“And they won’t,” Declan snaps. For a moment, his office is silent while he looks over the documents before handing them back to me. He sighs. “I agree. The guy’s a creep, but we’re not working for the plaintiffs.” He leans back in his chair and puts his hands behind his head. “We’re here to defend him, not string him higher.”
I stamp my foot in frustration. “How can you even say that? Don’t you see what he’s doing? And we’re just going to let him get away with it?” God, he’s so frustrating. We should be joining the other side, not fighting them.
He shrugs. “Imagine a system where people just take everyone else’s word that something is true. Like it or not, even scumbags deserve a defense. There are rules to be followed to make sure judgments are based on facts, not emotions.”
I try again. “How about this then? These records show thousands of overtime hours logged in the last year. I don’t even know why he’s hanging onto these records, but the payroll documents show that he’s paid thirteen of them. Thirteen. Think about that for a second.” I throw the pile of documents onto his desk, where they land with a thump. “This guy should be behind bars.”
“And I’m saying it’s not our fucking problem. He’s paying us to do a job. If we don’t do it, we’re the ones who get fucked instead.” Declan is holding his pen like a twig that’s about to snap but I can’t stop pushing.
“He’s ruining people’s lives, and all you can say is that it’s not our fucking problem?” God, I want to punch him right in that arrogant face of his. I’m biased. I know that. But anyone who’s got even a tiny shred of decency should see how big of a deal this is, right? “Are you even human?”
Declan glares at me. “I get it, Claire. It’s horrible. He’s a fucking dirtbag. No arguments here, but some of us aren’t done after three months.” He stands, slamming his hands onto his desk so hard I jump. “You skip off back to school, while I’ve got my job to worry about.”
His job? Seriously? “You say that like your dad doesn’t own the whole company. Do you seriously think he’d fire you?”
He laughs, a short, humorless bark. “In a fucking heartbeat, babe. And everyone out there?” Declan waves his hands towards the door. “How do you think their bills get paid? Would you like to decide who gets to stay and who gets to go because business slows down as word gets out that we’re loose cannons in the courtroom?”
Defeated, I sit. I know what he’s saying makes sense from his point of view, but all I can see is how horrible this case is. All those white collar office workers out there would be treated fairly and probably find new jobs easily, but I don’t really know that. Could I look someone in the eye and tell them their paycheck wasn’t important enough?
No, probably not.
A vision of Dad flits before my eyes, just a brief moment where I see his face, his sunken eyes, his expression defeated. I know exactly when that moment was. Only a couple of weeks before he jumped, just before I invited him home. I’d smelled the booze on his breath. He’d gone home with me that night, but all he could talk about was how he didn’t want to mess up our lives like he’d messed up his. He’d looked a wreck.
That moment is indelibly burned into my memory.
And then two weeks later he was gone. Why hadn’t I watched him more closely? If I’d really loved him, I would’ve done more. Something. Anything. Maybe if I’d kept him home, he wouldn’t have jumped. Maybe not. But maybe.
I’ll never know.
Sagging back into my chair, I drop my face into my hands. There’s not a minute in every day where I don’t want him back, but until this case, I’d thought I’d gained some distance. Not gotten over it. I’ll never get over it. But past it in a way, at least enough to think rationally about what happened.
For years I’ve had one dream. Study hard, finish school, make a difference. Except here I sit, and in the span of a couple short weeks, I’ve started to doubt if I have the strength to see it through.
My lip quivers. Crap. I can’t cry here. Not now. Not in front of him.
I keep my head low and try to take some deep breaths, but tears leak out, and when I take in a lungful of air, it comes back out in a ragged sob. I hear Declan get up, but I refuse to look, afraid that seeing his face will make me lose what little control I still have.
His arm goes around me. He’s kneeling, pulling me against his chest. My resistance is token at best before I let him. Right now, in his arms I feel safe. Maybe it’s the way he holds me. For once he’s not squeezing or prodding me anywhere, or trying to get his hand into my shirt. He just holds me and lets me cry.