Motion Denied // Harvey Specter

The door shut behind them, muffling the noise from inside the courtroom. Carmen exhaled, pressing her fingertips into her temples for a second before lowering her hand. Harvey was already watching her. "Are you ok?"

Carmen let out a short breath, straightening. "I'm fine."

Harvey ever so slightly raised an eyebrow. "You just had to sit there while Calloway tried to paint you as some unhinged, vengeful crusader."

Carmen huffed. "He wasn't that creative."

Harvey smirked. "No, he wasn't."

Before either of them could say more, Mike ran a hand over his face. "I need coffee. Anyone else?"

Carmen didn't hesitate. "No."

Harvey shook his head. "Me neither."

Mike sighed, already turning. "Alright. I'll be back."

Carmen exhaled, pressing her fingertips to the back of her neck. The break was short, but the weight of the courtroom still sat on her.

"Walk with me," Harvey suddenly spoke

She blinked. "What?"

Harvey's expression didn't change. "Down the block and back. Five minutes. We don't need fifteen."

Carmen studied him for a second, then sighed. "Fine."

Harvey didn't say anything else—just pushed the courtroom door open and stepped into the cold air outside.

They walked in silence at first, the sounds of the city a welcome contrast to the controlled, sterile quiet of the courtroom. A cab honked. Someone shouted on the other side of the street. Life kept moving, oblivious to the fact that her world was currently locked in battle.

"You handled yourself."

Carmen scoffed. "Would've been embarrassing if I didn't."

"You weren't embarrassed. Calloway was."

Carmen smirked slightly, holding onto Harvey's arm as they made their way down the block.  They reached the corner. Harvey paused, waiting for the light to change.

"You ever think about what he's thinking?" Carmen asked suddenly.

Harvey glanced at her. "Your father?"

She nodded, exhaling. "Yeah. Like... does he actually believe he's right? Or is this just about pride?"

Harvey tilted his head slightly. "Probably both."

The light changed, and they crossed, walking back up the block. "The way Calloway was framing it," Carmen muttered, "like I was just doing this to make a point."

"That was his only move." Harvey stated in a neutral tone. Carmen hummed. "You think they're nervous?"

Harvey smirked. "They should be."

They turned the corner, the courthouse coming back into view. As they approached, they saw Vincent de Peyster and Calloway standing together a few feet away. Carmen didn't even glance in their direction. Harvey didn't either. They just walked past them like they didn't exist.

When they stepped back inside, Mike was already waiting, coffee in hand. "Feel better?"

Carmen nodded. "Yeah."

Harvey glanced at his watch. "They'll call us back in soon. Next, we argue damages."

Carmen sighed. "And after that?"

Harvey smirked. "Then we win."

Carmen smirked along with him, and then the doors reopened.

-

This was the last stretch.

Harvey stood, buttoning his jacket with effortless precision before stepping toward the jury. He didn't glance at his notes. He didn't need them.

This was it. This was the moment.

"This case," he began, his voice even, controlled, undeniably firm, "should have never been here in the first place."

He let that settle. Let the weight of it land.

"Because let's be clear about what's actually happening here." His gaze flicked briefly toward Vincent de Peyster before turning to the jury. "A father is suing his own daughter."

Silence.

"The man sitting across from us today built an empire. A successful one. He understands control, influence, and power." His voice remained steady, casual almost. "But what he doesn't understand?" He tilted his head slightly. "Is how to handle a daughter who refuses to be controlled."

A murmur rippled through the courtroom. Harvey continued, his voice like a knife slipping between ribs.

"Vincent de Peyster isn't here because Carmen de Peyster damaged his company. He isn't here because of financial losses. He is here because he cannot stand the fact that his daughter is beyond his reach."

Harvey turned slightly, walking a slow, measured step forward. "You heard the testimonies. You saw the evidence. You saw what Mrs. de Peyster exposed—not just in her father's company, but in multiple companies. Her work in uncovering human rights violations wasn't personal. It wasn't an attack. It was her job. A job she did alongside others—professionals from the United Nations, international watchdogs, legal teams. But Vincent de Peyster didn't sue any of them."

Harvey turned, locking eyes with a juror before shifting his focus to the entire room.

"He sued her."

Harvey let that hang in the air.

"Because he could not accept that his daughter wasn't just another asset. That she was no longer something to be controlled, instructed, or dismissed." Another pause. "You heard Mr. de Peyster's words today." His voice was softer now—not weaker, just quieter. More deliberate. "She knew what this would mean. She knew taking this stand would make her a target. Not just in this courtroom, but in her own family."

His gaze flickered toward Carmen briefly before returning to the jury. "She could have stayed quiet. Could have walked away." He tilted his head slightly. "She could have done what was expected of her. But she didn't."

Harvey exhaled slightly.

"Carmen de Peyster did what she was raised not to do—she chose justice over legacy. And for that, her father is asking you to punish her." His voice hardened just slightly. "That's what this case is."Another pause.

"But here's the thing." Harvey's lips twitched into something that wasn't quite a smirk, wasn't quite amusement—just certainty. "This courtroom isn't a boardroom." He turned fully, facing Vincent de Peyster for the first time. "You don't control what happens here."

Then, smoothly, effortlessly, he faced the jury again. "But they do."

A beat. Harvey nodded once, stepping back.

"Thank you." 

And with that, he returned to his seat. As he settled, Carmen shifted slightly beside him. She didn't say anything. Didn't look at him. But briefly, subtly, she placed a hand on his knee. A quiet acknowledgment. A silent thank you.

Harvey didn't react. Didn't move. But his hand brushed over hers—just once, just enough—before he straightened his cuff and faced forward again.