Chapter 36
Emily Windsor's POV
I finally understood.
It turned out that several lawyers had come by from time to time before, but in the end, nothing ever came of it.
I reached out, pressing Jade back into her seat with one firm hand.
Only after their shouts died down and the room filled with heavy, ragged breaths did I speak, my voice so steady it could cut glass.
"Are you done?"
All four of them froze, clearly not expecting this reaction.
I met their accusations head-on, my tone clinical. "You're right. I am from the world you don't trust. My firm does want headlines out of this case. But none of that changes the fact that you're locked in here."
I swept my gaze across each of them. "The charge? Disorderly conduct. And that charge is elastic. Without a lawyer, they've got a hundred ways to make it stick. You'll sit in here. You'll be prosecuted. You might even do time. And then what? How do you sue Kingsley Chemical from a prison cell? They'll keep dumping poison into your backyard, and you'll have front-row seats from behind bars."
I softened my voice, meeting their eyes with something close to honesty. "I'm not here to save you. I'm here to represent you. My job is to use the law—messy as it is—to get you out of here. Because that's step one. Without it, there is no lawsuit."
I paused, letting that sink in. "I'm not asking you to trust me. But I'm asking you to let me do my job. At least long enough to get you out of this place."
The room went silent.
Not the hostile kind. The exhausted kind.
Their clouded eyes—still wary, still skeptical—had lost their sharpness. They were listening. Finally.
After what felt like an eternity, John looked at me. Really looked. Then he dropped his gaze to the scratched metal table, his voice hoarse and flat.
"We don't need a lawyer." He didn't meet my eyes. "You can leave now."
But the wall had cracked.
Outside the detention center, the acrid air hit us again like a slap.
Jade's eyes were red with fury. "How can they act like that? We're trying to help them!"
I glanced back at the grimy gray building.
They'd been played before. Of course they were suspicious.
Back at the print shop—where the Wi-Fi worked about half the time—I dialed Carl.
"Emily! How'd it go? Did they roll out the red carpet?" His cheerfulness was grating.
"Mr. Ward," I cut him off, ice creeping into my tone. "Before me, did the firm send other lawyers down here?"
Silence. Then Carl cleared his throat. "Well, uh, Preston District is... complicated. We were trying to show humanitarian concern..."
"I need the truth." My voice rose sharply. "Or I'm holding a press conference tomorrow to announce that due to lack of firm support, I'm withdrawing from this pro bono case."
Carl was silent for a few seconds before he finally, albeit reluctantly, told the truth. "Okay, fine. We sent two junior associates to do recon. You know how these cases are—lots of work, no glory. They made a couple trips, didn't see progress, and... bailed."
"Bailed?" I let out a bitter laugh.
No wonder they hated me. To them, I was just another privileged opportunist using their suffering as résumé padding.
I hung up and headed back to the motel.
Jade was still fuming. I was already planning.
If the plaintiffs wouldn't talk, I'd find someone who would.
"Jade, that report you compiled—did it mention any local clinics?"
Jade's eyes lit up. "Yeah! There's an old clinic run by a Dr. Davis. Been there for decades. My data came partly from their anonymized records."
"Perfect. We go tomorrow."
The next day, we found the clinic. Small, but clean. Dr. Davis looked exhausted. When I explained why we'd come, he sighed, sympathy flickering in his eyes.
"You're here about Kingsley Chemical, aren't you." He removed his glasses, rubbing the bridge of his nose. "Cancer rates have spiked. Especially in kids."
My pulse quickened. This was it.
"Dr. Davis, we need anonymized patient records. Just the number and type of cancer diagnoses over the past decade. It's critical for the lawsuit."
His face changed.
The sympathy vanished, replaced by something cold and guarded. He shoved his glasses back on, his voice suddenly clipped.
"No. Patient privacy. I can't."
"We'll sign NDAs! No personal information will ever..."
"I said no!" His voice cracked like a whip. "You need to leave. Now."
He practically shoved us out the door and slammed it behind us.
Jade and I stood on the sidewalk, stunned.
That wasn't professional discretion. That was fear.
We tried one more lead—a retired factory worker who'd given a fiery interview to the press, calling Kingsley Chemical a poison factory.
When we knocked on his door, he welcomed us with an enormous smile.
He gushed about what a wonderful company Kingsley was. How they'd paved roads, donated to the community center. As for that interview? Just media spin. He'd been drunk, talking nonsense.
His smile was wide. His eyes never met ours.
The same fear. The same script.
We left, and a chill crawled up my spine.