“So, how did you come by the research, Mr. Gregory?” I ask the man shifting uncomfortably on the witness stand. He has been lying through his teeth since the moment he sat down. I knew he was lying when his eyes shifted back and forth between the defendant and the ceiling. I’ve been slowly leading him to dig a much bigger hole than he’d already dug himself.

“Umm.” He’s searching for the answer in his mind that he had been told to memorize. The poor bastard. He would lose his job after all this, something I could have helped him with if he hadn’t purposely tried to cover everything up. As it stood now, he would be a casualty of the big business he works for.

“Answer the question please, Mr. Gregory,” the judge prompts, watching closely. He holds a pen in one hand, jotting down notes, his glasses slid to the end of his nose. I’m pretty sure the judge knows what’s up. The jury is another matter. Some of them don’t care one way or the other, but the few that are invested in the case are the ones we need to win over to our side.

My clients had lost everything when the big company, Stanton Industries, had stolen their idea. All the money they had invested, down the drain. They had lost their house when they couldn’t pay the mortgage. All the while, Stanton Industries was making billions from their program and not once did they credit my clients’ small company, Jones Tech. Not many lawyers would have taken the case, deeming Stanton Industries too powerful to go up against. I wasn’t just any lawyer, though.

“Someone brought it to my desk, one of the developers.” When Mr. Gregory finally speaks, his voice cracks. Sweat beads on his brow.

“What was this developer’s name?” I ask.

“I don’t know. There’s too many names to remember.”

I flip through my notes. Each page flick makes Mr. Gregory flinch from the noise, like he’s dodging bullets.

“There are six developers that could have been responsible for bringing the research to you. Six possibilities. You can’t remember six names, Mr. Gregory?”

“No.” He’s visibly shaking now, the sweat pooling and staining the armpits of his shirt. “I’m bad with names.”

“Okay. How about if I show you the pictures of the six employees? Would you be able to pick the developer out of the photographs?”

“No.” He tugs at his tie before fidgeting with the buttons on his shirt. “I didn’t see which one it was.”

“Then how do you know it was one of the developers? Couldn’t it have been Mr. Stanton, the defendant, who left this research on your desk?”

“I don’t know.”

“Was it not Mr. Stanton that urged you to come out with the program as quickly as possible, urging you to bypass normal procedures?

“I don’t know.”

“What do you know, Mr. Gregory?” I ask, my voice cold. I have no respect for people who sit in silence and pretend bad things don’t happen. He could have stepped up, reported the theft to someone, and he would have been protected for it. Now, he will go down with the ship.

“I only know someone dropped the research on my desk, so I handled the launch. We didn’t steal any ideas. It was something our company has been working on for a while. The launch had nothing to do with the small company. I was only doing my job.”

“Really?” I smirk. “You didn’t know the idea was stolen?”

“No.”

I turn to the judge, flipping my notebook again.

“Your honor, I’d like the bring to the jury’s attention, evidence number fifty-three.”

There’s a visible shift in the courtroom, everyone curious about what evidence I’m bringing forward. A portable stereo is brought out, a recording device hooked up to it. The evidence had been added this morning, hardly enough time for the defense to find a way to discredit it. Voices begin to fill the room when the court worker presses play.

“They know. They know we took the idea. They’re onto us. What are we gonna do?”

“Nothing. We do nothing. No one would dare take us on.” The second voice matches that of the defendant, and it’s low and gruff, speaking quietly.

“What if they do? They’ll know we took the research and made sure to launch before they could act. Oh, God. They’re gonna know. I’m gonna lose everything.”

“Grow a pair, John. Say nothing, and you’ll be safe. We protect our own.”

The recording stops, and I meet the panicked eyes of John Gregory. The jury are mumbling amongst themselves. There’s chatter in the courtroom, excitement spreading. People always love a good show, and I’m nothing if not obliging.

“Would you like to change your statement?” I ask calmly, fighting the need to curl my lips at his discomfort.

He’s silent for a moment, clearly trying to figure out what to say. His eyes spin around the room wildly, seeking help. When there’s nothing, he springs to his feet quickly, pointing his finger at Malcolm Stanton, the man behind the operation, and the defendant. He is the man my clients are suing. Mr. Stanton had at first offered to buy out my clients, but when they refused, knowing they had a good idea on their hands, Stanton had taken their research anyways, stealing any hope of success from them.

“He made me do it! I didn’t have a choice!”

The courtroom erupts in chaos as everyone begins talking at once. The judge pounds his gavel, the THUMP, THUMP, THUMP echoing through the room, but no one is listening.

“Order!” he yells. No one stops, too hyped up at the admission.

I take the seat beside my client, a wide smile on my face as I look over at Malcolm Stanton. He had threatened me when I first agreed to take the case, telling me he’d make sure I’d never work again. But he underestimated the amount of people who have been wronged by a conglomerate. I watched my father lose his life savings when a big company stole his invention. It was an awakening for me as a child. I saw lawyer after lawyer turn him down, telling him he had no chance of winning, and that it was a pointless case. When no one agreed, it decided my career. Now, I fight for the underdogs, the ones everyone else is too afraid to represent.

My clients, a sweet husband and wife team, had worked their asses off to design the program that had been swiped from right under their noses. All because someone they trusted had blabbed about it to the wrong person. They had three children at home to feed. Stanton’s company didn’t care one lick about that, only seeing the program for the gem it was. So, they stole it, not expecting any repercussions for their actions. People like him make me sick.

The judge finally gets everyone to settle down before he starts winding down the courtroom.

“Do you have any further questions, Ms. Ortega?” the judge asks me. The smile is still on my face.

“No, your Honor.”

“Then the jury will discuss the evidence, and you can be expected to be called back when they have reached a decision.”

Everyone in the courtroom stands at the same time, filing out of the room. I smile gently at my clients to reassure them as I step out, heading for the coffee counter. I’m in serious need of caffeine since my sleep pattern is messed up from the high workloads. This case has been a difficult one, only because finding the evidence strong enough to prove malpractice has been trying. And then we had stumbled upon the tape. One of the other employees in the corporation found out the program had been stolen. She had gone through great lengths to get the evidence for us, giving us the final piece of the puzzle we needed, a direct confession of Stanton’s intent and involvement. The woman had remained anonymous—for good reason—but the husband and wife team already told me she has a job as long as she wanted it with their company. Any woman with the guts to take on the Stanton corporation and the morals to know she should was a woman they wanted on their team. I’d received word the anonymous woman has already accepted.

“You’re persistent. I’ll give you that.” The voice interrupts me while I’m taking my coffee from the barista. I throw a twenty into the tip jar, sharing my good mood.

I don’t look up from adding cream and sugar for a few moments, focusing on the task. Finally, I meet the eyes of Malcolm Stanton.

“Don’t you have better places to be? Like off licking your wounds somewhere?” I ask, my voice pitched between indifference and boredom.

“You haven’t won yet.”

I smile widely, but I don’t say anything further. His eyes fill with fury as I take a sip from my coffee and walk away. Men like him hate to be ignored. They also hate being revealed as the villain. I’d have to watch my back after this case.

When we are called back into the courtroom, I take my seat beside my clients, shuffling the papers I have in front of me. There is always the possibility that the jury wants more information.

A member of the jury stands from her chair as everyone settles down, a paper in her hand.

“Please read the verdict,” the judge commands. The entire courtroom holds their breath, including me. No matter how many times I do this, I still stop breathing, the tension thick enough to cut.

The woman nods and glances down at the paper.

“We, the jury, find Malcolm Stanton guilty.” She stops talking as excited murmurs fill the courtroom. There are a lot of people who like to see the downfall of big corporations. The judge pounds his gavel, and everyone quiets again.

“And does the jury have suggestions?”

“Yes. We would like to recommend that eighty-five percent of the revenue from the program be paid to the plaintiffs in full. Fifteen percent is to remain among the defendant’s company, for the employees who had no part in the theft.”

“Your recommendations are accepted,” the judge nods his head, pleased with the punishment. “Malcolm Stanton, you will be brought up on charges of fraud and theft. Future court proceedings will determine the extent of your crimes. Court adjourned.” The judge pounds his gavel.

My clients jump from their seats, the wife wrapping her arms around me, tears running down her cheeks. The courtroom is a cacophony of sounds, my ears ringing from the screams of joy and surprise. Malcolm Stanton glares at me as his lawyer scrambles for purchase, trying to find something, anything to use an objection for. He will probably ask for a retrial, not uncommon for cases like these. But the verdict is solid. As the judge signs it into effect, the cheers triple in volume.

I turn as I’m pulled into yet another hug, my eyes looking out at the people leaving the courtroom. There’s a man sitting in the benches, the only one not moving, his eyes fixed on me. He has blond curly hair down to his chin, the color so light, it’s almost white. He’s wearing a suit that seems out of place, like it’s from a different era. He glances down at a watch before locking eyes with me.

This time, I stare hard. On his head, clear as day, stand two white rabbit ears. They move, one flopping down in the cute way bunnies do. I blink in disbelief. What is a guy wearing bunny ears doing in a courtroom?

When I open my eyes again, the man is gone, no sign that he had even been there. I put it out of my mind when the judge calls me forward for my signature.