But none affected me as much ashiscase. As his verdict of guilty beyond a reasonable doubt.
And now he’s sitting in jail for a crime he absolutely did not commit.
I failed him.
I failed myself.
The justice system failed us both.
And I resent the hell out of it.
So I did the only thing any self-respecting attorney would do and quit practicing.
For three months, I quit completely. Drank myself into a stupor. Until Mandi came over to my place and demanded I stop being a little bitch and get my shit together.
Some things never change, I guess.
I eventually listened to her after some nagging, but I told her I didn’t want to do what I’d been doing before. So she and I put the pieces of my life back together and built this little practice from the ground up, with my reputation backing it.
I ignored the whispers behind my back, dodged the questions people would ask. People finally moved on to more interesting topics than my breakdown and left mealone. Clients came flooding in, knowing I was the best before and trusted I’d still deliver.
And I do.
All the while, I ignore the guilt that I didn’t deliver for the one person who needed it the most.
I spin back around and grab my bag, then march around my desk and back into the lobby. “Mandi, cancel my appointments for the next few hours. Or maybe all of today. I have to go out.”
Her eyes widen, and she points to the man sitting in the small waiting area. “But your nine o’clock is right here.”
Moving my gaze to the man, I extend my hand. “Nice to meet you, sir. I have an emergency with another client that I have to rush out to. Mandi can get you rescheduled, and I will give you a discount on your rate for the inconvenience.”
I don’t wait for him to respond before I’m outside again. As the door closes behind me, I hear the man ask Mandi, “What kind of contract emergency could there be?”
Fair question. But I don’t really care if he doesn’t believe me. Mandi will smooth things over. Or he’ll go somewhere else. Either way, I have something else to do right now.
Something that could destroy me, even worse than before.
3
Lily
Muffled voices filter in through the door. I wonder how many of them are talking about me. Scrolling through my contacts, my thumb hovers over the one I’m nervous to call. Vernon has been Blake’s attorney for years. He’s given me advice a few times when I went to him out of necessity.
Honestly, he was more encouraging when I started my career than Blake ever was. But at the end of the day, he was Blake’s attorney first, and he deserves to hear the news of Blake’s death from me in person rather than through me asking him if he knows of a defense attorney.
I close my contacts and pull up my internet browser, searching forbest defense attorneys in Nashvilleand reading through the results. There are some articles from a few years ago about an attorney named Chris Rivers. But when Ilook him up, it doesn’t say anything about defense work on his website.
Sighing my frustration, I go back to the other search results. It’s hard to really tell who I should go with, so I just select a name and connect the call. I don’t even know if they will answer, since it’s a Saturday.
The ringing sounds harsh in my ear as I wait for someone to answer.
“Marcus, Thompson, and Fuller, this is Bethany. How may I direct your call?”
The voice is perkier than I’m prepared for as I stare at the stark, bland walls of the interrogation room. “Hello, I’m looking for someone with experience in defending someone in a murder trial. Do any of your attorneys have that?”
I don’t really know the right way to ask if the attorney sucks and has lost every murder trial they’ve ever worked or if they have no experience at all. But I can’t risk hiring just anyone. I need the best.
The receptionist seems uncomfortable with my question. “Um, you need a defense attorney?”
