Uh, want to meet at Jeppes? I could go for pizza. Jeppe is at 4. My treat. Everything’s your treat, Dad. You’re the adult. Fair point. See you at 4:00. Love you. Love you, too. He hung up, stood in the courthouse parking lot for a moment, and looked up at the building. 6 years he’d worked here. 6 years of fixing things, cleaning things, being invisible.

6 years of careful, deliberate peace. Now he was about to disrupt that peace entirely. Lucas thought about Richard Hail’s confidence, about the mountain of evidence he’d need to review, about facing down a team of corporate lawyers with unlimited resources when he was rusty and unpracticed and working with a client everyone assumed was guilty.

Then he thought about Evelyn’s face when her attorney abandoned her, about the way she’d sat there alone, and about the words she’d said, “Meridian Solutions wants my technology. They can’t replicate it, so they’re using lawsuits and intimidation to take it. He defended corporations like Meridian for 5 years. He knew their playbook.

He’d written parts of their playbook. Maybe it was time to use that knowledge differently. Lucas got in his truck, the same beat up Ford he’d bought when he decided to become a carpenter, and drove to the courthouse administrative building. Inside, he found a quiet computer terminal and pulled up the State Bar website.

The reactivation process was exactly as he’d remembered. Fill out forms. Attest that you haven’t been convicted of any crimes or engaged in unethical conduct. Pay the fee. Submit. His hands moved across the keyboard with muscle memory, typing information he’d thought he’d never use again. Full legal name, Lucas James Reed. Bar number 43789.

Status: Inactive, voluntary. reason for reactivation. Resuming practice. The cursor blinked at him. One more click and he’d be a lawyer again officially. One more click and 7 days of intense work awaited him. One more click and he was committed. Lucas thought about Nenah, about the life they’d built, about the balance he’d fought so hard to maintain.

Then he clicked submit. The screen confirmed. Status updated to active. Welcome back to the practice of law. Lucas Reed, carpenter and courthouse janitor, was officially a lawyer once more. Now came the hard part, remembering how to be good at it. Jeppe’s pizza had been Lucas and Nah’s tradition since she was 7 years old.

Every Friday, sometimes more often when life got complicated or celebrated, the red vinyl boos, the smell of oregano and baking dough, the jukebox in the corner that still played actual records. It was their place where big conversations happened over pepperoni and root beer. Nah was already in their usual booth when Lucas arrived.

Her backpack on the seat beside her. Math homework spread across the table. She looked up when he walked in and her smile faltered slightly. She could read him too well. “Okay,” she said as he slid into the booth across from her. “What happened?” Lucas signaled to Maria, the owner, who already knew their order by heart. Then he looked at his daughter, dark hair like her mother’s, gray eyes like his own.

That particular expression of patient curiosity that meant she was ready to listen to whatever he needed to say. You remember when you asked me last week why I don’t practice law anymore, and you said it was because you wanted to be around more for me, which I already knew. Nah closed her math book, giving him her full attention. Did something change this morning? Something happened at the courthouse.

Lucas told her about Evelyn Moore, about the abandoned attorney, about the words that had come out of his mouth before he could think better of them. Nah listened without interrupting, the way she always did, her face thoughtful. When he finished, she was quiet for a moment. Maria brought their usual order. Large pepperoni, two root beers, and retreated without comment, sensing the seriousness of the conversation.

“So, you’re a lawyer again?” Nah said finally. “Just like that.” Not exactly like that. I still do the carpentry and maintenance work. But yes, for this case, I’m representing someone who needs help. The billionaire lady, the entrepreneur who’s being sued by a corporation trying to steal her technology.

Nina took a slice of pizza. Considered it. Dad, I need to ask you something and I need you to be honest. Always. Did you take this case because you actually think you can win or because you felt sorry for her? The question hit harder than Lucas expected. He’d been asking himself the same thing since leaving the courthouse. Both maybe.

She needed someone to stand up for her. But also, Nenah, what she’s trying to do matters. She developed a system to provide clean water to places that don’t have it. And there’s a corporation trying to take that away from her because they can’t compete with her technology. That’s the kind of thing I used to help corporations do.

Maybe this is a chance to be on the other side for once. But you haven’t done this in 6 years. You said yourself you’re rusty. I am. And this Richard Hail guy, you said he’s really good. He is. So what makes you think you can beat him? Lucas smiled despite himself. When did you get so practical? I learned from watching you.

Nah took a bite of pizza, chewed thoughtfully. Dad, I want you to do this. I really do. You’ve been happy as a carpenter, but there’s always been this thing like you gave up part of yourself. I see it sometimes when you’re fixing something complicated, like you’re solving a puzzle, but wishing the puzzle was bigger.

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