Trial 2

The waiting room felt too sterile, almost suffocating. Every detail screamed money—polished marble floors, oversized sculptures, and minimalist artwork that seemed too detached from reality. I’d been to my fair share of corporate offices in my career, but this one was different. It was designed to impress, to make you feel small, insignificant, in the face of power. And, as I sat there, waiting for Dominic Hayes to make his appearance, I realized it was working.

I’d arrived early, maybe in some vain hope that the entire thing was a mistake and that I could simply turn around and walk away. But the phone call had been so convincing, so precise in its demand for my expertise, that I’d felt a strange sense of obligation to see it through. The truth was, I had always prided myself on being able to assess a situation, to gauge whether a case was worth pursuing. The moment I heard his voice on the other end of the line, I knew there was something more to this than just another rich man trying to salvage his reputation.

But that didn’t make it any easier to sit here now, surrounded by walls that reeked of wealth, the sound of distant traffic filtering in through the massive windows that framed the skyline.

I’d spent years fighting for justice, for truth. But this? This felt different.

It wasn’t until a woman in a dark suit approached me, with her lips pressed tightly together in a manner that bordered on condescension, that I finally snapped out of my reverie.

“Ms. Caldwell?” she asked, her voice clipped. There was no warmth in her tone, but it wasn’t hostile either. It was just… professional. “Mr. Hayes is ready to meet with you. If you’ll follow me?”

I stood immediately, feeling the weight of her gaze on me. There was something about her that screamed efficiency, like she’d seen it all and didn’t have time for anything that didn’t fall neatly into place. I followed her down a long hallway, passing sleek, modern offices, each more impressive than the last. As we neared the end of the corridor, I saw the door to his office—solid oak, black and imposing—slightly ajar.

The assistant knocked softly before pushing the door open.

“Mr. Hayes, Ms. Caldwell is here,” she announced, stepping aside for me to enter.

I had no idea what to expect, but I was immediately struck by the sheer opulence of the space. His office was enormous, with floor-to-ceiling windows offering a panoramic view of the city. The walls were lined with bookshelves, their contents a mixture of law books and high-end art pieces. Everything was meticulously arranged, every corner exuding a sense of control that I couldn’t help but feel a little envious of.

Dominic Hayes himself was sitting behind an imposing desk, his back straight, his posture exuding confidence to the point of arrogance. He wasn’t a man who seemed to need validation—he gave it to others, not the other way around. His gaze was fixed on me as I entered, his eyes dark and assessing, as if he were trying to determine in one glance whether I was worthy of his time.

“Ms. Caldwell,” he said, his voice smooth and commanding, though there was a slight edge to it. He wasn’t exactly warm, but he didn’t seem dismissive either. He wasn’t offering a handshake, and I wasn’t about to offer one either. Instead, I nodded in acknowledgment and took a seat across from him, maintaining my usual composure.

“Mr. Hayes,” I replied, keeping my tone neutral. “I’ve read the reports. I’m aware of the allegations against you.”

He didn’t flinch at my words, didn’t flinch at anything. That was one thing I had to give him credit for—his self-control. In this world, there were men who crumbled when their empires started to unravel. And then there was Dominic Hayes, who seemed as unflappable as a stone wall.

“I’m sure you’ve heard the stories,” he began, his tone calm, calculated. “The fraud, the embezzlement, the insider trading. The media is having a field day, and the public is eating it up.”

I nodded slowly. It wasn’t the first time I had seen the media vilify someone, but there was something about this case that felt different. The charges against him were serious—no one could deny that. But there was something about the way he said it that made me pause. Was it guilt? Or was it a carefully crafted mask to keep people from seeing the fear beneath?

“The media isn’t interested in the truth,” I said, leaning forward slightly. “They’re interested in a story, something they can sell. But in the court of law, it’s different. I don’t need to convince the public. I need to find the facts.”

“Exactly,” he agreed, his eyes narrowing just slightly as if he were testing my resolve. “I don’t need a PR team. I need a lawyer who can do what’s necessary to clear my name.”

I studied him for a long moment, wondering what exactly it was that he was asking for. There was an edge to his words, something that hinted at desperation beneath the surface of his perfect demeanor. But I didn’t buy it. He wasn’t here because he was desperate. He was here because he had a problem he needed solved, and he knew I was the best at what I did.

“I understand that you want the truth, Mr. Hayes,” I said, choosing my words carefully. “But I need to be clear about something. If I take on this case, my focus will be on uncovering the truth—no matter where it leads. If you’re guilty, I’ll find that out too. If you’re innocent, I’ll make sure the world knows it.”

He didn’t seem fazed by my frankness, and that only made me more wary. Most clients would have tried to sugarcoat things, would have promised to cooperate fully. Not Dominic Hayes. He seemed to be laying out the facts as he saw them, no pretense, no charm, just the raw edges of a man who needed something from me.

“I’m not interested in your judgment, Ms. Caldwell,” he said, his voice hardening. “I’m interested in results. I want the truth, but I also want my name cleared. I want my business to thrive again. I want to be the one who defines my legacy, not some tabloid reporter.”

I couldn’t help but be impressed by his confidence. Some might call it arrogance, but I saw it for what it was—control. He was a man who had built an empire on his ability to dominate situations, and even now, as the walls closed in around him, he was trying to control the narrative.

“You’ll get both,” I said, my voice steady. “But it won’t be easy. We’ll need to dig into your business, your personal life, and everything in between. There will be moments when you’ll wish you hadn’t asked for my help. But if you’re committed, if you’re sure you want me to take on this case, I’ll make sure we get to the truth.”

He leaned back in his chair, studying me. For the first time since we’d started talking, I could see a flicker of something else in his eyes. It wasn’t just arrogance anymore. It was something deeper, something more vulnerable.

“I’m sure,” he said, his voice low, steady, as if he had already made up his mind. “I’m not afraid of the truth. I just need someone who will fight for me.”

I couldn’t tell if he was being honest or if he was trying to convince himself. But I had heard that line too many times in my career—lawyers don’t fight for their clients’ beliefs, they fight for their clients’ freedom. And Dominic Hayes needed his freedom.

“Well then,” I said, standing up and straightening my jacket. “I’ll take the case.”

There was no visible sign of relief from him, no thank-you or handshake. Instead, he gave me a single nod, his lips curling into a brief, almost imperceptible smile.

“Good. I knew you’d see things my way.”

I didn’t respond. I didn’t need to. As I turned to leave his office, I knew one thing for certain: this was just the beginning. Dominic Hayes had no idea what he was asking for, and I had no idea what I was getting myself into. But we were both in this now. And there was no turning back.