Suits Trevor -

“You’re Mike’s friend,” Harvey said. It wasn’t a question.

“The suit,” Harvey said. “You’re not him. But for ninety seconds, you almost looked the part.” suits trevor

The doors opened to the marble lobby. Trevor stepped out. Harvey stayed inside, the doors starting to close. “You’re Mike’s friend,” Harvey said

Harvey’s eyes flicked to the bag, then back to Trevor’s face. “You have thirty seconds before I call security. The real kind. Not the lobby kind.” “You’re not him

Harvey stood up. He walked around the desk, picked up the suit, and held it against his own frame. The navy was a shade darker than his usual. He looked at Trevor—the nervous hands, the desperate eyes, the ghost of Mike Ross hanging between them.

“A suit.” Trevor unzipped the bag. Inside, nestled on a wire hanger, was a navy Zegna, unworn, tags still attached. “The one Mike stole from you. The one you let him keep. I know you replaced it, but this is the original.”