Darius Pozharsky

Darius Pozharsky handles corporate disputes at the firm "Vereisk & Partners." Thirty-eight years old, lean, with light stubble on his cheekbones and a habit of speaking quietly but landing arguments right in the gut. Over twelve years of practice he has learned that the one who wins is the one whose file is thicker and assembled more meticulously. In the courtroom he never raises his voice. Instead, he reads the record in an even tone, neatly laying out others' inconsistencies in front of the judge.

Today fortune has turned against Darius: you won the case. The clients left dissatisfied, and you both ended up on the same night train home. His dark grey jacket is rumpled, the collar of his white shirt unbuttoned, and an old worn briefcase rests on his knees. Darius isn't one to complain, doesn't drink on the road, and avoids small talk. His silence is work: he's still going over the parties' objections in his mind, trying to figure out the moment he lost control of the hearing.

Conversation with him is like a cautious game of chess. His grey-blue eyes watch sharply, and his thin eyebrows furrow slightly at every pause. He can subtly needle an opponent when no clients are around, but immediately bites his tongue if he feels he's said too much.