Chapter20
977 Words
When they want to get rid of you, they do it politely. That’s what hurts the most.
Serena stood in front of the frosted-glass door with her name still engraved beneath the firm’s Logo.
Her last name Vale glared at her like a joke. She hadn’t inherited it. She was given it. Raised under it. Worked three jobs to make sure it meant something in rooms like these. Let her late parents get the guilt, accusations and allegations of prioritizing their adopted daughter’s education over the wellbeing of the pack.
Now it was about to mean nothing. The trust her parents gave her were about to go down the drain.
She pushed the door open.
The office was too quiet. The receptionist didn’t make eye contact. One paralegal looked up from her laptop and quickly looked down again, as if Serena’s presence was a problem they’d been warned about.
Her heels clicked against polished tile as she walked down the hall. She didn’t bother knocking on Harold Tane’s office door.
She shoved it open.
He looked up from behind his desk, startled but he wasn't not surprised. He knew very well what removing Serena from the case meant and he knew she wasn't one to back out easily. Harold was in his late forties, silver hair always neat, suit always perfect. His office smelled like old books and expensive scotch.
“Serena,” he said, standing slowly. “I was just going to call you in to talk about–”
“Don’t,” she cut him off raising her hand. “Don’t tell me you were going to call. Or email. Or schedule a meeting.”
He hesitated, hands lightly resting on the desk like he was diffusing a bomb. “I thought maybe some space would help.”
“Help who?” she snapped. “You demoted me. Quietly. You let Mara take over Clara’s caseload. Without so much as a conversation.”
Harold sighed, removed his glasses, and rubbed the bridge of his nose. “Serena, you’ve been… distant. Distracted.”
“Clara died,” she said flatly. “Remember? Clara? The girl who died while I was investigating her adopted family’s death and her abuser and the firm refused to take it seriously? I wasn’t even given enough help ”
His jaw tightened. “We’re not criminal investigators. We’re not activists. We’re a law firm.”
Serena leaned forward. “She was one of us. And now Mara—who couldn't win a custody case if the client came with a babysitter—gets her files? This case was to be fought even after her death. ”
He gave her a long look. “Mara is… focused. And please don't guilt trip over here. You know you failed to handle things the right way which is why died.”
Serena laughed, hollow. “Mara is focused on replacing me and not even the case. Also I'm not blaming anyone”
“That’s enough.”
“No, it’s not,” she said. “You’re not just replacing me. You’re rewriting everything we fought for. Every case Clara and I built, shut down or reassigned.”
Harold walked around the desk. “You’re emotional.”
“I’m furious,” she corrected. “And if I were a man, you’d call it ‘driven.’”
Just then, the door opened.
And there she was.
Mara . Lipstick too perfect. Shoes too shiny. The smile sharp enough to bleed.
“Oh,” Mara said lightly. “Am I interrupting?”
Serena turned, jaw clenched. “Of course you are.”
Mara stepped in like the room was hers. “I just came to drop off some files. But since we’re all here…”
Harold tried to intervene. “Mara—”
“No,” Serena said, stepping forward. “Let her talk. Please.”
Mara smiled, all teeth. “You’re brilliant, Serena. Passionate. But passion doesn’t keep a firm stable. Results do.”
“And what results do you have, Mara?” Serena asked, voice rising. “You inherit one of my biggest cases and suddenly you’re lead counsel?”
“I earned my seat.”
“No. You waited for someone to die and slipped into chair before it got cold.”
Mara’s face twitched. Just slightly. “You always did think you were untouchable.”
Serena took a step closer. “I wasn’t pretending to be her best friend at her funeral just to steal her legacy.”
Harold raised his hand. “Enough. Both of you.”
Serena didn’t take her eyes off Mara.
“This isn’t personal,” Harold added.
Serena finally turned to him. “That’s the worst lie you’ve told today.”
She stepped back, breath shaky, eyes glassy but hard.
“You didn’t just take me off cases,” she said. “You erased me. And you did it because I made too much noise.”
Harold didn’t deny it.
Mara adjusted her sleeve like the conversation bored her. “You can’t be both rebel and lawyer, Serena. Pick a side.”
Serena laughed quietly. “And you picked yours a long time ago.”
She turned, walked to the door.
Before she left, she paused.
“You’re not better than me, Mara,” she said. “You’re just quieter.”
Then she was gone.
The elevator ride down was silent. Cold metal walls. Her reflection blurry in the mirror.
She didn’t cry.
Not here. Not for them.
By the time she stepped into the street, the city hit her in the face traffic noise, heat, late-summer wind curling through the hem of her skirt.
She walked.
Not home. Just away.
Serena Vale had spent the last few years believing the law
would protect the truth. But today, she saw it clearly:
Power protects itself.
And truth?
Truth needs teeth.
- Writer
