I SAW her yesterday, and it unsettled me more than the fact that she was involved in a crime. The face I had searched for in the crowds of Canada was suddenly right in front of me again—and yet I had no idea how to close that invisible distance between us outside the professional atmosphere we were now confined to.
I sighed more times than I could count. I felt heavy today, drained to the bone. I reviewed her case late into the night, not getting a wink of sleep before walking into the firm. On my way in, I ran into Yaina, who was handling her related case, folders tucked under one arm. My steps weakened when I noticed the thick bandage on her forehead.
"What happened to you?" I asked, worry slipping into my voice as my eyes lingered on the injury.
She offered a wry smile. "Consequences outside the courtroom, Attorney Schuett."
I bit the inside of my cheek as I touched the bandage around her head. It was noticeably large, and frustration clung to her—not just from the case she was handling, but from the accident itself. The feeling was familiar. I'd been there before—objects thrown by people who couldn't accept a verdict simply because we defended the accused. Still, it had never gone this far. I'd never walked away with injuries.
"Did you report this to the police?"
She sighed. "I did." Then came a shrug, far too casual. "But I let the culprit go."
"You what?!!" My tone sharpened before I could stop myself. "Your head was nearly split open, and you just let them walk away?"
Yaina chuckled softly. "She's just a kid. Besides, my skull is still intact."
I exhaled sharply. "What did Leandra say about this?"
"I'm fine, Lauren,"dismissing me with a wave. "Seriously. You look like you're about to faint." She teased, as if she hadn't just been assaulted.
"I was just worried." I studied her, her wound doesn't really affect her but I know some part within her did.
"Are you sure you're okay now?"
"Absolutely." She raised a thumb, flashing it in my direction to ease my concern. "I'll get going now, Lauren."
I watched her back as she walked toward the exit, my concerns firmly etched in my mind. Yaina and I were both involved in the same instances. We both support criminals who want to establish their innocence, yet it just leads to hatred.
That was never discussed in law school lectures or slick pamphlets about justice and advocacy. They taught us legislation, precedents, and processes, but never how to prepare for when the public thinks you're guilty by association. When defending the accused, you become a target.
People admired the concept of justice, but not the type that stood beside someone they already despised.
I scratched my temples as tiredness crept in. We were not protected in the same way that prosecutors were, nor were we rewarded for convictions or commended for moral clarity. We stood in the place no one wanted to occupy, protecting rights that people preferred to forget about—until they were required.
I sank into my swivel chair, documents scattered across my desk, too exhausted to move any of them. I had even forgotten to stop by my favorite café for coffee.
Soft knocks broke the quiet, making me straighten instantly.
"Come in," I answered, quickly fixing the folders that had been a mess moments ago.
A woman in a police officer's uniform strode inside. She was tall, her straight posture unmistakably shaped by authority. Her short hair was neatly tied back. She held her cap in her left hand and a folder tucked under the other arm.
"Good morning, Attorney Schuett. I'm Officer Yuri Amamiya. We spoke briefly on the phone last night." A polite smile curved her lips, softening—though not erasing—the stern aura she carried.
I cleared my throat, realizing I'd been staring a second too long. "Good morning, Officer Amamiya. Please, have a seat." I gestured to the chair across from my desk.
She nodded before sitting, her eyes briefly scanning my office before settling on me. "I have to say, your reputation precedes you." The smile she paired it with was enough to make my chest flutter. "Seeing you in court is nothing like seeing you in person."
"Do you usually flatter criminal defense attorneys with compliments, Officer?" I asked dryly.
She smirked, shrugging. "Only when they happen to be the best one from Canada."
I let out a short breath, amused. "Try saying that to my boss back in Canada."
She laughed softly at my remark, and I found myself smiling in return. Her presence contradicted her stern appearance—warm, disarming. I could already tell that working with her would be smooth, even comfortable. The ease between us had settled quickly, naturally, and unforced.
I had to admit, Officer Amamiya was attractive—the kind of person you couldn't quite categorize as beautiful or handsome. Her presence alone made her compelling.
But she wasn't my type. I gravitated toward softer features, the ones with mischief in their smiles and chaos tucked beneath their eyes.
"Mr. Thorne requested that I personally deliver this file. It contains all the evidence we've gathered thus far." She slid down on the desk the folder that she carries.
"Thank you. I'll be formally representing his daughter, so I'll need to coordinate closely with your unit, particularly regarding her earlier case."
I opened the folder, and it had everything I needed. I have known that the victim is Gregory Smith and has been working for Megan as an assistant. A man in his early 40's, has a wife and a daughter.
"She initially declined legal counsel—even refused the family attorney. I understand why now. She waited for the best."
"That's generous, Officer Amamiya." I returned her smile as I scanned the papers, aware of her gaze lingering on me.
"To be candid, Attorney Schuett, we've been investigating for two weeks and still lack definitive proof that Ms. Thorne fired the fatal shot. Her limited cooperation has not helped my team."
"She can be... difficult." I looked up after finishing the contents of the folder. The evidence was thin and insufficient. "What do you currently have? "
"Only the bullet was recovered from the victim's head. The firearm used in the homicide was never located," she answered.
I sighed. That was the most crucial piece, the one thing the real culprit could not easily erase. The man had called Megan to meet around four in the afternoon. They met often because she ran errands for him, but why choose that location? Then a crucial detail from our last conversation surfaced in my mind.
"She mentioned two other men at the scene," I said. "Could one of them have had the weapon?"
"That is our primary theory. If she did not pull the trigger, then one of those men likely did. Unfortunately, we arrived too late. Another unit processed the scene first. My concern is that the firearm may have been removed, possibly mishandled, before we took over."
"And the CCTV footage? " I asked, considering the possibility that the warehouse might have cameras that captured the other two men. They were key witnesses, especially since the firearm had vanished.
"Another complication. It was wiped clean." Yuri's frustration slipped through her professional tone. "We recovered only a short clip showing Ms. Thorne and the victim pointing guns at each other. The victim's wife has since filed charges, convinced that Ms. Thorne killed her husband. Her legal counsel is relentless."
For an officer tasked with delivering solid results, the pressure was evident. Two weeks of investigation had produced nothing more than a thin folder of evidence.
"According to this report, the bullet does not match the firearm registered to Megan," I said. "Yet she tested positive for gunpowder residue at the time of her arrest."
"However, the court ruled the residue inconclusive since the weapon was never recovered by our team. We also found multiple shell casings at the scene, which suggests more than two firearms were discharged, but ownership remains unclear."
I closed the folder and looked at her. "Do you have any leads on who might be framing her?"
"They have a long list of enemies, Attorney Schuett. It could take us years to identify which one framed Ms. Thorne."
I leaned back in my swivel chair, massaging the bridge of my nose in frustration. The case refused to move forward. I had a court appeal in two days and nothing solid to present. With the Thorne family's influence, I had expected something more substantial.
Power attracts enemies.
"If you can persuade Ms. Thorne to cooperate more openly, it would significantly advance the investigation."
I looked back at Yuri, her words landing heavier than she probably intended. If we had not fallen out eight years ago, getting Megan to open up might have been easy. Instead, she seemed tangled in our unresolved history, letting personal wounds bleed into her own defense.
"She's stubborn enough to act like incarceration doesn't bother her," I said with a soft, humorless chuckle.
A weary smile crossed Yuri's face. "Then it seems we share the same burden. Professionally tormented."
"It's barely morning, and I'm already exhausted," I admitted. "I haven't even had my coffee yet."
"I was just about to grab one before heading back," she replied. "Care to join me? We can go over the remaining details and establish a better working rhythm, given how closely we'll be coordinating."
All morning, that was the only thing that managed to lift my mood. "Sure. I'll just grab my bag."
Yuri smiled and nodded.
"HELLO Ms. Thorne," I greeted the person on the other end of the line. After several minutes of deliberation, I had finally decided to call her.
I heard papers shuffling before she spoke. "No need to be formal with me, Lauren. I prefer it when my name rolls easily off your tongue."
"Can you be professional for a moment?"
She laughed, as if I had told a joke. "You mean I should wear a suit?"
I groaned in irritation. "I mean professionally, Megan. Setting aside your immaturity, if you're available, we need to meet. I spoke with Officer Amamiya about your case."
There was a long silence after I mentioned the name. I glanced at my screen to make sure the call hadn't dropped. It was still connected.
"Megan?"
"So you met Amamiya," she finally said.
"Just get to the firm before one o'clock." I ignored the implication in her tone, though it did not escape me.
"Your office isn't exactly an ideal date location. How about a coffee shop?"
My eyes widened at the sarcasm lacing her voice. What is she talking about? This was exactly what Amamiya had told me about. She isn't very cooperative and was being stubborn with me; she had a habit of blending our past with professional matters, as if the two had never been separate.
I knew I had been avoiding reopening that door, but this was not the time. Maybe after the case was over.
"This is a legal matter and nothing more, Megan," I said firmly. "And I expect you to honor your word about cooperating."
"Alright, Attorney Schuett," she replied, bored.
Somehow, that still felt like a small relief. "Go—what the hell was that?"
The line went dead. Did she just hang up on me? I scoffed at the ended call glaring back at me on the screen.
That brat.
I TAPPED my fingers against the desk, glancing back and forth at my phone screen. Still no reply to the message I had sent her. I tried calling again, but it went unanswered.
What is wrong with her this time? She promised she would cooperate, yet she could not even spare a single reply. I scoffed softly, gripping my phone tighter before deciding to call her mother instead. I needed to know where the hell her daughter was. After three rings, Mrs. Thorne picked up.
(Oh, hello, Attorney Schuett.) Her voice lacked the usual warmth it was used to. This time, it sounded tight and uneasy.
"Good afternoon, ma'am," I said carefully. "I was calling to ask if Megan is with you."
(I'm afraid not, dear. She's at the company finalizing some documents. She can't leave at the moment.) I heard her exhale, the sound brittle and laced with worry.
"She can't leave?" My brows knit together. "Why is that?"
(There's a protest outside the building. The public caught wind of my daughter's... indiscretion following the alleged killing. They're not pleased, Attorney.)
My grip on the phone tightened.
Of course they were not pleased. They never were. The moment a name was attached to a crime, the verdict was already written in the court of public opinion. No trial, no evidence, no restraint. Just rage looking for a body to land on.
I had seen how quickly outrage turned violent. I had seen what people were capable of when they believed they were delivering justice with their own hands. Yaina's bandaged head flashed through my mind, followed by the image of Megan trapped inside a building surrounded by people who wanted blood, not truth.
I forced myself to inhale slowly. Panic would help no one.
"Is she safe?" I asked, keeping my voice steady despite the knot tightening in my chest as my mind flooded of what might happened to her at the moment.
Because if the crowd decided she was guilty, then Megan was no longer just my client.
She is a target.