Chapter 42
Lena's POV
Back in my bedroom, I opened my laptop.
Since contacting Diana directly hadn't worked, I needed a different strategy.
I started researching her cases.
Through Silverton's public court records system, I found her recent work. Most were small-stakes matters—debt disputes, lease conflicts, labor law issues. The kind of cases big firms wouldn't touch.
Then I found something specific:
Miller v. Westbrook Properties, LLC
A housing discrimination case.
The plaintiff was a single mother named Jasmine Miller, rejected by a landlord citing "income instability" and "incomplete family structure." But according to the case summary, the landlord had previously rented to lower-income tenants, and email records contained language suggesting racial bias.
Diana was representing Jasmine.
The hearing was next Wednesday.
I stared at the date on the screen and made a decision.
---
On the day of the hearing, I arrived at the courthouse thirty minutes early.
Courtroom 4B was modest—wooden benches, gray carpet, an American flag hanging behind the judge's bench. I took a seat in the back row, trying to remain inconspicuous.
At nine o'clock sharp, the judge entered. Everyone stood.
Then I saw Diana.
She wore a charcoal gray suit, her hair pulled back in a simple low ponytail, a black briefcase in hand. Her client Jasmine sat beside her—a Black woman in her early thirties, her face tight with exhaustion and nerves.
Across the aisle sat Westbrook Properties' attorney, a middle-aged white man in an expensive suit, the landlord beside him.
"Miller v. Westbrook Properties," the judge announced. "Plaintiff may proceed."
Diana stood.
"Your Honor," her voice was clear and steady, "this isn't a simple rental dispute. This is systemic discrimination."
She opened her folder and began presenting evidence.
Email records—the landlord replying to Jasmine's application stating "we prefer traditional family structures."
Text screenshots—the landlord's assistant in an internal chat saying "another single mom, definitely can't afford rent."
Financial comparisons—Jasmine's income was 120% of the area's average tenant income, yet the landlord had cited "income instability" as grounds for rejection.
"If Jasmine Miller wasn't rejected because of her income," Diana said, "then why? Because she's a single mother? Because she's Black? Or both?"
The opposing counsel stood. "Your Honor, the landlord has the right to select tenants—"
"The right to select, but not to discriminate," Diana interrupted, her tone calm but sharp. "The Fair Housing Act explicitly prohibits discrimination based on race or family status. My client meets all financial requirements. The only reason she was rejected is prejudice."
She turned toward the judge.
"If we allow this behavior today," she said, "who will be the next victim?"
Her tone wasn't emotional. Just facts and reason.
But I could feel the power in her words.
The judge reviewed both sides' arguments, examined the evidence, then delivered his ruling:
"This court finds that defendant Westbrook Properties engaged in discriminatory practices in violation of the Fair Housing Act. Judgment for plaintiff Jasmine Miller. Defendant is ordered to pay damages and provide suitable housing within thirty days."
Jasmine covered her mouth, tears streaming down.
She turned and threw her arms around Diana.
Diana patted her back, murmuring something too quiet to hear. I couldn't see her expression clearly, but I caught the gentleness in her eyes.
Sitting in the back row, something inside me shifted.
This was what I wanted to do.
Not for billable hours.
Not for promotions.
But to actually help people who needed it.
---
After adjournment, I approached Diana.
She was gathering her files when she noticed me. She froze briefly, then her expression cooled.
"Ms. Grant," she said, her tone flat. "What are you doing here?"
"I wanted to see your work," I said honestly. "Now I have."
She didn't respond, just watched me with suspicion and scrutiny.
"I know you don't trust me," I said. "And I understand why."
"Do you?" A hint of mockery crept into her voice.
"Because the system hurt you," I said. "You fought for that intern, and the entire industry blacklisted you. You left big law, lost your stable income and career prospects. Now you can only take cases from people who can barely afford to pay you."
Diana's expression flickered, but she quickly recovered her composure.
"So?" she asked. "You think you understand me?"
"No," I shook my head. "I'm saying—the system hurt me too."
She raised an eyebrow.
"Brett Morrison, my former colleague," I said. "He tampered with my contract documents and nearly destroyed my career. I exposed him, then resigned."
Diana's eyes grew more complex.
"Brett Morrison," she repeated the name. "I know him. When he was at Madison & Partners, he participated in the campaign against me."
"I know," I said. "I've reviewed your case records."
She stared at me for a long moment.
"So you came to me," she finally said, "because we were both hurt by him?"
"No," I said. "I came because I saw what you did for that intern, what you did today for Jasmine Miller. You didn't compromise. You didn't abandon your principles for profit. That's the kind of partner I want."
Diana took a deep breath.
"Ms. Grant," she said, her tone cooling further, "do you know what working with me means? Those big firms won't hire you anymore. You'll lose a lot of 'good opportunities.' Your social circle will think you're wasting your time."
"I know."
"Then why are you here?"
"Because I don't want to be the kind of lawyer who only counts billable hours," I met her eyes. "I want to do something that actually matters."
She studied me, hesitation and something unreadable in her expression.
"You're married, aren't you?" she suddenly asked.
I paused. "Yes, but—"
"Contract marriage," she said. "I looked into you. Your marriage to Rowan Reynolds is a business arrangement."
I didn't deny it.
"So you've been instrumentalized by family interests too," Diana said. "Just like I was once forced to take unjust cases for the firm's profits."
"Yes," I said. "But I chose to leave. Three weeks from now, my marriage contract expires. I won't renew."
She looked at me, the suspicion in her eyes gradually diminishing.
"Ms. Grant," she said, "I'm willing to talk. But I have conditions."
"What conditions?"
"Our firm can't only serve the wealthy," she said. "I need to reserve at least thirty percent of my time for pro bono cases. Regardless of whether they're profitable."
I didn't hesitate. "Deal."
Diana looked at me and finally offered a faint smile.
"Then call me Diana."
---
We sat down at a café near the courthouse and began discussing the specifics.
Diana's requirements were clear:
- The firm must remain independent, accepting no "soft control" from any major corporation
- Case selection required mutual agreement; either party could refuse on ethical grounds
- Profit distribution must be transparent, with no hidden fees
- Time for pro bono work must be protected
I agreed to everything.
"Are you sure you've thought this through?" Diana finally asked. "Once we start, there's no going back. The big firms will treat us like outliers."
"I'm sure," I said.
She nodded and extended her hand.
We shook.
In that moment, I felt something I hadn't felt in a long time.
Not just relief at finding a partner.
But the certainty of finding someone who shared my path.