Azael

The young man’s smile froze.

"What did you say?"

I shut the folder and raised my voice just enough to carry through the quiet room.

"I said you didn't make the cut."

The interviewers sitting beside me traded uneasy glances. Mark Carter, seated to my left, leaned in until his breath grazed my ear, keeping his voice down to a whisper.

"Ethan, he's barely twenty, and he's already won the national moot court championship and published six papers in major legal journals. The kid is an absolute prodigy. Are you sure you don't want to rethink this?"

He spoke softly, but the room was dead silent.

The young man heard every word. His spine straightened, shoulders throwing back instinctively.

"I've made up my mind," I said, shoving his file to the side, "Mr. Lucas Parker, you failed my interview. Please leave."

Every breath in the room seemed to stop.

The boy's composure shattered. He slammed both palms onto the table and lurched upward.

"What's your problem?"

I stayed quiet. I just stared at his face.

The shape of his brow, the bridge of his nose, and the sharp angle of his jaw. They matched that faded, yellowed photograph so completely that my eyes stung.

My fingers curled into tight fists.

Lucas' brows pulled together, his glare searing into me as his voice erupted in fury.

"Do you even know who I am? My grandfather is a tenured professor at Columbia Law! My grandmother is a world-renowned fine artist, a lifetime Fellow of the National Fine Arts Association!

"Both my parents were federal judges before they passed away. There isn't a soul in the legal world who doesn't know their names!

"I graduated top of my class at Columbia Law, the best law school in the entire country!"

With every claim, his confidence surged, swelling his posture. By the end, he was towering over me, glaring down like I was nothing.

"So, tell me, how am I not qualified?"

"Grades are only part of the equation," I said, keeping my face completely passive, my voice dropping to a flat, even tone.

"In this industry, I care far more about character and an unblemished background. As for your family..."

I paused, my nails digging into the folder until the thick paper crumpled under my grip.

"That doesn't earn you extra credit here. Show yourself out."

Lucas went rigid.

It was clearly the first time in his privileged life anyone had ever slammed a door in his face. A dark flush crawled up his cheeks, and the veins in his throat bulged against his skin.

"You're targeting me on purpose!"

He snatched his application off the desk and thrust a finger right at my nose.

"You're Ethan Winslow, right? Just wait! One phone call from my grandfather and you won't have a career left in this city!"

He spat out the threat, turned around, and stormed toward the exit.

Right before pushing through the door, he shot me one last look, his eyes burning with pure hatred.

"Ethan, you really..." the two interviewers beside me spoke, their voices trembling.

I cut them off with a sharp raise of my hand.

"Next candidate. Send them in."

The next three candidates were fantastic.

When I finally got back to my office, I tossed their files onto the desk.

Before I could even sit down, David Graham, the firm's senior partner, burst through the door.

"Ethan, are you out of your mind? Why did you reject Lucas Parker? Do you have any idea who his family is?"

He was talking way faster than usual, the pulse in his forehead hammering furiously.

"His grandfather is a tenured professor at Columbia Law and one of our biggest long-term partners! You just kicked his grandson to the curb. Do you realize what kind of fallout this is going to cause?

"Issue the offer letter right now! Admit him!"

"Too late," I said, looking up at him without a flick of emotion, "I've already formally rejected his application."

David's face turned completely still.

Then, his phone buzzed. He glanced down at the caller ID, and the color drained from his face.

Without another word, he marched out, leaving the door swinging behind him.

On his way out, he threw a look over his shoulder, his eyes screaming a clear warning: “You just started a war.”

I didn't care.

I had waited fifty years for this moment.