Daphne parked her car and made her way into Donny's office building, feeling much more at ease than she had the day before, but still determined to get through this legal jump-rope as quickly as possible.
The morning at the spa had been wonderful. A full morning that included a Vichy shower and sauna treatment, and capped off by a luxurious full-body massage... it had been just what the doctor ordered after yet another stressful week working for the Cranes. It had also helped to ease a slight hangover, as Daphne had gotten a little silly out on the town the night before.
Still, while the morning had relaxed her body, it had done very little to relax her mind, which was still plagued with thoughts of the younger Dr. Crane.
Annie's words had drilled a hole into her soul, one that she didn't know how to patch up. Certainly, the copious amount of alcohol she enjoyed that night had failed to do so.
While she wasn't spending the night fighting off her mild hangover, she was spending it trying to get him out of her mind, with little success.
She DID care about him. And she DID go out of her way for him when he needed her.
And yes, he WAS bloody handsome. He had been handsome in that tux as he twirled her around that ballroom, handsome in that white linen the night of the heatwave, and downright intoxicating in that blue blazer when they cooked that meal together.
At least the morning at the Tre Anom had gone well enough in making it someone easier to clear her head. Well, except for that brief moment during her massage, when she had caught herself imagining that it was Dr. Crane's experienced pianist hands that were rubbing her down so expertly and sensuously.
Why WAS she resisting this so much? Dr. Crane made her feel silly things, things that could only be the result of a deep attraction. Maybe because she knew it would destroy his case? After all, the mere notion that the claim could be true would be damaging enough, but if she actually felt that way about him in return? She didn't want to imagine how his livelihood would very easily fall apart. She couldn't do that to him.
And, through all of this head-wringing over his feelings, and her feelings, she couldn't stop asking herself one question: if he truly WAS in love with her, as the claim said... wouldn't he have said something by now?
Yes, it was true that he was married. And she would never get involved with a married man, and he knew that. She also knew he would NEVER keep a mistress, and he certainly respected HER enough to even think of trying to drag her into a tawdry affair.
But ever since their separation, there had been... opportunities that presented themselves. And he never took one.
He could have told her the Snow Ball wasn't an act to him. But he didn't.
He could have made a move on her that hot, steamy night in his apartment. But he didn't.
He could have tried to talk to her about it afterward. But he didn't.
And what about the night they cooked dinner together? It was all for ANOTHER WOMAN! Phyllis, Daphne remembered.
These were not the actions of a man who loved her. Not for a common man, and certainly not for an uncommon, ambitious, driven man like Niles Crane. He was not the sort to resist going after what he wanted.
True, he was a bit of an introvert. True, he had never been confident when it came to approaching women. But come on. NOBODY could carry a silent torch for five years.
She came back to this logical thought over and over again. And over and over again, she caught herself feeling saddened, as if she was disappointed at the thought. And that was new.
Maybe that was it. If she had even dared to think about Niles as more than a friend, where would that lead her? Maybe to a few happy thoughts, but then they were quickly overcome by another, much more harrowing thought: fear.
The same fear that caused the intimidation she felt when she was reminded of his place on the societal food chain. The same fear that she wasn't good enough to live in that world.
But more than that, fear of the heartbreak that she was opening herself up to.
She wasn't so much sure of his non-feelings for her as she was afraid of them. Afraid that if she dared to love Niles Crane romantically, the thought of hearing him say he didn't feel that way would tear her apart.
She couldn't do it. She had to stay in her lane. The heartbreak that Joe had caused her had been gutting enough. She was NOT about to go down that path again.
No, she needed someone who would make her feel loved, and someone who would never leave her in doubt of it. Someone without complications or reservations. Someone who wouldn't break her heart simply by making her think she wasn't good enough for him, whether he meant to or not.
If Dr. Niles Crane wasn't in love with her, then he simply wasn't that man. And at this point, the only way she would ever believe that Dr. Niles Crane WAS in love with her was to hear it from Dr. Niles Crane's own tongue. Nothing more, nothing less.
Once she got to the front desk and gave her name, Maria didn't make her wait. "You can go on in Ms. Moon, Donny's expecting you."
Just as well. Let's get this over with, Daphne thought, so I can get Dr. Crane out of this pickle and get on with my life.
Portia was back at it reviewing the statements as soon as she was done with breakfast, which she had decided to bring to the office this morning. It would be a busy day, as Mr. Douglas would be meeting with witnesses to prepare them for depositions all day.
Maria had taken the liberty of sorting all of the documents, for which Portia was silently thankful, but it hadn't made the task any less daunting, as the stack of papers was the size of a small atlas. She had spent virtually the entire afternoon the previous day reviewing them after Maria had brought them in, and she had only gotten through 9 months' worth of financial history.
Never one to waste time, she dug right back in. At first glance, it was a standard breakdown similar to many of Mr. Douglas's clients: multiple accounts across eight different banks and depositories, including savings, bonds, trusts, investments, and annuities, with assets totaling well into the tens of millions. Portia had only been with the firm for eight months, but she was already blown away by the sheer volume of wealth that Mr. Douglas's clients consistently possessed, an awestruck feeling that perhaps she owed to the innocence of a 23-year old fresh out of college.
She also couldn't help but feel a bit envious. Not of the wealth of these people, mind you, or even the status and lifestyle it represented, but what it meant: that someone could be so capable of earning such a vast and fortunate way of life. She had hoped to earn her own way in the world as a world-class singer, but unfortunately, she had strained her vocal cords while in high school, the result of pushing herself too hard from a young age.
Portia, though, was nothing if not determined, so she set about carving a different path that would hopefully lead to the entertainment industry: she had gone to law school and emphasized her studies on contractual litigation, hoping to work as an executive for a production company, or perhaps as a talent agent. She had applied for an internship at Bebe Glazer's office upon passing the bar but was passed over, and another slot wouldn't open for another year, so she took this paralegal job in Mr. Douglas's firm to get by until then.
As she continued to pore over the account statements of Maris Bowman-Crane, she was neither envious nor awestruck, but rather increasingly perturbed. This was a woman worth nine figures, and she didn't have to earn a dime of it. She had three different trust funds, all of which were set up by her parents, George and Oliguria Bowman, in 1960 when Maris was just five years old, to begin paying out in periodic distributions when she turned 24. These were the lifeblood of her finances, if not her entire income. She was the very definition, Portia thought, of a spoiled silver-spoon brat. It was no wonder to her that this woman would fail to have a lasting successful marriage.
It was these trust accounts she was poring over when, right before she was almost ready to take lunch, something caught her eye.
She received the payments via direct deposit wire to all three accounts, and they all appeared to be from the same source (Safford Bank and Trust), but the individual recurring deposits to each account had different trace numbers. Portia investigated this further, looking into Safford Bank and Trust, and discovering that none of their source codes matched any of these three trace numbers.
Portia dialed to the front desk. "Maria, Portia. I need Mr. Douglas at his earliest available moment. I have some findings that I need to report to him immediately."