Chapter 2

I locked the retainer agreement in my drawer.

The office door was pushed open.

A faint scent of sandalwood drifted in first.

Subtle, expensive, like the incense offered before Buddha in a temple.

I looked up.

A man in a sharp, dark suit stood at the doorway.

His hair was meticulously combed, a string of prayer beads wrapped around his left wrist, and he held a document in his right hand.

His steps were steady.

As if nothing could rush him.

He placed the document on my desk.

I glanced at the official seal.

Evergreen City Accident Victims' Relief Fund.

How ironic.

“Mr. Miller.”

His voice was incredibly calm.

“Ms. Davis is young and impulsive; I apologize on her behalf.”

He flicked his prayer beads.

“I’m David Campbell, Ethan’s father.”

I didn’t respond.

He gestured to the document on the table.

“This is a million-dollar special assistance fund from the foundation.”

“Donated in your name to the injured delivery worker.”

He paused, as if carefully choosing his words.

“At the same time, the foundation would like to hire you as Chief Legal Counsel, with an annual salary of three million dollars.”

He looked up at me.

“The condition is that you withdraw from this case.”

I leaned back in my chair.

“Mr. Campbell, what are you trying to do…?”

“Help you.”

He interrupted, his tone so sincere it didn’t sound like a negotiation.

“Life is tough for people in the lower class. If they fight this case to the bitter end, the long litigation period will only cut off their basic living expenses.”

He sighed softly.

“You get a respectable job, he gets life-saving money. It’s good for everyone.”

“Mr. Miller, I’ve done twenty years of charity work, built dozens of schools.”

“I understand the struggles of the underprivileged all too well.”

As he said this, his eyes even had a hint of moisture.

Filled with compassion for humanity.

“Mr. Campbell.”

I spoke.

“Hit-and-run is a criminal offense.”

I looked into his eyes.

“Charity money can’t buy an acquittal from the court.”

He scrutinized me.

As if appraising a mistakenly priced item.

“Mr. Miller.”

His tone shifted; it was still soft, but there was something underlying it.

“Everyone says you’re an Ironclad Lawyer.”

He leaned forward.

“Today, I’ve finally witnessed it myself.”

I didn’t move.

He continued to stare at me.

“Why are you so set on going against my son? What do you gain?”

“Not enough leverage? Or are you just trying to leverage the Campbell name for your own career?”

He leaned closer, his voice even lower.

“Let me be clear.”

“You won’t earn much from taking on a messy case like this, and you’ll offend an entire network of people.”

He pointed at me.

“My wife’s former students are everywhere in law enforcement and the judiciary.”

“Do you really think you, a single lawyer, can go against the entire legal community of Evergreen City?”

“Mr. Campbell.”

I stood up.

“The fundamental principles of justice won’t be wiped away by your family’s dirty tricks.”

I walked around the desk, to the door, and opened it.

“Take your dirty money and get out.”

The veneer of respectability on his face shattered.

“People who clawed their way up from the bottom just don’t understand rules.”

He stood up, his voice icy.

“You’ll see.”

I stood still, my shoulders trembling.

Twenty years ago.

My dad’s body was shattered in the middle of the road.

And the killer’s husband had just been sitting in front of me.

Wearing prayer beads, fidgeting with a million-dollar check, talking to me about charity, about the struggles of the poor.

I lowered my head and let out a soft laugh.

David Campbell couldn't handle this.

So next, it would be her turn.

The legal titan who used "procedural justice" to acquit her husband, the killer.

My mother, Eleanor Vance.

The door was kicked open.

The law firm director rushed in.

“Notice of Investigation for Professional Misconduct.”

“Alex Miller, you’ve been suspended indefinitely.”

I glanced at the signatory.

Just moments ago.

How efficient.

“Professor Vance spoke a single word, and the State Bar Association dared to rubber-stamp it.”

“Do you think you’re representing a delivery driver’s case?”

He took a breath.

“You’re sending your entire professional career to the guillotine of the Campbell family!”

The director was about to say more.

The door opened.

A scent of rich wood wafted in first.