Donika Devon looked at her clock. It was already 1:30 AM. She rubbed her temples and stared back down at the paperwork on her desk. She’d lost track of time again and had stayed at the office longer than she’d planned. She’d told herself she’d go home at midnight, but the hours had slipped away. Darkness was encroaching around her vision. She put down her pen, leaning back in her chair and taking a deep breath.

Donika had been having strange blackouts for quite some time but had yet to visit a doctor. She took another sip of coffee and continued through the papers on her desk. She was defending some very important clients for her law firm, a multibillion-dollar corporation, being investigated by the government. It was her job to get them off the hook.

She had stacks of files to research and compile before morning and would probably be at the office all night if she wanted to get it done. As she read through the papers, she found something that made her choke on her coffee. It couldn’t be right.

Her clients insisted they were innocent in the media. But this information proved they clearly were not. Donika folded the paper and tucked it into the inside pocket of her jacket. She stood from her desk on wobbly legs and began pacing back and forth in her office, a view of the New York City skyline sprawled outside her window. She crossed her arms over her chest and breathed heavily as she paced. She’d grown so thin in the last few years working for her firm. It seemed like there was never time to eat. When there was, she had no appetite.

She’d lost all her lovely, soft curves and was nothing but skin and bones. Her mother would not have approved. Donika rubbed her forehead, trying to think of what she should do.

She had defended criminals in the past, criminals she knew were guilty of terrible things. Even white-collar criminals could be despicable. But this, this, she didn't believe she could defend. It was a blatant disregard for human life for the sake of profit. She let out a deep sigh and reached for her coffee cup. When she bent over her desk to grab it, she tripped on her heels, fell to the floor, and blacked out.

* * *

Climbing from the floor, she looked out the window at the morning light streaming over the skyscrapers. Her head pounded, and she cupped her temples. Straightening her suit jacket, she opened the door and walked down the hall to her boss’s office, with high ceilings and stark modern furnishings. She stood in front of him with her hands on her hips.

“Can I help you, Donika?”

“You realize that the Trans-Food Corporation is guilty of all charges, don't you?”

“Is that a problem?” he asked.

“How can we possibly defend the indefensible? They should be stopped immediately.”

“This case will bring the firm five hundred million dollars if we win. It is the biggest case we’ve had in five years. I put you on it for a reason. You’re one of my best attorneys. Why are you being so reluctant now?”

“I have ethics,” she said.

“Your ethics have never stopped you from being an excellent lawyer in the past. What is so different now?”

“This is the worst I've ever seen. How could you take this case knowing what they do?”

“Because I'm not a fool. My wife and I are buying a new house on Martha's Vineyard. I’m paying cash. You know that real estate interest rates will kill you.”

“This is all for a vacation home?” she squealed.

“We all have our weaknesses. Your weakness seems to be that you've suddenly grown a conscience. That's not going to take you very far in this line of work, Donika,” he said.

“I've always had a conscience,” she countered.

“Not one that I've ever seen. If I’d thought you did, I never would've hired you in the first place.”

“I do have a conscience,” she insisted. “I’ve always had one.”

“If you want to keep your job, then I suggest you forget this conversation ever happened. I need that report by end of business today. You don't have a lot of time, so get back to work.”

“They're killing people, Stanley,” she said, approaching his desk. “They know they're killing people. You can't possibly think that that's okay in the name of profit.”

“The fact is, it's not my problem. I have a job in front of me, and I intend to do it. If I need to take you off the case and give it to David Schmidt, then I will.”

“You need to stop this. We need to go public with what we know.”

“Not a chance, Donika. We all signed a confidentiality agreement. The firm agreed to take this case, and we will fight for Trans-Food.”

“You have to stop them.”

“I don't have to do anything,” he said.

Donika could feel her blood boiling as she clenched her fist so hard she felt her nails biting into the skin of her palms. In one blinding flash she stepped forward, and punched Mr. Shyster right in the face. She felt her knuckles connect with his nose and heard the sickening crack of breaking cartilage. Blood poured from his nose, and he screamed as he held his wounded flesh in his hand.

“What the hell has gotten into you, Donika? You really are starting to lose it.” He pressed his finger to the intercom. “Security, I need someone up here right now.”

“You're fired, Donika. Pack up your things and get the hell out of the office.”

“Gladly. If you hadn’t fired me, I would've quit. I can't work for someone like you anymore.” She stormed out of his office and continued down the hall to her own.

“This isn't the end of it, Ms. Devon,” he called behind her. “Not by a long shot.”

She began packing her things. Her painting from the artist that she loved. Her potted plant. Her hot pink stapler. She put all her small items into a box and took her painting down off the wall. The security guards arrived to escort her out. One of them grabbed her elbow.

“You're lucky I don't have you arrested for this,” Mr. Shyster said as she passed him in the hall, the security guard carting her toward the door.

“I'm not going to let this stand,” Donika said.

“You chose a very inopportune time to grow a conscience,” Mr. Shyster said, still holding his bloody nose. “A very inopportune time.”

The elevator doors swung closed and Donika felt her heart pumping in her chest. At that moment, she blacked out again, and fell to the floor in the middle of the elevator.

The next thing she remembered, she was sitting outside her office building with her plant, her painting, and her box full of office supplies. She had no memory of what had just happened. She blinked several times, trying to get her bearings. She looked down at her phone and saw a message from one of her coworkers.

“What happened?” it read.

She looked at her box and her plant as she sat on the cold pavement of the stairs outside the high-rise. There was only one explanation for what had happened. Her knuckles hurt, and she examined them. There was a spot of blood. She vaguely remembered hitting her boss, but that was the only memory she had of the last twelve hours. What was going on? She quickly typed out a message to her coworker.

“I was probably fired,” she typed.

“You think?” came back the message. “Everyone's talking about it. You fucked up royally.”

Donika clicked off her phone and stood from the stairs, picking up her things. She trotted down to the sidewalk and tried to hail a cab. She needed a good night’s sleep, and maybe then things would start to make sense.

These blackouts were getting worse. She'd never had one so bad. She told herself that she would go to the doctor this time. A taxi stopped, and she climbed inside, throwing all her things in before her. She had just gotten fired from a job she had worked her entire life to get. But she couldn't remember why.