“Prosecutor.”“Mrs. Smith.”The middle-aged woman who entered gave me a tired nod of greeting. I asked the deputy for something to drink, then pulled out a chair and seated Mrs. Smith. Once she was sitting, she nervously fiddled with her hands before gathering the courage to speak in a trembling voice.“Thank you, Prosecutor, for treating me… so kindly.”“Of course. It’s only natural. What brings you here today? Nothing out of the ordinary, I hope?”She shook her head hesitantly, cleared her throat, and answered.“No… everything’s fine. It’s absurd to say that, when my child is dead….”“Mrs. Smith, please don’t blame yourself,” I insisted, giving her words more strength than she had.“I know you fought as hard as you could,” I continued. “So don’t torture yourself with guilt.”Just then we heard a knock. The deputy reentered with a teacup and set it before Mrs. Smith. She stole quick glances between us, sighed softly, and exited. Once we were alone again, I offered the tea.“Please, have some, Mrs. Smith.”Mrs. Smith nodded, yet made no move toward the cup. I waited in silence as she gathered herself, breathing slowly. Finally she spoke up, voice shaky.“I’m sorry for asking for a plea deal after all your efforts, Prosecutor. I felt I had to tell you myself….”Her voice was heavy with remorse. Yet I knew she bore no blame—no grieving parent would willingly abandon the public pursuit of justice for a lost child.“There must be a reason,” I said gently. “I’m fine with negotiating. Plea bargaining is common….”I tried to comfort her, but bitterness still lingered in my mouth.“I must not have inspired enough confidence in you,” I added.“It’s not that I don’t trust you,” she interrupted, meeting my eyes with tear-glossed gaze.“I still believe you’ll do your best. You assured me the evidence was solid, that we had a good chance. I believed it—sure this would end well, that my child wouldn’t suffer injustice again, that’s how I felt but….”Her voice trailed off, unsteady. I waited quietly for her to continue. Biting her lip, she let out a trembling burst of emotion.“But if we lose, none of it matters.”I remained silent as her words tumbled out.“Miller has never lost,” she said, voice rising. “A three-generation law firm undefeated—can you believe it? Yes, I know that’s exaggerated. Miller does lose cases, rarely though. But that’s the firm. Nathaniel Miller himself has never lost, not once!”She spoke of Ashley Miller before him, and Dominic Miller before that, all undefeated. The Miller dynasty had become an untouchable ✧ NоvеIight ✧ (Original source) kingdom—no one dares challenge them. In America, no formal aristocracy, yet the Millers wield that kind of unspoken power. Fear of them kills the courage to fight back—and so Miller wins again, and fear grows, a vicious cycle.Mrs. Smith was caught in those same chains. Nothing more, nothing less.Though I understood, I felt unsettled. My fingers twisted together in anxiety. Finally I spoke.“What happened, exactly? Did the defendant’s counsel make an offer? Were there threats or improper contact?”I softened the language—‘opposing counsel’ instead of the dog-whistle profanity, ‘improper contact’ instead of ‘blackmail.’ Mrs. Smith stiffened visibly, confirming my worst fears. My blood boiled.“Mrs. Smith, whatever threats you faced, I can handle them. What did that bastard—no, what did Miller’s side say to you? What convinced you to abandon the trial? Tell me, and I’ll do everything I can to help.”I pressed my final plea. She might regret this decision later. Now was the time to reverse it.Yet Mrs. Smith shook her head.“I’ve lost all strength, Prosecutor. I can’t fight anymore.”“Mrs. Smith—”She cut me off, voice breaking.“He knew about Anthony.”“…Pardon?”Her confession came in a voice laced with agony.“He knew everything Anthony did—even things I never knew, what my child did before he died. How could such a thing be known? How…?”“Mrs. Smith—”“No!”She shook her head violently, tears welling.“If we go to trial, it all comes out into the open. I can’t let that happen. I have to protect Anthony’s reputation. Please—make the deal. Any terms, please.”At her desperate plea, my head spun. I drew a short breath, steeling myself before delivering one final warning.“You may not know what they’re demanding, and you risk letting the real culprit evade full punishment.”Recalling the counsel’s initial nonsense, I pressed the point. She bit her lower lip, then closed her eyes in troubled silence. At last, she released her jaw and spoke in a hollow voice.“My child’s honor matters more.”With that she fell silent, and I could say no more.――――――◊――――――The 12 Cellists of the Berlin Philharmonic Orchestra: Fuga y Misterio1｜“‘Smith vs. Davis case wraps up with plea bargain.’”The headline, screaming across the front page, dominated the newspaper rack. I paid for a copy, then strolled down the street reading as commuters swept by.

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