Humiliation

Chapter 1

7 Years Later...

It was a silent, solemn day. There were no screaming people, no gabbling sound, and no wailing convicts. It was, again, a silent, solemn day. It was an early Friday morning when I decided to go to my office, where I receive clients who file cases so that I would study them and analyze in what way would I defend my clients.

Under my arms held a manila folder that held the information of my recent client, Amanda Smith, a rape victim who filed a case against her rapist, her blockmate. Today, I had to wake up early to go to the office for me to study the files inside the envelope for me to give her strong defenses on the day of judgment at the courthouse, and to be able to cite laws that pertain to the case. In addition to that, I had to meet Amanda's father, Mr. Alan Smith to discuss the case with him by interviewing some information about his daughter, and what he would want for his child's case. That's why I was walking towards my office at the 8th floor of this law firm building, with a Starbucks coffee drink held at my right hand, a black leather sling bag slung unto my right shoulder, and the folder still clinging under my arm at 6 o' clock in the morning.

As I entered the corridor where my office resided, I saw my 34-year-old secretary, Diane Jones, typing on her computer concentratedly. Why is she up here so early? There were a few people at the building, but it was rare seeing Diane up here in this building so early. I stopped by her cubical outside my office, and asked, "Diane, you're early, why?"

Diane took off her clear framed glasses, and answered, "I had to finish something Mr. Worthington wanted for the upcoming meeting that he's going to be holding in 5 days, and he wanted it done by today." She suddenly stopped typing, and cursed quietly, "Oh shit." I was taken back by the reply because I was irritated by the fact that Mr. Worthington decided to deliver this dilemma to my personal secretary, and not to his own. I was also irritated by the fact that Diane isn't telling me this information, considering the fact that this assignment that my boss made her do has been requested a few days ago. I snapped, "Why didn't you tell me then?"

She gave me a sad expression, and apologized, "I'm so sorry, Ms. Withers. Mr. Worthington told me not to tell you. This is confidential information, and I had to do the work because Mrs. Luther was not feeling well. I'm very sorry." I decided to calm down since I understood that she's just trying to do her job well, and that it was Mr. Worthington, the big boss's orders, not mine. I smiled then, and apologized. Before I entered my office room, I asked, "Do I have any messages, calls or anything left?" Diane opened her small pink moleskin notebook, and went through the pages. She looked up to me, smiling and said, "A certain man named Ross Mantle instructed me to tell you to call him once you arrive at your office." I beamed a little widely at the message, seeing that I was going to speak one of my closest friends, Ross Mantle. I thanked her for the message, and I carried on to going to my office.

Before I even turned the knob of my door, she added, "Oh right, Mr. Smith is waiting for you in the office. I let him in because I knew that he had an appointment with you." I thanked her again, and finally entered my office. Once I entered my workplace, I saw a short-bearded middle aged man standing upright once he noticed my presence, wearing an olive green blazer, checkered polo, and holding a huge brown sling bag sitting at the side of the chair where he was sitting at. I smiled, and greeted politely, "Good morning."

"Good morning," he greeted back. I told him, "Please give me a few minutes to settle myself so I could properly meet you, Mr. Smith." He nodded and muttered, "Okay," still keeping that smile. I placed my coffee on the right side of my desk, beside the picture frames of me, my family and friends, my bag behind my desk, and the manila envelope at the center of the table. I placed my phone beside the manila envelope, and hung my blazer on my coat rack. I finally settled down by sitting down on my spinning chair, drank a little amount of coffee, and folded my fingers together as I started my chat with Mr. Smith. I began, "So, Mr. Smith, I'm Grace Withers, your daughter's lawyer. Pleased to meet you." I shook his hand and gave him a polite smile. He followed the same gesture, and introduced himself as well, "Alan Smith. You can call me Alan. Pleased to meet you too."