floated across a shaft of morning light coming at a slant through the den’s window. Not at all the same type of golden warming light as afternoon sun, but welcome anyway. It suddenly reminded her of the golden gleamthat spilled from the antique fixture hanging in her parents’ Georgia kitchen.
Hailey’s mind was drifting, rare in itself. She was not prone to daydreaming.
The three of them…sitting there at the kitchen table under the warm glow of the kitchen lamp. She could hear her parents’ voices, desperate to stop her from taking a job prosecuting a series of murders in court that would only dredge up obvious memories of Will’s violent death.
“The money they’re offering you is nothing for a lawyer with your grades,” her father said, shaking his head. “We just want you to have everything we never did. We want you to be happy, not just scraping by your whole life, sweetheart.”
“How can you just throw away a hard-earned degree?” her mother wanted to know, well aware of the big-money offers Hailey had received from high-profile Atlanta law firms.
“Money isn’t everything,” Hailey responded.
How could her parents argue with that? Those were their own words, words uttered frequently. In fact, they had preached against materialism for as long as she could remember. They had always had a happiness that money couldn’t buy; it didn’t have a price tag.
But this wasn’t really about the money for them. Hailey already knew that.
“But you’ll be going after killers, drug dealers, child molesters.” Her father looked pained. Hailey wanted to tell her father that it was too late—that nothing else could hurt her now.
“I’ll be fine. It’s what I want. I want to do something good.”
Victims and witnesses from the most disturbing and heinous violent crimes, child molestation victims too young to know their ABCs, rape victims silent and unspeaking, hate-crime victims who endured inexplicable violence, communities full of outrage over drug turf battles on their playgrounds…they all spoke through her.
With each guilty verdict, Hailey’s aching heart would ease, but just for a moment.
Then it was on to the next victim, the next case.
For ten years, from the pits of the courthouse, she spoke. With a single purpose, she grew into the most notorious prosecuting attorney in the entire southeastern United States. Her plea negotiations were brutal. Nothing but maximum time behind bars for violent crime could satisfy her.
Guilty verdicts wrung out of one jury after the next weren’t enough…she was always searching for the next case, racking up thousands of guilty pleas and over a hundred jury trials and a 100 percent win record.
It was unheard of: Hailey Dean had never… never …lost a single case.
The downstairs buzzer rang, signaling the arrival of one of her clients.
As she hurriedly buzzed the door open, she glanced at the blue sky beyond the window, where limbs of the courtyard gingko tugged back and forth in the wind.
Karen walked in and closed the door purposefully behind her, trying to keep her back to Hailey, who immediately spotted her reddened eyes and nose.
Obviously James, her live-in, was at it again.
Karen flung herself deep into the sofa, chestnut-brown hair falling in soft waves around her face and spilling over the collar of a bright-pink wool coat.
“It’s the usual. It never ends, Hailey, no matter what I do. I’m so beat down.”
Karen’s live-in was wearing her down to a nub, but the story wasn’t new. Not drugs, not gambling or booze. There were no angry beatings in their apartment at night. There was no “other woman.”
No. “Other woman ” was not entirely accurate. There wasn’t just one. There were hundreds, as a matter of fact, each one more beautiful than the last, and all of them were hot for James.
Online “pen pals,” porn sites, phone sex, and strippers had dogged their relationship since it started. The harder he tried tohide it from
Hailey’s mind was drifting, rare in itself. She was not prone to daydreaming.
The three of them…sitting there at the kitchen table under the warm glow of the kitchen lamp. She could hear her parents’ voices, desperate to stop her from taking a job prosecuting a series of murders in court that would only dredge up obvious memories of Will’s violent death.
“The money they’re offering you is nothing for a lawyer with your grades,” her father said, shaking his head. “We just want you to have everything we never did. We want you to be happy, not just scraping by your whole life, sweetheart.”
“How can you just throw away a hard-earned degree?” her mother wanted to know, well aware of the big-money offers Hailey had received from high-profile Atlanta law firms.
“Money isn’t everything,” Hailey responded.
How could her parents argue with that? Those were their own words, words uttered frequently. In fact, they had preached against materialism for as long as she could remember. They had always had a happiness that money couldn’t buy; it didn’t have a price tag.
But this wasn’t really about the money for them. Hailey already knew that.
“But you’ll be going after killers, drug dealers, child molesters.” Her father looked pained. Hailey wanted to tell her father that it was too late—that nothing else could hurt her now.
“I’ll be fine. It’s what I want. I want to do something good.”
Victims and witnesses from the most disturbing and heinous violent crimes, child molestation victims too young to know their ABCs, rape victims silent and unspeaking, hate-crime victims who endured inexplicable violence, communities full of outrage over drug turf battles on their playgrounds…they all spoke through her.
With each guilty verdict, Hailey’s aching heart would ease, but just for a moment.
Then it was on to the next victim, the next case.
For ten years, from the pits of the courthouse, she spoke. With a single purpose, she grew into the most notorious prosecuting attorney in the entire southeastern United States. Her plea negotiations were brutal. Nothing but maximum time behind bars for violent crime could satisfy her.
Guilty verdicts wrung out of one jury after the next weren’t enough…she was always searching for the next case, racking up thousands of guilty pleas and over a hundred jury trials and a 100 percent win record.
It was unheard of: Hailey Dean had never… never …lost a single case.
The downstairs buzzer rang, signaling the arrival of one of her clients.
As she hurriedly buzzed the door open, she glanced at the blue sky beyond the window, where limbs of the courtyard gingko tugged back and forth in the wind.
Karen walked in and closed the door purposefully behind her, trying to keep her back to Hailey, who immediately spotted her reddened eyes and nose.
Obviously James, her live-in, was at it again.
Karen flung herself deep into the sofa, chestnut-brown hair falling in soft waves around her face and spilling over the collar of a bright-pink wool coat.
“It’s the usual. It never ends, Hailey, no matter what I do. I’m so beat down.”
Karen’s live-in was wearing her down to a nub, but the story wasn’t new. Not drugs, not gambling or booze. There were no angry beatings in their apartment at night. There was no “other woman.”
No. “Other woman ” was not entirely accurate. There wasn’t just one. There were hundreds, as a matter of fact, each one more beautiful than the last, and all of them were hot for James.
Online “pen pals,” porn sites, phone sex, and strippers had dogged their relationship since it started. The harder he tried tohide it from
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