Suits: A Lawyer Surviving TV Chaos

The next morning, Martin took a taxi to work. 

His Camaro had been commandeered by Leonard, Howard, and Rajesh, who'd even drafted a "custody schedule" for weekday commutes. Sheldon, who never drove, declared the passenger seat his "exclusive secondary Sheldon Zone"—second only to his spot on the apartment couch. Violators would face his obsessive-compulsive death glare. Even Martin the owner wasn't exempt. 

Not that Martin cared. The car was purely for investment. But to salvage his dating prospects, he'd need another vehicle once his paycheck cleared. 

As he booted up his computer, Rachel entered with a fresh cup of coffee. 

"I foresee my old age mirroring Michael Corleone's—dying alone on a lawn chair, sunbathing," Martin mused theatrically. 

Rachel arched an eyebrow, her expression equal parts amused and skeptical. 

"Know why?" Martin pointed dramatically at her. "*You*. You're too perfect. Now I'll never find a partner who measures up." 

"Next time, just say 'good job.' Your acting's embarrassing." She rolled her eyes. "By the way, the hotel called. Your blonde socialite checked out two days ago. Total: $739. Charging it to the firm or paying yourself?" 

*So this is how Tony Stark felt around Pepper…* 

Martin scribbled a check and handed it over. Rachel waved it mockingly before tucking it into her notebook. "Next time, let me handle these… *delicate* matters. The Channing name draws eyes. Be smarter." 

"Yes, ma'am." He raised his hands in surrender. "What's today's agenda?" 

Rachel shifted to professional mode. "Seven consultancy contracts archived. Three pro bono cases, one civil tort, one second-degree murder—" 

Martin pulled a folder from his desk. "All non-murder case opinions are in here. If Clients approve? Sign. If Decline? Pass them on." 

"Noted." Rachel hid her surprise at his efficiency. "And the murder case?" 

"No bail. Still weighing options." Martin frowned. 

"Maybe visit the client? Give her hope?" 

"If we lose, she's facing 10+ years. Better she prays and I find a way to downgrade the charge than waste time on false comfort." 

"Your call." Rachel lingered. 

"What now?" 

"That's… it." 

"Another easy day," Martin muttered, loosening his tie. His finger tapped his lips—a telltale sign of brewing trouble. 

Rachel hesitated. "Martin… You've got no personal clients. Without billable hours, you'll never get promoted." 

At Pearson Hardman, promotions hinged on client acquisition, not win rates. Junior lawyers like Martin typically grinded through small cases, building connections over years. But Martin wasn't typical. 

*Screw subtlety. This country rewards audacity.* 

"Book a presidential suite, a business mixer, and guest rooms. How soon can it be done?" 

Rachel calculated. "Tonight." 

Martin dialed a number. "Mark! Issue the summons. The Strategist needs his brothers' *generosity* to climb the ladder!" 

"The Strategist sails again!" a voice boomed through the phone. "When?" 

"Tonight. My secretary will send the details. Bring Priscilla—I miss her." 

"Fuck! I'm in Seattle negotiating—" 

"Me or those tech mutts. Choose." 

Rachel shivered, warmth flooding her cheeks. 

"Fine! You're our goddamn lighthouse. Oh, and Priscilla's bringing a cleaver. Says you ghosted her best friend—" 

Martin massaged his temples. "Mark, fix your verbal diarrhea. How'd Priscilla even marry you?" 

After hanging up, he turned to Rachel. "Got all that?" 

"Mhmm." She smirked. "Harvard fraternity? 'Strategist' sounds lofty." 

"Fraternities are for trust-fund cokeheads. This is the Mutual Aid Society—noble, future-focused." 

"Mutual Aid Society?" 

"You'll see tonight. Questions?" 

"Headcount?" 

"Thirteen men, rotating girlfriends… Plan for thirty." 

"The partner hotel can manage. But your junior lawyer budget won't cover this. Need me to request—" 

"Jessica will pay gladly." Martin texted her a contact. "Mark's the organizer. Send him the details." 

"Mark's last name? Any notes?" 

"Zuckerberg. Mark Zuckerberg. Facebook's CEO. His girlfriend's Priscilla Chan, Asian-Am—" 

Rachel froze, staring at the junior lawyer two years her junior.