A Little Patience

Chapitre 1

March 1993

"Miss y/l/n?"

You lifted your face from your papers and threw a look at your secretary. He had his hand on the speaker of the phone: "Miss, it's the NY's police station."

You nodded. It was usual you worked with them, as you were an appointed lawyer. You never wanted prestige as you started your law studies and established yourself. Your first want, that you still had, was to help people, even the most deprived. That's why you didn't work in a huge company, but at your count, in a small office, sharing it with your secretary - well, a law student that you hired for him to pay his school and sort your papers. The major part of your clients were people arrested by the police of the neighbourhood, who called you when necessary. He carried on: "Miss, it's not like usual." You frowned. "The client asked you as a lawyer."

You raised an eyebrow, surprised, but you didn't get the weird expression on his face. "It must be someone we already defended. Ask the officer his name, so I can take his file when I'll come to the station."

"Miss, the officer doesn't want to tell the client's name, because apparently - he started speaking lower as people were listening - it's a big name."

You chuckled. "Larry, big names don't ask us to defend them. I'm an appointed lawyer. People don't choose me, because if they had the money, they would go south." You pointed your finger to the south of the city by the window, towards the business part of New York, where lawyers earned in a day what you earned in a year.

Larry considered your answer. Yeah, you weren't wrong.

He took back the phone and exchanged some words with the policemen before hanging up. You closed your pen and took your briefcase, already knowing what he would say. "The officer asks you to be there as soon as possible."

You checked your watch as you left the room. "Larry, it's already five pm, take your evening. See you tomorrow."

-

You entered the police station and headed to the front desk. At the back, a policeman recognized you and came. "Hello, I come to meet my client..." The end of your sentence died in your throat as you eyed his face. He had a strange expression, as he saw a ghost. You decided to not pay attention to it nonetheless; "So, what is it about?"

He cleared his throat: "Domestic violence. His file is with him."

"Right. He's making a complaint or he's being accused?"

"He's accused."

You nodded. You already defended victims of domestic violence, never abusers, but everyone deserved a defence, so you repressed all eventual prejudices. "Let me lead you to him."

You nodded and followed him, your heels resonated in the corridor. You pushed the door and froze as soon as your eyes landed on him. It felt like someone just poured a bucket full of freezing water on your head.

At the metallic table of the interrogatory room, a ghost. Someone belonging to your past. Someone you were desperately trying to forget for so many years - but you couldn't.

A cold shiver ran down your spine and your hair raised at the back of your neck, but you kept a cool attitude and an impassive face, as your job taught you.

He slowly lifted his eyes and eyed you, taking your form after so much time. He moved a long ginger lock from before his eyes and let out in his raspy voice: "Hi y/n."

At your side, the policeman frowned when he said your name. He opened his mouth to ask you if you knew the guy but you stepped towards your client and extended your hand: "Hello Mister Rose, I'm Miss y/l/n, your appoint- Hum, your attorney."