Chapter 8: The Courthouse Victory
Day 28, Monday morning, and I was standing outside Queens County Courthouse at 8:45 AM.
The motion had been filed electronically at 9:01 AM as promised. Emergency hearing scheduled for 10:00 AM—Judge Henderson presiding, because apparently the universe had a sense of irony.
Same judge who'd handled my mock trial two weeks ago. The one who'd seen me systematically dismantle Mike Ross's arguments.
Let's see if that confidence was justified.
Marcus Webb arrived at 9:30 with two associates in tow—both carrying bankers boxes full of documents, both looking like they'd spent the weekend doing damage control.
Webb spotted me standing alone near the courthouse steps.
"Roden. You're actually doing this."
"I said I would."
He walked over, associates trailing behind like well-dressed pack animals.
"This is a waste of everyone's time. The building is structurally unsound, the tenants can't afford to maintain it, and your clients are going to lose their apartments eventually anyway. Take the relocation package we offered and let them move on with dignity."
I kept my voice level.
"Your engineering reports were commissioned three weeks before filing the variance application. That's not routine maintenance assessment—that's building a case for emergency exemption. Judge Henderson will see through it."
Webb's jaw tightened.
"You're in over your head. Pro bono housing cases don't win against major developers."
"Then you have nothing to worry about."
His associates exchanged glances—probably wondering why their senior partner was arguing with a first-year associate on the courthouse steps.
Webb checked his watch.
"See you inside."
They walked past me into the courthouse.
I waited until they were gone, then pulled out my phone and called Mrs. Chen.
"It's starting. I'll call you as soon as we're done."
Her voice was shaky.
"Thank you, Mr. Roden. Whatever happens, thank you."
I hung up and headed inside.
Courtroom 4B was smaller than I'd expected—twenty rows of gallery seating, wood paneling that had been polished so many times it looked like glass, and Judge Henderson sitting at the bench reviewing briefs with the kind of focus that made lawyers nervous.
Webb and his associates took the plaintiff's table. I took the defendant's table alone.
One lawyer versus three. Perfect visual.
Judge Henderson looked up from the briefs.
"Mr. Webb. Mr. Roden. I've reviewed both motions. Mr. Roden, you're moving to stay eviction proceedings pending community impact review. That's an unusual argument."
I stood.
"Your Honor, Castellano Development applied for a zoning variance under emergency exemption provisions, claiming the building is structurally unsound. But the building sits in a community benefit preservation zone established in 2019. That designation requires full community review for any major development—no exemptions."
Webb stood immediately.
"Your Honor, the emergency exemption exists precisely for situations like this. The building is unsafe, the tenants are at risk, and Mr. Roden's motion is simply delay tactics by an inexperienced associate trying to make a name for himself."
Judge Henderson's expression didn't change.
"Mr. Roden, do you have evidence the building isn't structurally unsound?"
I pulled up the exhibits on my tablet, transmitted them to the court's system.
"Yes, Your Honor. The building passed routine safety inspections four months ago with zero structural violations. Castellano's engineering report was commissioned immediately before the variance application—the timing suggests it was created to justify the exemption, not to assess actual safety."
Webb cut in.
"Those inspections are routine fire code compliance, not structural integrity assessments."
I didn't look at him.
"Your Honor, I've also documented significant community benefits that exist at the property—a community garden maintained by residents, a free ESL education program using ground-floor space, and established social infrastructure supporting elderly and immigrant populations. The 2019 zoning designation was created specifically to protect these kinds of community assets during development review."
Judge Henderson flipped through the exhibits, reading silently.
The courtroom was quiet enough to hear the ventilation system humming.
Finally, Henderson looked up.
"Mr. Webb, did your client consider the community benefit preservation designation when filing the variance application?"
Webb hesitated.
He didn't expect the judge to actually engage with my argument.
"Your Honor, the designation is relatively new, and—"
"It's been in effect for six years. That's not new in zoning terms."
Webb's jaw worked.
"The building's structural issues take precedence over community benefits."
Judge Henderson closed the brief and leaned back.
"Mr. Roden raises legitimate questions about the timing of the engineering report and the application of the emergency exemption. I'm granting the stay pending proper community impact review."
My stomach dropped.
We won. The stay. We actually—
Henderson continued.
"Castellano Development may resubmit their variance application through the standard review process, which includes public hearings and community impact assessment. Eviction proceedings are stayed until that process concludes. Anything else, gentlemen?"
Webb looked like he'd swallowed glass.
"No, Your Honor."
"Mr. Roden?"
"No, Your Honor. Thank you."
Henderson banged the gavel.
"We're adjourned."
Outside the courthouse, Webb caught up to me on the steps.
"That was a stunt. You know that, right?"
I turned to face him.
"That was reading the zoning code and doing the work your firm should've done before filing."
His expression shifted—irritation to something that might've been grudging respect.
"The stay won't last forever. Community review takes months, but it's not a permanent solution."
"I know. Which is why we should discuss settlement."
Webb studied me for a long moment.
"What are you thinking?"
"Three-year lease extension at current rent-controlled rates. Guaranteed relocation assistance when the building is eventually developed. First-refusal rights on affordable units in the new construction."
"That's generous to your clients and expensive for mine."
"Further delays will be more expensive. Community review, environmental assessment, public hearings where neighbors testify about elderly tenants being displaced—that's months of financing costs and negative publicity."
Webb pulled out his phone, typed something, waited.
After two minutes, he nodded.
"My client will agree to three years, relocation assistance, and we'll include affordable unit preferences in the development plan. But this stays quiet—no media, no publicity about Castellano backing down."
"Agreed."
We shook hands on the courthouse steps.
I called Mrs. Chen immediately.
She answered on the first ring.
"Mr. Roden?"
"You can stay. Three years guaranteed, then relocation assistance and priority for affordable units when they rebuild. It's not forever, but it's real protection."
Silence.
Then she started crying.
"Thank you. Thank you. I can see my grandson grow up. I can—"
Her voice broke.
I waited while she composed herself.
"Thank you, Mr. Roden. You gave us our home back."
"You gave me a case worth fighting for."
After we hung up, I stood on the courthouse steps for a long moment, just breathing.
[CASE RESOLUTION: SUCCESSFUL]
[WIN RATE CALCULATOR: FINAL ASSESSMENT]
[PREDICTED PROBABILITY: 27%]
[ACTUAL OUTCOME: FAVORABLE SETTLEMENT]
[SYSTEM ACCURACY: VALIDATED]
[MENTAL FATIGUE: 28%]
Webb's voice interrupted my thoughts.
"You're going to be a problem, aren't you?"
I looked at him.
"Only if you cut corners."
He laughed once, sharp and genuine.
"Fair enough. See you around, Roden."
He left with his associates, and I caught the subway back to Manhattan.
Louis was waiting at my desk when I got back to Pearson Hardman.
I saw him from across the bullpen—arms crossed, expression unreadable, standing next to my chair like a sentinel.
Here we go.
I walked over, set down my briefcase.
"Mr. Litt."
"Judge Henderson's clerk called. Said you were surprisingly well-prepared for a first-year associate."
"I did the work."
Louis's expression didn't change.
"You turned a throwaway pro bono case into actual litigation. That was thirty hours of work minimum—probably more—on a case that bills zero dollars."
I met his eyes.
"It was the right thing to do. And it established we don't just fold when we're outgunned."
Silence stretched between us.
Then Louis's expression shifted—something that might've been approval, carefully hidden under layers of professional neutrality.
"Not bad, Roden."
He used my name. Not 'associate.' My actual name.
"Thank you, Mr. Litt."
"Don't let it go to your head. You still have the Jameson Securities filing due tomorrow."
"Already done. On your desk."
Louis studied me for another moment, then nodded once and walked back to his office.
I sat down at my desk, feeling the exhaustion catch up to me all at once.
[MENTAL FATIGUE: 31%]
[RECOMMENDED: FULL REST CYCLE WITHIN 12 HOURS]
Soon.
That evening, the firm newsletter went out.
I opened it on my phone during the subway ride home.
Page one: Harvey and Mike's flashy merger victory, complete with photos of them shaking hands with the CEO, quotes about Pearson Hardman's excellence, and a detailed breakdown of the $40 million deal they'd closed.
Page three, buried in a single paragraph under "Community Service Activities":
Associate Scott Roden successfully resolved a pro bono housing dispute under Senior Partner Louis Litt's supervision, securing tenant protections and avoiding protracted litigation.
No photos. No quotes. Just one sentence acknowledging the work.
I stared at the contrast.
They got glory. I got justice.
And somewhere in the exhaustion and the mental fatigue and the quiet satisfaction, I realized something.
I'm okay with that.
The subway rattled through the tunnel, and I closed my eyes.
Mrs. Chen's voice echoed in my memory—You gave us our home back.
That wasn't leverage. That wasn't strategy.
That was what being a lawyer was actually supposed to feel like.
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