Justice Delayed for Twenty Years

Ive been a lawyer for eight years. I only represent blue-collar workers, and my record is flawless: a hundred percent success rate.

Recently, a major publicly traded corporation, currently drowning in a massive class-action lawsuit from its employees, dumped a three-million-dollar retainer on my desk. They were begging me to defend them.

Twenty years ago, I faced this exact company in court.

Back then, my dad was forced to work three days and three nights straight. His heart gave out from extreme exhaustion, landing him in the ICU. The company flatly refused to cover it as a workplace injury. My family couldn't afford the astronomical medical bills, and we had to watch him die.

When we tried to sue, the CEO used his massive PR machine to smear us in the media. The harassment drove my mother to jump from our apartment building. She died right in front of my eyes. Yet the public blamed us, calling us greedy scammers, while the CEO stood under the camera lights, looking pristine and untouchable.

From that day on, I swore Id clear my family's name.

After law school, I clawed my way up to become the kind of attorney that makes predatory bosses sweat through their expensive suits. My office walls were covered in framed letters of appreciation from families I had saved.

So when my managing partner dropped the corporate retainer in front of me, I looked at the familiar logo on the file and smiled. "Looks like I'm about to add another win to my record."

Douglas, my managing partner, was already daydreaming about whether to buy a new Mercedes or a Porsche. When my words finally registered, his face went rigid. "This is three million dollars, Anya! I'll only take a cut of five hundred thousand, and the rest is yours! You can't keep being this stubborn because of what happened to your father. You bust your ass for these workers and make pennies. You think I run a charity here?"

Douglas had been good to me. When I was a fresh graduate and everyone else shut their doors, he was the only one who gave me a shot.

I lowered my head and offered a quiet apology.

He only grew more frantic. "Everyone knows youre a righteous, brilliant lawyer. If you lose just this once, nobody is going to judge you. Honestly, with your talent, if you hadn't pissed off half the billionaires in the city, youd be living in a mansion by now. Just look at this as your ticket out of the dirt, alright?"

I remembered all the times Douglas had cleaned up my messes. The guilt weighed heavily on me. "I'm handing in my resignation. This case won't touch the firm."

Douglas nearly lost his mind. "There are thousands of corrupt executives out there, Anya! Do you honestly think you can sue them all by yourself? Even if you win this class-action suit for the workers, what then? Theyll get maybe three hundred thousand dollars each! Why not take the three million? You can quietly donate a chunk of your fee to the victims' families for funeral costs. Everybody wins!"

I looked him dead in the eye, my voice steady. "It's not about the money."

He yanked at his tie, his face flushed with frustration. "You're a defense attorney, Anya, not a federal prosecutor! Determining guilt is their job. The world isn't black and white. It's about maximizing utility! Those three dead factory workers left behind parents and children. How does dragging this lawsuit out for years help them?"

Seeing my resolve remain unshaken, Douglas let out a long, heavy sigh, as if making a monumental sacrifice. "Look, I know how pigheaded you are. If you don't want to play ball, just call in sick and sit this one out. I promise you, once we secure this corporate payout, Ill personally fund your little pro-bono crusade for the rest of the year."

A vivid memory flashed in my mind. Twenty years ago in that courtroom, the public defender assigned to my fathers case had worn the exact same expression. Your dad didn't drop dead on the factory floor, kid. Legally, it's a nightmare to prove it was overwork. Besides, the company offered five thousand for funeral costs. Thats more than fair.

Is that all a human life was? A sum to be calculated, negotiated, and settled? If we had won that case back then, perhaps these three new families wouldn't be mourning their loved ones today.

I forced down the tears stinging the back of my throat. "I'm not changing my mind. No matter how dark this road gets, Im walking it to the end."

I owed it to those families. And I owed it to the terrified, helpless little girl I used to be.

Douglas knew there was no swaying me. He stopped pushing. "Have it your way. Go get the files from Jeff. If this blows up in your face, the firm is washing its hands of you." He waved off my thanks and picked up his phone to call the corporate client.

Before I could finish gathering the files, my phone rang with an unknown number. Even after twenty years, the voice on the other end was instantly recognizable, though slightly raspy with age. "Ah, Counselor. Is the price not right? I admire your talent, Anya. Play ball with me, and Ill hand you whatever prestige, power, or position you want on a silver platter."

That patronizing, arrogant tone made my stomach turn. "With all your billions, Donald Garrison, why can't you just upgrade the safety equipment in your factories? Why can't you just pay the victims' families what they deserve?"

Donald let out a cold, mocking laugh. "How much do you honestly think their lives are worth? Why would I waste my capital on them? Youve handled enough of these cases to know the truth. Nobody gives a damn when ants get stepped on."

It was the exact same script. Twenty years ago, I had burst into his office, demanding to know why he wouldn't pay for my fathers ICU bills. His eyes had been filled with nothing but mockery. Your dad was a replaceable gear, kid. Why would I waste precious resources on him? He was a loser when he was alive, and he's worth even less dead. If you want someone to blame, blame your father for not working hard enough and becoming a burden to his family.

Yet, in front of the reporters' cameras, he had shed crocodile tears, talking about how much he valued his staff and how devastated he was by the loss of such a dedicated employee.

I clenched my fists so hard my nails bit into my skin. "Is your blood somehow blue, Donald? If you look down on your workers so much, where do you get the nerve to steal the fruits of their labor?"

His chuckle grew louder, dripping with condescension. "No wonder youre still broke after all these years. Has pitying the poor ever paid your mortgage? You know who we are. Aligning yourself with us is your only ticket to the upper class. Ill give you thirty minutes to think about it. I'll even throw in another million as a gesture of friendship. Otherwise..."

Before he could finish his threat, I cut him off. "You're not in my league."

Back then, Garrison Industries was just a rising mid-sized firm. My dad was their top salesman, pulling in millions in net profit for them every single month. Yet his salary barely covered our rent. When I clutched my fathers ashes, screaming that I would make Donald Garrison pay, the mans smug grin had been intolerable. Sweetheart, people of your class don't get to make demands.

Today, I handed those exact words back to him. He was so stunned by the rejection that before he could utter a single curse, I hung up.

A second letter of a collective groan echoed through the office. "What the hell? Are you kidding me? Our firm's state registry access just got suspended! We can't file any court documents!"

Douglas emerged from his office, his face pale and grim, looking at me with a heavy silence. "Garrison Industries isn't a company you play with, Anya. He has an only son, Dominic, and hell spend every dime he has to protect him."

Tyler, our new associate, stared with wide eyes. "Wait, the billionaire Garrisons? I heard they have friends in high places everywhere. Didn't they drive a rival firm's owner and his family to leap off a building last year?"

Richard, a veteran attorney who had worked with me for five years, grabbed my hands, his eyes red. "Anya, I've always backed your crusades. But this time, you're throwing all of us into the fire! My wife just had our baby, and Ive got a massive mortgage to pay. I can't lose my license!"

Other voices chimed in around the room.

"I spent five years studying to pass the bar. I'm the only lawyer in my family..."

"My mom is in the hospital, and I still haven't cleared her surgical bills..."

Our firm was small, with only five or six attorneys. Every single one of them came from the exact type of ordinary, hard-working background that Donald Garrison despised. Twenty years had passed, and the man had only grown more ruthless.

Douglas squeezed my shoulder, his voice thick with exhaustion. "Even if you win this trial, Anya, that old wolf has a dozen ways to keep his son out of prison and ensure the victims families never see a dime. But the colleagues you work with every single day? Their lives will be utterly destroyed."

I grit my teeth, but before I could speak, the glass doors of our office were violently shoved open. Several burly security guards in dark suits filed in, followed by Donald Garrison. He looked around the modest office with absolute disdain, his sharp eyes finally locking onto me. His expression was one of mild irritation, like a king forced to deal with a minor pest.

After twenty years, the billionaire was graying and wrinkled, but those cold, calculating eyes remained entirely unchanged. He was exponentially wealthier now, his vintage watch and tailored Italian suit practically screaming old money.

I took a step forward, meeting his gaze. "So you're the attorney trying to drag my company through the mud?" He curled his lip in a patronizing smirk. "I heard you have a flawless record. I only offered you that retainer because I respect competence. This was your one ticket out of mediocrity, girl."

His son, Dominic, trailed behind him, casually lighting a cigarette. "Dad, why are you even talking to this nobody? We own half the city. People beg for our crumbs. Why did we even bother coming here? If she actually wants to try us in court, I'll personally show her what a real defeat looks like."

It was pathetic. A rotten tree could only yield bitter fruit. A ruthless narcissist had raised an even worse successor.

I stared at Dominics arrogant face, so similar to his fathers. "Then you'd better prepare your defense, because you're the one who is going to lose."

Having his pride wounded in front of his father, Dominic snapped. He dropped his cigarette, stomped it out, and pointed a finger directly at my face. "Who the hell do you think you are? You got lucky on a few minor wage disputes and suddenly you think youre in our league?"

Donald raised a hand, silencing his son, though his face remained locked in a tight, artificial smile. "Anya, Ive looked at your financials. You make maybe a hundred and fifty thousand a year, and youre carrying credit card debt. I am offering you five million dollars. Distribute a bit of that to your colleagues, and you can retire comfortably today. People in your profession want two things: wealth and prestige. Thats why you represent those worthless factory workers, isn't it? Take my offer, and I'll have my media outlets paint you as a brilliant, cooperative legal mind. You'll be famous overnight. Your future retainers will start at seven figures."

He was absolutely certain I would bend. Which was why his smile turned to stone the moment I whispered, "No."

"Of course, an orphan wouldn't know any better," Dominic sneered. "No parents to teach you how the world works. Rejecting a gold mine like this... you're destined to die in the gutter."

I remembered my fathers words from when I was a little girl. Anya, always remember that every human being is born equal. Walk with your head high. Never look down on anyone, and never let anyone look down on you.

A sudden surge of rage washed over me. This bastard had no right to speak of my parents. "I have parents. They were killed by a parasitic corporate thief!"

Donald raised an eyebrow, a flicker of cold amusement passing over his features. "Ah, so that's why you have this little obsession. Well, your parents deserved what they got. If they had any talent, they would have been the ones running a company. Why did they die when everyone else survived? They were useless, and they raised a useless daughter. Honestly, clearing people like that out of the system just reduces the burden on society."

My nails cut deep into my palms. My chest felt like it was going to burst. "Shut your mouth!"

Dominic smirked, matching his fathers chilling arrogance. "Is he wrong? You working-class losers are always whining about evil bosses. The truth is, youre weak, lazy, and can't handle pressure. When you die, it's just natural selection." He stepped closer, looking at me with a sickening smile. "If you ask me, you should go join them in the ground. Weak genes like yours shouldn't be passed down anyway. You're just waste."

If Richard and Tyler hadn't grabbed my arms, my fist would have shattered Dominics jaw.

Donald cleared his throat, delivering his final ultimatum. "Theres no need to bicker over details. Accept the offer, rewrite your destiny, and give your future children a life of luxury. Your dead parents might actually rest in peace knowing their bloodline finally amounted to something." He paused, his cold gaze sweeping over my trembling, silent colleagues. "Or, you can cling to your little crusade. But if you do, understand this: every single person associated with you, your colleagues, your friends, will pay the price. I will ruin them all."

Douglas was dripping with cold sweat, pulling me aside, his voice cracking as he whispered, "Anya, please. Im begging you. Were a tiny firm. We can't survive this."

I closed my eyes, my breathing heavy, remaining silent.

Donalds patience finally evaporated. "Fine. If you want to do this the hard way, so be it." He turned to his assistant. "Have their state credentials pulled immediately. Ensure none of these people ever work in the legal field again."

Panicked cries erupted in the office. The supportive glances of my colleagues instantly curdled into resentment.

"Anya, do you really need to destroy our families to satisfy your ego?"

"If you were actually as powerful as you think, you wouldn't be stuck in a small firm like this! Why do you have to play the hero at our expense?"

Douglas looked at me, his eyes bloodshot with rage and despair. "I know you want justice for the victims, Anya. But are your colleagues just collateral damage to you? Do you feel even a shred of remorse for what you're doing to us?"

I had seen this exact scene twenty years ago. The single journalist who had agreed to write about my fathers death was threatened by Donald Garrison. Her files were destroyed, and our relatives blamed us for dragging them into the mess. My mother, crushed by the isolation, had given up. But I wouldn't. I had spent twenty years preparing for this fight. I was not going to break.

Donald looked thoroughly pleased with the chaos he had sown. He tipped his chin at me with a smug, cruel smile. "Anya, understand your place. I offered you a hand, but that doesn't mean you're important. At the end of the day, you're just a dog. If you won't heel, I'll have to put you down."

The heavy office doors opened again. This time, state investigators in dark windbreakers entered. "Anya Stone, you are under arrest for manufacturing fraudulent evidence and attempted extortion. Your license to practice law is hereby suspended pending trial."

Dominic let out a mocking whistle, looking at my colleagues. "If the rest of you want to avoid sharing her cell, you know exactly what to do."

Douglas glanced at me once before quickly lowering his eyes. The others couldn't even look me in the face. A quiet voice mumbled, "We're sorry, Anya. We don't have a choice."

When questioned by the investigators, my colleagues used their deep legal knowledge to carefully tailor their statements, subtly shifting the blame onto me to save themselves.

I was taken to a holding cell. Before leaving the station, Donald looked at my file, a brief flicker of curiosity on his face. "You've been remarkably persistent. You aren't by any chance the daughter of one of my old factory hands, are you?" He shrugged a moment later, indifferent. "Well, I don't remember. They're all just faceless poor people anyway."

The destruction of my family was as trivial to him as a passing rainstorm.

I glared at him through the bars, my blood boiling. "You and your son are going to burn for this!"

He paused, then burst into a hearty laugh. "Every loser who fails to extort me says the exact same thing. But my family has enough wealth to last generations. You should worry about where you're spending the next ten years, counselor."

He unleashed his media empire on me. Overnight, skewed reports painted me as a corrupt attorney who preyed on vulnerable corporations through fraudulent lawsuits. Douglas visited me once, only to hand me my formal termination papers. He stammered, looking at the floor. "They cleared out your office, Anya. I have a family to feed, so..."

"It's fine," I cut in gently. "I understand."

I didn't hate them. They were innocent people trapped in a giant's path. While I was detained, the families of the factory workers formally withdrew their representation. "The dead are gone, but we still have to survive. We can't fight them anymore," they told the press. "The lawyer is locked in a cell. How can she help us? We'd rather take the fifty-thousand-dollar settlement."

But one family remained. A fifteen-year-old girl named Lily. She stood outside the visitors partition, tears streaming down her pale cheeks. "Anya, their lawyers keep coming to my house, threatening to evict us. I'm so scared. But I can't let them pretend my mom's death didn't matter..."

Looking at her, I saw myself twenty years ago. "Don't be afraid, Lily," I whispered, pressing my hand to the glass. "I promise you, I will make them pay."

The detective handling my case quietly warned me that I was likely looking at a three-year sentence. Everyone told me to plead out. Lily was so terrified by the constant harassment that she stopped going to school, on the verge of breaking. The night before she was set to sign the settlement agreement, the court unexpectedly expedited my hearing, scheduling it for the very next morning.

I was escorted into the courtroom in handcuffs. Donald Garrison sat in the gallery, wearing an expression of absolute triumph. "I wanted to be here in person to watch you break," he whispered as I walked past.

I remained silent.

Donald and Dominic behaved with supreme confidence throughout the opening remarks. Everyone in the room assumed the trial was a mere formality before my conviction. Until the prosecutor activated the large presentation screen to display the state's exhibits.

Donalds smug grin vanished, his mouth hanging open as he froze in his seat. "This is impossible!"