Twenty years ago, my dad was in a car accident. My mom, a top-tier lawyer, used her entire fortune and all her legal expertise to win the case for the culprit. All because the culprit was the man she loved but couldn’t have. Later, that man was acquitted and released, while my dad died. Twenty years later, I became the “Ironclad Lawyer,” a name that struck fear into the hearts of many in the legal community. A man knelt outside my firm, begging someone to take his wife’s hit-and-run case. The perpetrator brazenly boasted that no one in Evergreen City would dare touch his wife’s case because his mother was a legal titan. I flipped open the familiar, sickening family photo. With a cold sneer, I slammed the retainer agreement onto the table. “I’ll take this case.” In the emergency surgery ward’s hallway. A middle-aged man stepped forward. “Mr. Miller, thank you for agreeing to help us…” He was the husband of the injured delivery driver, whose leg was broken. I didn’t speak. I looked down, flipping through the perpetrator’s medical records and the synchronized police accident report in my hands. One hundred and forty miles per hour, in a city zone. A few steps away, the VIP room door was ajar. I turned my head slightly. On the hospital bed, the young perpetrator lay with his eyes closed. His face was pale. But the curve of his eye socket and brow bone. They were exactly like that person’s. Footsteps interrupted my thoughts. A woman in a high-end tailored suit walked out of the room. She was Ethan Campbell’s fiancée. She glanced at the unsigned settlement agreement in my hand. Her face hardened. “Two hundred thousand dollars.” “To hire you as my litigation lawyer. What do you say?” I pulled my gaze away from the hospital bed. I took out my old, rusted fountain pen from my pocket. My thumb twirled the cap around and around. “Ma’am.” I looked at her. “He’s facing charges for a hit-and-run.” The woman paused, then let out a cold laugh. She turned and gestured to the bodyguard behind her. A black briefcase was placed on the floor, its lid springing open. It was full of neatly stacked bundles of cash. The elevator at the end of the hallway chimed. The law firm’s director, Mr. Harrison, ran out, drenched in sweat. He didn’t even look at me, heading straight for the woman. He bowed profusely. “Ms. Davis, please calm down first. Alex isn’t thinking straight today.” He turned, grabbing my arm, and practically dragged me to the corner of the hallway. “Alex, are you trying to drag the firm down with you?” I didn’t move. He pointed at the VIP room, his hand trembling. “Do you know who’s lying in that bed?” He swallowed hard. “His mother is Eleanor Vance.” “A titan in the entire Evergreen City legal community.” “How many people in law enforcement and the judiciary have attended her lectures?” The director panted, continuing to pressure me. “The Campbell family naming you is giving you an out.” He patted the briefcase. “A poor person’s leg isn’t worth much, but the Campbell family’s reputation cannot be tarnished.” He stared into my eyes. “This is your livelihood; don’t jeopardize your career.” The woman approached. She didn’t even glance at the director, staring only at me. “Professor Vance has connections everywhere.” She lifted her chin, her voice dripping with contempt. “My fiancé merely had an unfortunate run-in with some nobody from the lower class.” She kicked aside the crumpled delivery bag nearby. “Are you really going to trade her broken leg for the Campbells’ humiliation?” “Tell me, who gave you the guts?” The hallway fell silent. The delivery driver’s husband sat paralyzed on the floor, not even daring to cry out. I slowly lifted my eyelids. My hands were in my pockets. “Director.” “Legal fees can buy services.” I walked back to the briefcase. “But they can’t buy my conscience.” The woman’s face completely fell. The director gasped. I raised my hand, pointing towards the VIP room. “No matter how powerful your connections, they can’t absolve him.” “No matter how much money, it can’t reattach that man’s leg.” “As for the Campbell family’s reputation.” I threw the report in my hand back onto the pile of cash. “What does that have to do with me?” I moved closer to the woman, staring into her eyes. “I’m going to make sure that driver goes to jail, for the sake of that delivery worker.” The muscles in the woman’s face twitched twice. She stared at me, grinding her teeth. “Fine.” “Alex Miller, I hope you truly understand who you’ve just offended.” *Bang.* She spun around and slammed the VIP room door shut. The director’s face was ashen. He pointed at me, unable to squeeze out a complete sentence for a long time. “You… you’re finished!” He stomped his foot. “You’ve offended the Campbells; you’ll never make it in Evergreen City!” The director scrambled into the elevator. Only I and the delivery driver’s husband were left in the hallway. I stood rooted to the spot. My hand in my pocket, gripping that old fountain pen. Offending the powerful. In their eyes, that was a dead end. But they didn’t know. I had been waiting for this opportunity for twenty long years. I pulled out my phone. “Grandma, it’s me. That thing… you can bring it now.”
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.
I looked up. Eleanor Vance stood at the doorway. Dressed in a black skirt, with silver hair and wire-rimmed glasses. Her posture was ramrod straight, her steps measured and deliberate. Exactly like the legal titan on television. The director turned, looking as if his throat had been squeezed. He retreated to the corner, then backed out the door. The door closed. Only she and I were left in the office. Twenty years. I was finally sitting across from this woman. She pulled out a chair and sat down calmly. Without a hint of anger. Even with a smile. “Mr. Miller.” Her voice was deep, steady, like she was lecturing from a podium. “Evergreen City hasn’t seen a young man of such integrity as you in a long time.” She looked at me. “Speaking up for the underprivileged, excellent.” My hand in my pocket clenched around the old fountain pen. She took off her glasses, slowly polishing them with a soft cloth. “Ethan’s incident was an accident.” “Young people driving carelessly, everyone has done it.” “If you’re willing to drop this now, I’ll recommend you for the position of Deputy Secretary-General of the State Legal Society.” She looked at me, her tone so sincere, as if mentoring a protégé. “Young man, you need to look at the bigger picture.” I took out the old fountain pen from my pocket and twirled the cap with my thumb. “Professor Vance.” “Twenty years ago, the severe hit-and-run case on Eastwood Highway in Evergreen City.” “That battle made your name famous and placed you on the path to becoming a legal titan.” Eleanor Vance’s hand, polishing her glasses, stopped. “What exactly are you trying to say?” I stood up, hands braced on the desk, staring into her eyes. “I want to ask Professor Vance.” “Back then, you proclaimed procedural justice, upholding every letter of the law.” “But what about now?” I snatched up the ‘Notice of Investigation for Professional Misconduct.’ “No evidence collection, no defense, no hearing required!” “With just one word from you, the State Bar Association bypassed all proper procedures and blacklisted a practicing lawyer in ten minutes!” “Where is your so-called procedural justice now?!” The office instantly fell silent. “You use privilege to oppress victims, and dirty hands to interfere with justice.” “To protect your hit-and-run son, you’ve trampled on the very beliefs you championed your entire life!” “Eleanor Vance, is this your original intention as a lawyer?!” Eleanor Vance took a deep breath. The gentle, scholarly facade on her face shattered. Replaced by cold arrogance. “What a sharp-tongued young man.” “You want to talk to me about intentions? About procedure?” She stood up, meticulously adjusting her cuffs. “Twenty years ago, I still needed to rely on procedural justice to win the cases I needed to win.” “But twenty years later, in Evergreen City…” She abruptly leaned forward. “I am justice. I am the rule!” “Tomorrow, all city media will receive irrefutable evidence of your professional misconduct and extortion against the Campbell family.” She walked to the door, not even looking back. “Try to fight me, and you won’t even get through the courthouse doors.” The next morning. All major media outlets in Evergreen City simultaneously published reports. “Renowned lawyer Alex Miller accused of professional misconduct and extorting millions from the Campbell family; the State Bar Association has launched an investigation.” The accompanying image was a screenshot of me standing beside the briefcase. The law firm director’s call came in. My partnership status revoked. My lawyer’s license frozen. Judges and prosecutors I had worked with before all blocked me overnight. A text message from an unknown number popped up on my phone. [Young man, in Evergreen City, no one can change the rules I set.] Immediately after, the delivery driver’s husband called. Someone had told his wife that if she signed the settlement, the Campbell family would cover all remaining medical expenses. If not, she couldn’t even keep her current hospital bed. “Mr. Miller… should we sign it?” I gripped my phone. “Don’t sign. Wait for me.”
An edited recording was uploaded online. The footage of me telling the delivery driver’s husband, “I’ll take this case,” was transformed into ‘irrefutable evidence’ of a lawyer first demanding exorbitant fees, then inciting the client to reject a settlement. The last bit of public sympathy vanished. My name became synonymous with “crooked lawyer.” My personal information was dug up. My home address, the schools I attended. I turned off my phone. Sitting in my half-empty office. The door was pushed open. It was Grandma. She had come from the countryside. Her hands were covered in cracked skin, with decades of ingrained dirt in her fingernails that wouldn’t wash away. It was these hands. That had saved dollar by dollar for all my tuition, from elementary school to law school. “I know what you’re doing.” Grandma looked up. Tears streamed down her face. “But I’m scared.” “When your dad left, the road… it was all shattered…” “I… I didn’t even receive a single intact piece of his clothing…” Grandma covered her mouth. Her shoulders shook violently. “I’ve already lost a son.” “Alex, I can’t lose you too.” “Let it go…” I knelt down. And held her hands. “Grandma, this time is different.” I looked up. “Every debt owed will be paid, not a single one less.” “Did you bring that thing?” “I did, but I’m afraid…” “It’s okay, I’m here.” The next day. The Campbell family held a public press conference. The live stream started simultaneously, reaching over a million viewers within ten minutes. Eleanor Vance was the first to take the stage. Her prayer beads were replaced by a charity medal on her chest. Her tone was gentle, her eyes filled with perfectly placed tears. “I’ve done twenty years of charity work, built forty-three schools, and sponsored over two thousand underprivileged students.” “We are all heartbroken by the delivery driver’s injury.” “We immediately offered full medical compensation and lost wages.” “But that lawyer rejected all goodwill, determined to drag this family into court.” Her voice trembled. “I just want to ask one thing: who is truly harming that delivery driver?” The comments section exploded. [Ms. Campbell is right! That lawyer isn’t helping the delivery woman at all, just using a poor person to get famous!] [Could someone who’s done charity for twenty years be a bad person? It’s the suspended lawyer who’s full of dirty tricks!] Ethan Campbell was wheeled onto the stage. His arm was bandaged, his face pale. He kept his head down, his voice so soft it seemed fragile. “What happened that day… I know it was my fault.” “I’ve been blaming myself ever since, unable to sleep at night.” “I’m willing to take full responsibility and compensate for all damages.” “But that lawyer… he doesn’t want money, he doesn’t want a settlement; he wants to send me to jail.” He looked up. Tears fell. “I’m only twenty-four this year.” “I just made a mistake…” Eleanor Vance walked onto the stage, placing a sympathetic hand on Ethan’s wheelchair. She took the microphone and scanned the audience. “The law is not without compassion.” “Ethan is still a child; he has his whole life ahead of him.” “As a seasoned legal professional, and as a mother.” “I will never allow anyone with ulterior motives to use public opinion to ruin my son’s life!” *Bang!* The side door of the venue burst open. All cameras abruptly turned. I walked in, step by step, wearing my lawyer’s robe. “What a touching display of mother-son affection.” “But why didn’t you protect my father like that back then?” I looked at Eleanor Vance on stage, who was staring in shock, and spoke each word distinctly. “My dearest, Mother.”
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