Page 2 of The Rules
“This is how things are handled.”
The younger man scoffs, a shake of his head underscoring his contempt. "No," he countered, "this is how we sweep things under the rug." A strained silence ensues. Another lawyer intervenes, gripping the man’s shoulder, his tone subdued yet authoritative. “That’s enough.”
The young man stiffens under the grasp, but his jaw sets, eyes still ablaze with silent rebellion. For a moment, it looks like he might argue further. Instead, with one last sharp breath, he jerks free and storms off.
She stands frozen as he moves past her.
For just a second—one, fleeting second—his gaze flicks up, locking onto hers.
She doesn’t know what she expects to see.
But what she finds instead is undeniable anger. Frustration.
A flicker of something dangerously close to guilt—or recognition.
Then he’s gone, disappearing down the hall without another word.
The senior lawyers continue their quiet conversation as if nothing happened, as if one of their own hadn’t just questioned the very foundation of their verdict.
Katherine barely registers their conversation. Her heart throbs in her ears, her thoughts churning over their statements, analyzing the intern's response, allowing it to sink deep into the pit of her stomach.
???
She grips the armrest of her chair. “You have to take this case,” she insists, voice tight with restrained panic. “My father is innocent.” The lawyer doesn’t even bother to lift his gaze from his polished desk, his expression carved from stone.
She leans forward, desperate, trying to break through his detached calm. “There has to be a way to appeal. A loophole. Something.”
He exhales slowly, finally meeting her gaze, but there’s no sympathy there—only the cool detachment of a man who has already made up his mind.
“No judge will touch this case,” he says, voice smooth, final. “Not with Sterling & Co. backing the prosecution.”
The words hit like a slap, a brutal reminder of the invisible walls that can cage even the most determined. This isn’t just about evidence or justice—this case was rigged from the beginning, another cog in the machine that crushes the innocent beneath its weight.
Her breath stutters, but she refuses to crumble. She feels the familiar burn of fury rising within her, a flame that fuels her determination and masks the helplessness clawing at her chest.
“If you won’t take it, I’ll find someone who will.” Her voice shakes—but only once. She’s terrified. And that’s exactly why she can’t stop now. “I’ll go to every lawyer in this city.
Every firm. Every contact. Someone has to care.” The words escape her lips like a promise, a declaration of war against the injustice that threatens to consume her. She won’t back down, not when her father’s life hangs in the balance. She’ll fight, no matter the cost, no matter the odds.
The lawyer doesn’t even blink. He leans back, studying her with the idle curiosity of a man watching someone slowly realize they’re drowning. “You won’t find anyone,” he says simply. “Not because there’s no case—but because no one will risk what it would cost to win. If someone truly wanted justice, they’d have to take matters into their own hands.” The words settle in the space between them like an unspoken dare, lingering in the air, inviting her to either step back or step into the abyss. She meets his gaze, her resolve unyielding, ready to accept the challenge he’s laid before her. She swallows, forcing steel into her voice. “Then I’ll do it myself.” For the first time, the lawyer pauses. Something shifts in his expression—an almost imperceptible flicker of interest, a spark that briefly illuminates his detached facade. He doesn’t confirm or deny her declaration, only muses, almost carelessly.
Katherine's heart throbs in her ears. No rescue is coming.
If she doesn't act, no one will. Standing on unsteady legs, she turns and exits the office.
???
The kitchen is dim, the air thick with exhaustion and the scent of something once warm now cold on the plates between them. Untouched food sits like a forgotten offering, a silent testament to the weight pressing on the room. The walls feel closer tonight, like the house itself is holding its breath.
Katherine sits across from her mother, spine stiff, hands clenched tightly in her lap. Her knuckles shine pale against the dark wood of the table, her whole body wired like she’s bracing for an earthquake that’s already begun. Lisa lingers at the edge, not quite seated, not quite gone, hovering in that anxious stillness only younger siblings know when the grown-up world feels too sharp.
“I have an idea,” Katherine says, voice steady, but low.
The words drop like a stone into the quiet. No echo. Just tension.
Her mother exhales, long and weary, the sound barely more than a sigh. She doesn’t look up. “Oh?”
“I’m going to get Dad out.”
