Page 3 of Blind Justice

Ruth closed the door behind her, sat down at her desk, and took a moment to compose herself. She glanced at the stack of notes in front of her and pulled out the file she needed. The case she was working on had a tight deadline, and the teleconference in five minutes was only the beginning of what promised to be a long day.

She took a deep breath, focusing her mind back on the task ahead. As she scanned through the details of her case, the tension from the morning conversation started to slip away. There were always going to be challenges in this line of work, and not all of them were legal.

Melanie poked her head in. A smirk appeared on her face.“Dana’s outside. Says she needs a few minutes.”

Ruth chuckled and rubbed her temples. “You mean I really have twenty before the Zoom call?”

“I try.” Melanie laughed. “Want me to send her in?”

“Yeah, might as well spend the time doing something useful.”

Melanie gave her a thumbs-up and stepped out. A moment later, Dana Caldwell walked in, closing the door behind her and tossing a thick file onto Ruth’s desk. “We’ve got a problem.”

Ruth sighed, eyeing the folder. “We do? What’s wrong?”

“Our client, Jordan Hayes—assault charge. All right, my client. The case is flimsy, but the prosecution’s acting like it’s airtight. Witnesses hesitated in the lineup, no physical evidence, just a weak circumstantial thread.”

Ruth opened the file, scanning quickly. “And they’re still pushing?”

“Hard. They want this conviction. Feels like a setup.”

“Did you talk to Brandt about it?” Ruth leaned back.

Dana looked down. “I wanted your opinion.”

Ruth closed the file. “Pressure tactics. They assume you won’t dig. Dana, prove them wrong. Dig deeper. You’ve got this.”

“Thanks, Ruth.” She turned and left the office.

With a renewed sense of focus, she signed on to the firm’s Zoom account and typed in the meeting ID, ready to tackle the day, one step at a time.

Two

Ruth Everhart adjusted her glasses, straightened her blazer, and took a deep breath before clicking the link to join the Zoom call. The thumbnail images flickered into view, and there they were: Beau and Elsie Warren, the assistant mayor of Pierre, South Dakota, and their son, Curtis. The Warrens’ sharp, overbearing presence dominated the virtual room, even over the slightly pixelated video feed.

Beau leaned forward, his face consuming the screen. “Ms. Everhart, you understand the stakes here, don’t you? My son’s future is at risk, and failure is not an option.”

Ruth forced a neutral expression. “Mr. Warren, I appreciate your concern. However, I must remind you this case is complicated. Curtis’s second DUI?—”

“Alleged DUI,” Elsie interjected, her voice cutting like glass. “And those injuries? Hardly ‘serious.’ That cyclist came out of nowhere.”

Curtis, a mop-haired twenty-something with the glazed look of someone perpetually coddled, sat back in his chair, disinterested. Ruth couldn’t decide if his indifference was arrogance or denial.

“I understand your perspective,” Ruth said, her voice steady. “However, the evidence is substantial. Blood alcohol levels don’t lie, and the cyclist sustained multiple fractures.”

“Enough with the excuses!” Elsie snapped. “You’re supposed to be our lawyer. Fix this!”

Beau leaned in again, his tone lowering dangerously. “If you can’t get this case dismissed, Ms. Everhart, you can kiss your career goodbye. Do I make myself clear?”

Ruth swallowed her irritation. Years of being one of five sisters had taught her how to maintain composure under fire, but this felt like persecution. “I’ll do everything in my power to ensure the best outcome for your son. That said, the court’s decision ultimately rests on the evidence.”

The conversation spiraled into further demands and veiled threats, with Ruth maintaining her professionalism by sheer force of will. Curtis remained silent throughout, offering only the occasional shrug or nod.

By the time the call ended, Ruth’s temples throbbed. She leaned back in her chair, pulling off one of her high-heeled pumps. The leather felt cool in her hand—a small, physical reminder of her restraint during the onslaught. Without thinking, she hurled it across the room. The shoe bounced off the opposite wall and landed with a dull thud just as a knock sounded at her door.

Ruth froze. The door creaked open, and in stepped one of the bosses, Blake Ellison.

Blake, founder of the firm, with his impeccably tailored suit, silver hair, and piercing blue eyes, closed the door quietly behind him. He raised an eyebrow at the scene—one shoe on Ruth’s foot, the other lying forlorn on the floor.

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