chapter 34
“You came to see me after reading the article that Nathaniel Miller himself stepped in. To be honest, I told her everything about Nathaniel Miller.”
I opened my mouth, but no words came out. All the questions I’d swallowed—whether we’d lost, why I hadn’t reassured the family, whether I’d exaggerated things to scare her into compliance—raced through my mind. I had so much to say, but I already knew the answer. He, too, seemed aware of my unspoken questions and wore a rueful expression as he spoke.
“I couldn’t promise an outright win. You may think otherwise, but I can’t. Yes, we might win. But isn’t negotiating the sentence more advantageous?”
“You’re saying it was a good chance to persuade Mrs. Smith, weren’t you?”
He reluctantly admitted, “I can’t deny that.”
I exhaled sharply, and he continued.
“A defeat in such a high-profile case isn’t just your problem. I must consider the organization’s risk, given my position.”
It was the most truthful thing I’d heard all day. I said nothing, and he went on.
“Sometimes, even if you can’t agree with it, you must follow the organization’s decisions. It’s disappointing, but you’ll have to let it go—and make the best deal you can.”
“Winning at trial is hard; negotiating a favorable plea is easy. Yes, of course there are trade-offs.”
I jabbed back, but he met my glare without flinching. His silence broke my resolve. There was no wall I could batter down; no way to preserve the trial. All I could do was secure the best possible plea.
I clenched my fists, then released them, exhaling. Seeing me give up, he softened his tone.
“I’m sorry it came to this. But I took these measures because I value you. Sometimes you forfeit immediate gains for greater rewards. You’ll understand with time.”
I remained silent until my anger subsided. Then I spoke.
“Mrs. Smith…”
“What about her?”
He frowned at the abrupt mention. I asked plainly:
“Anthony Smith’s mother. Did she truly accept this?”
He nodded firmly.
“It’s true she contacted me first. She decided this was better than losing at trial after consulting advisors and confirming with me.”
Dumbfounded, I could only stare. He added soothingly,
“I don’t blame her. Many bereaved families can’t endure a trial’s ordeal. Few fight it out to the end. You know trials hurt victims and families, too.”
He sighed wearily.
“Justice is important, but you must consider the victims’ families’ suffering.”
There was nothing more I could say. I answered, “Understood. I’ll prepare for the negotiations. I’ll contact their side to set a date as soon as possible.”
“Wait.”
Just as I stood to leave, he called me back. I paused, and he asked unexpectedly:
“Jin, do you have plans this weekend?”
“Plans?”
I frowned, and he elaborated.
“There’s a party at a country estate—many influential figures from politics and business will attend. Why not go and make connections in advance?”
An invitation? After stripping me from my case, now a party? It felt surreal.
“I understand you’re taken aback.”
He offered a sheepish smile and continued.
“I thought the timing was right. You may feel awful now, but with time you’ll see it was the right choice. For now, why not clear your head? A simple retreat—beautiful scenery, a large pool. It’s rare. You won’t regret it; you’ll even thank me.”
His confidence made clear how much he valued this event. I still couldn’t see its appeal, but he pressed on.
“Come with me. It’ll help you. And it’s not some sleazy affair—an elegant social gathering. Most bring spouses or partners. No one behaves badly, right?”
I sensed his sincerity, though it meant little to me.
“I’m not sure why I must attend.”
I answered curtly. He waved his hands in dismissal.
“That’s fair. But like I said—you’ll thank me later.”
He watched me with a wry smile.
“I told you I value you.”
I met his gaze and, reluctantly, said, “I’ll think about it.”
“All right. I look forward to your answer.”
He offered an ambiguous smile and dismissed me. According to him, it was a favor. For an ambitious person, a rare opportunity. I, too, had ambition—but not enough zeal in this situation. After all, my invitation stemmed from losing my case.
“Prosecutor.”
Back at my desk, the assistant prosecutor looked curious. “How did it go? What did he say?”
I drained my ✧ NоvеIight ✧ (Original source) emotions and replied clinically, “The trial’s off. We’ll settle by negotiation, so prepare accordingly.”
“What? Suddenly?”
She gasped as if struck by lightning. She pressed on.
“Is that all? How could this happen, Prosecutor?”
I added, “Oh—and I’ve been invited to that party this weekend.”
“Eek! Oh my!”
She squealed like a dolphin. Ignoring her eager follow-up questions, I swung back around to my paperwork. A moment later, a knock sounded and she peeked in.
“Can I get you some coffee?”
“That would be lovely. Thank you.”
She smiled and hurried off—mercifully without another question. I closed my eyes, inhaled deeply, and reminded myself:
Focus. This isn’t the time for distractions.
Guilt pricked at me as I cleared a stack of files to the side. I rubbed my shoulders, lit a cigarette, and eyed the remaining documents. My failure to reassure Mrs. Smith weighed heavily on me.