Every day of delay cost them, “Spare me the theatrics, Mr. Hail. I’m well aware of what’s at stake.” Judge Chen turned back to Evelyn. Miss Moore, um, I’m sympathetic to your situation, but Mr. Hail has a point. This hearing has been scheduled for 3 months. Multiple continuences have already been granted. I cannot simply I understand, your honor.

Evelyn’s voice remained calm, but Lucas could hear the strain underneath. I’m not asking for sympathy. I’m asking for fairness. My attorney abandoned me less than 2 hours before a critical hearing. I need time to find new representation. How much time? Two weeks, maybe three. Hail practically exploded from his chair. Three weeks? Your honor, this is clearly a delaying tactic. Ms.

Moore has been scrambling to avoid facing the evidence against her since. Mr. Hail, I swear I will hold you in contempt if you interrupt me one more time. Judge Chen’s voice could have cut glass. She turned back to Evelyn. Miss Moore, I’m going to be frank with you. Your attorney’s withdrawal, the timing, the reasons cited, it doesn’t look good.

It suggests that someone familiar with your case has concluded it cannot be won or that someone got to him, Evelyn said quietly. The courtroom went silent. That’s a serious accusation, Judge Chen said. Do you have evidence? Not yet, but Mr. Brighton’s withdrawal comes exactly 12 hours after Meridian Solutions made their final settlement offer.

an offer that would require me to surrender all rights to my technology and sign in an NDA, preventing me from ever working in water purification again. When I refused, I was told I’d regret it. Lucas’s hands had stopped moving entirely now. He was staring at Evelyn, pieces clicking together in his mind. He’d read about this case in the local papers, but the coverage had been surface level.

The story was more complicated than he’d realized. Richard Hail’s smile had vanished. Your honor, these conspiracy theories are exactly the kind of desperate deflection we’ve come to expect from Miss Moore. My clients made a generous settlement offer to avoid costly litigation. She refused. That’s her right.

But to suggest that I’m not suggesting anything, Evelyn interrupted, her voice rising for the first time. I’m stating facts. Meridian Solutions wants my technology. They can’t replicate it themselves, so they’re using lawsuits and intimidation to take it. And apparently they’ve gotten to my attorney enough. Judge Chen’s gavvel came down again. Ms.

Moore, unless you can provide proof of these allegations, I cannot consider them. What I can consider is that you are currently unrepresented, that today’s hearing is critical to the progression of this case and that the plaintiff has a right to timely resolution. Lucas watched Evelyn’s shoulders sag slightly.

She knew what was coming. I’m going to grant a one-week continuence. Judge Chen said that gives you 7 days to find new counsel. If you cannot secure representation by then, we will proceed with you representing yourself proc. I don’t recommend that course of action, but it’s your right. Your honor, one week is not nearly enough time, Evelyn started.

One week is what I’m giving you. This case has already consumed 8 months. I will not allow it to drag on indefinitely. Judge Chen gathered her papers. We’ll reconvene next Tuesday at 9:00 a.m. I expect everyone to be I’ll take her case. The words were out of Lucas’s mouth before his brain caught up with them.

He hadn’t planned to speak, hadn’t even consciously decided to speak. But suddenly he was standing, the chisel still in his hand, sawdust on his worn jeans, facing a courtroom full of stunned faces. For three heartbeats, no one moved. Then Judge Chen turned slowly to look at him, her expression a mixture of confusion and disbelief. I’m sorry.

What did you say? Lucas sat down his chisel carefully. His heart was hammering, but his voice came out steady. Years of courtroom work, muscle memory kicking in. I said, “I’ll take her case, your honor. If Ms. Moore will have me as her attorney.” The courtroom exploded into chaos for the second time in 5 minutes.

People were standing, talking over each other, reporters practically climbing over seats to get closer. The baoiff moved forward instinctively as if Lucas might be some kind of threat. Judge Chen’s gavvel came down repeatedly. Order. Order in this court. She fixed Lucas with a stare that could melt steel. Mr. Reed, you are the courthouse janitor.

You are here to repair that witness stand, not to practice law. Sit down and return to your work. With respect, your honor, I’m also a licensed attorney in this state. Lucas reached into his back pocket, pulled out his wallet, extracted a card he’d carried for 6 years without ever expecting to use again. He walked forward, aware of every eye in the room tracking his movement, and handed it to the baiff, who passed it to Judge Chen.

She examined it, her frown deepening. This license is inactive. Inactive, yes, but not revoked or suspended. I can reactivate it by filing paperwork and paying the fee. The process takes less than an hour online. You’re a carpenter, Richard Hail said, standing, his voice dripped with contempt. You repair furniture and mop floors.

I’m a carpenter who used to practice law, Lucas corrected, meeting Hail’s eyes. I took a leave of absence 6 years ago for personal reasons, but my legal education and experience didn’t disappear. Judge Chen was studying him now with different eyes, and Lucas could see the moment recognition hit.

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