. This firm has a standard. A standard I uphold. And you, from what I can see, are falling so short of that standard it's almost comical."
He leaned in, his eyes glinting with a cruel sort of pleasure. "You know what? I don't think you're cut out for this. I think this was a mistake. Clean out your desk."
Mike's blood ran cold. "What? You can't fire me. Harvey hired me."
"And I run the associates!" Louis snapped, his voice echoing in the now-silent bullpen. Every eye was on them. "Harvey might have brought you in, but you answer to me! And I say you're done. Now pack your—"
A new voice, calm and cutting, sliced through the tension like a laser.
"Bullying the new guy, Louis? I thought you'd have outgrown that by now."
Everyone turned. Franklin Saint was leaning against the entrance to the bullpen, having observed the entire scene without a sound. He was even more imposing in person. The stark white hair, the bored sky-blue eyes that swept over the scene as if it were a mildly interesting exhibit. He pushed off the wall and strolled over, his hands in his pockets, his gait effortless.
Louis instantly deflated, his bluster vanishing into a nervous gulp. "Franklin! I was just… establishing firm protocol. This associate's work is… subpar."
Franklin didn't even look at Louis. His gaze was fixed on Mike, a faint, unreadable amusement in his eyes. Mike, for his part, was staring, his mind reeling. The height, the white hair, the overwhelming, casual power. It clicked in his head, a memory from a different life, of anime marathons with Trevor.
"Gojo?" Mike mumbled, the word escaping before he could stop it.
A genuine, surprised laugh escaped Franklin. It wasn't a loud laugh, but it commanded the entire room. He looked at Mike, really looked at him, and the amusement in his eyes deepened.
"No," Franklin said, a smirk playing on his lips. "I'm the honored one." He let the reference hang in the air for a second, a shared secret in a room full of confused lawyers, before extending a hand. "Franklin Saint. I bet Harvey told you all the scary stories about me, Mike."
Mike shook his hand, his own feeling weak and clumsy. "Mike Ross. And, uh, how did you know my name?"
Franklin gave a casual shrug, releasing Mike's hand. "I make it a point to know who's costing me money. Harvey's new project." He finally turned his attention to the scattered file on Mike's desk. "So, this is the pro bono case Jessica dumped on Harvey, who dumped it on you. Let me guess, you're in over your head and about to offer some excuse about it being your first day?"
Mike opened his mouth to do exactly that, but Franklin held up a hand.
"Don't. I'm smart. Too smart for this world, honestly." He said it not as a boast, but as a simple, frustrating fact. "I'm not that much older than you, but look at where I am. That should tell you I don't fall for the 'nervous new guy' routine. Let me see it."
Mike hesitated. This was Harvey's test. Letting the firm's named partner, the guy Harvey described as a force of nature, just step in felt like cheating. It felt like failure.
Franklin didn't repeat himself. He just looked at Mike, those blue eyes seeming to see right through the cheap suit and into the frantic, photographic mind beneath. The silence itself was a pressure. Mike slowly gathered the papers and handed them over.
Franklin took the file. He didn't sit. He just stood there and began to flip through the pages. He didn't read them; he absorbed them. His eyes scanned each page for barely a second before moving to the next. It was unnerving. Mike, with his own memory, knew what total recall looked like, and this was it, refined and weaponized.
In less than thirty seconds, he closed the file and dropped it back on Mike's desk.
"The landlord's case is based on Borough Code 12-4.5, clause C, which allows for eviction during capital improvement projects deemed essential for habitability," Franklin stated, his voice flat. "He's claiming the plumbing overhaul qualifies. It doesn't."
"How do you know?" Mike asked, stunned.
"Because the city's definition of 'essential habitability' for plumbing requires a failure that affects more than one unit. A single apartment's leaky pipe is a repair, not a capital improvement. He's bluffing. He probably just wants to get rid of them to jack up the rent for new tenants."
Mike's mind raced, cross-referencing everything Franklin had just said. It was all there, in the statutes he'd just read, but he hadn't connected the dots that way.
"So what do I do?" Mike asked.
Franklin looked at him as if the answer was written on the ceiling. "You file a motion for wrongful eviction citing the narrow interpretation of 12-4.5C. You attach the 2010 precedent set in Garcia v. The Wellington Group, which dealt with an almost identical situation. The judge will throw it out before the landlord can finish his expensive coffee."
He started to turn away, then paused, glancing back at Mike. "And Mike? A word of advice. When you're building a case, remember it's not about remembering every word in the law library. It's about understanding which three words actually matter. Anyone can memorize the law. It takes a lawyer to use it."
With that, he walked away, the bullpen parting for him like the Red Sea. The silence he left behind was louder than Louis's shouting had been.
Louis, who had been standing there, utterly forgotten, stared after Franklin, then back at Mike with a new, more complex kind of fury. He pointed a shaky finger at Mike. "This isn't over." Then he hurried away, his pride in tatters.