Mga Maiikling Kuwento at Nobela Lawyer

A former classmate of mine, Zack Lindell, is unlawfully fired by his company and denied a severance package. With nowhere else to turn, he becomes so desperate that he threatens to take his own life. I represent him entirely free of charge and run myself ragged until I secure a 500,000-dollar settlement for him. Yet on the day he receives the money, he comes to me with a 50-dollar parking receipt. "William, I drove my car that day, so I'll let the gas money slide, but the parking was because you had business at the courthouse, so that should be your expense, right?" Beside him, his wife, Helena Lindell, adds sarcastically, "I hear you big-shot corporate lawyers make insane money. Tens of thousands, and even hundreds of thousands of dollars at a time. You're not seriously going to stick us with a 50-dollar parking bill, are you?" As I watch the couple count their money, I lose whatever goodwill I still have toward them. I turn down an acquisition worth millions of dollars to handle his case, only to end up owing Zack 50 dollars for parking. I toss a hundred-dollar bill onto the table and block them. A year later, Zack sinks his life savings into a residential development that is never completed. When he can't find anyone willing to help him recover his money, he corners me with tears in his eyes. "William! Please, you have to help me! That money was everything we had." I have my assistant hand him a retainer agreement. "I can help you, but my consultation fees run at 5,000 dollars per hour, and my contingency fee is 30% of the total asset value. Those are my terms. Not a penny less."

As a star divorce attorney, I agreed when my husband asked me to represent a younger schoolmate of his, Melanie Pattison, in her divorce and her fight for custody of her child. But in court, opposing counsel presented several photos and claimed Melanie had been unfaithful. When I saw the photos clearly, my heart lurched. The man Melanie had cheated with was none other than my husband, Benjamin Rossel. In the first photo, the two of them were nestled together, kissing on a beach. In the second, they had taken a child to an amusement park and were riding the carousel together. The photos were verified as genuine. My face went ashen, but Melanie didn't show the slightest hint of panic. She took out two paternity test results and faced her husband. "Benjamin is the child's biological father, not you. If we're getting divorced, you have no right to the child." My mind went blank with a roar. So in my eight-year marriage to Benjamin, I was the only one who'd been living as a devoted wife. He'd had a child with someone else long ago. But back when he'd sweet-talked me into marrying him, he had signed a prenup. If we divorced, he, Melanie, and their love child would be left with nothing but the clothes on their backs.

Back in the day, in the legal world, Finn Cross and I were the top dogs. Untouchable. He ran New York, a king in criminal defense, never lost a case. I held down Boston, crushing it in civil court. People in the biz used to say it was a good thing we weren't in the same city. If we were, we’d have gone head-to-head, and it was anyone's guess who'd come out on top. But they never would've guessed. Three years ago, I, Victoria Sterling, quietly married Finn Cross. And just like that, the legend of "Vicky" was locked away. I was willing to leave my career behind, to be the quiet, supportive woman behind the great man. I made his coffee, went with him to all sorts of events, and left a light on for him when he came home late. But when Elena, the one he’d always carried a torch for, showed up again, I couldn't keep up this charade anymore.

Sitting here in the courtroom, I watch as my father is put on trial for a crime he didn't commit. He gets a heart attack and dies right before my very eyes. There's nothing I can do to stop it. As my heart burns with anger and resentment, a series of comments suddenly appears, floating in the air in front of me. [Poor Mason! He still has no idea it was his own beloved girlfriend, Christa Lowry, who served as lead counsel and used falsified evidence to incriminate his father.] [Christa teamed up with that scion, Todd Harlow. She sacrificed Mason's dad's life to net her first pot of gold!] Through these comments, I learn the truth. I wipe my tears away, tear up the acceptance letter I just received from the top art school in the country, and throw myself into the legal profession. After 15 years, I've finally been crowned the Grim Reaper of the criminal defense world, having never lost a single case. One day, my assistant comes to my office with a pile of top-secret case files. Christa is facing the death penalty for engaging in international money laundering, and I'm the only one who can save her. In the surveillance footage from the detention center, the once arrogant woman is now kneeling on the floor, begging in despair to be saved. At that very moment, those comments start appearing in my vision again. [Spoiler alert! The most satisfying moment of revenge is about to come!] [That awful woman is so deluded. She thinks that just by offering enough money, Mason will be willing to save her for old times' sake! What a joke.] [Quick! Refuse her, Grim Reaper! Send her to hell!] Reading the comments, I smirk faintly before tossing my pen into the trash. "Tell her I won't take on the case."

When I am eight months pregnant, I am hit by a luxury car and lose my baby. The female driver, Stacy Bowman, who hits me, falsely accuses me of trying to extort money. Halfway through my uterus cleaning procedure, Stacy forcibly drags me to court. "If you can't afford to have a child, then don't have one. You're so young, yet you're already trying to scam people for money. My husband spent tens of millions of dollars to buy the car for me, you know? He's a billionaire lawyer. Just wait! He'll sue you until you're bankrupt!" At the defendant's stand, my vision keeps going dark, and the pain I'm feeling is excruciating. In the next second, the courtroom doors open. Stacy throws herself into the lawyer's arms. "Your Honor, my wife would never intentionally hit someone. Someone is obviously trying to stage an accident for compensation. They must be severely punished." As I stare at the familiar figure, the blood in my body runs cold bit by bit. The elite lawyer standing before me in a tailored suit is none other than my husband, Xander Foley, who has told me he is forced to go on a six-month-long business trip.

In the third year after my death, my wife, a lawyer named Serena Collier, wants me to take the blame and go to prison for her first love, Declan Merritt, once again. She arrives at my hometown carrying a confession statement she prepared, only to discover the place has long since fallen into ruin. Feeling panicked, she has no choice but to ask the neighbors where I am. My neighbor says, "You're asking about Fletcher Whitmore? He's been dead for a long time! I hear that a victim's family hunted him down for revenge and beat him to death after he got out of prison." Serena refuses to believe it. She thinks that my neighbor is in cahoots with me to deceive her. With a disgusted expression, she lets out a cold snort. She sneers, "All I did was put him behind bars for a few years. Now, he even dares to lie to me! "Tell him this for me—if he doesn't show up in court that day, he can forget about me giving another cent to his mother in the mental hospital!" After saying that, she storms off angrily. Watching her stubborn figure disappear into the distance, my neighbor sighs heavily. "But his mother already starved to death in that mental hospital a long time ago…"

During interviews, Ashley Freeman always smiles when she says that I'm the man behind her success. She claims that it is only through my support that she has become queen of the courtroom. Now, I have just secured the final cross-border merger for her. Her firm will officially rank among the global elite the moment this contract is signed. I rush to the airport carrying the merger documents, preparing to board my private plane and fly out to Tedlar Street to seal the deal, but I am stopped at the boarding gate. "Ms. Freeman gave strict orders. She's taking Mr. Luke and Mr. Collins to Swakosland for a vacation today. No outsiders are allowed on board." "Outsiders". The word leaves me briefly speechless. Through the door of the VIP lounge, I spot Ashley sitting inside. She cradles a three-year-old boy in her arms, while Eddie Collins, her first love from college, sits right beside her. The boy snuggles in her chest, his tiny hands clutching the lapel of her coat. He looks so familiar and comfortable with her, as if he has been held this way from the day he was born. "Mommy! Daddy said the three of us will fly on a giant plane to see the snow!" Ashley doesn't correct him. Instead, she kisses his cheek with such gentleness that she feels like a stranger to me. "That's right, sweetie. Are you happy?" The three of them lean in close to one another, looking like the picture-perfect family. After staring at them for a long time, I let out a soft, low chuckle and dial a number on my phone. "Pull every authorization and funding agreement I've ever signed for Ashley in the last ten years." Since she believes she already has everything, I'll destroy everything I've spent the last decade building for her.

On the first April Fool's after my death, my husband, Timothy Ludd, once again tries to make me take the blame for his intern's alleged destruction of evidence and bribery. He storms into my food stall, only to find that it has changed owners. Feeling shocked, he goes to the nursing home where I volunteer after my release from prison to confront me. The nursing home director says, "Quinn Sutton? She's been dead for six months." However, my dear husband refuses to believe it and returns to the welfare home where I have lived for 16 years. "Make sure Quinn comes out to see me. "This has become a huge scandal. The Department of Justice's investigation team will be coming tomorrow. Doesn't she have her pregnancy as leverage? Pregnant women can apply for exemptions. She'll only get a suspended sentence. "I've already pulled all the strings. She's guaranteed to benefit from this deal. She shouldn't push her luck!" The welfare home director's eyes well up with tears. "Quinn is dead. Don't bother looking for her. She's been dead for six months."

My adoptive parents' long-lost daughter came back. She's a wellness influencer. She eats from crystal bowls she "cleansed." Sleeps with a white noise machine. She will only ride in a custom, climate-controlled car. That's not all. She filled our family's Manhattan law firm with Himalayan salt lamps and energy crystals. The espresso in the conference room? Replaced with gluten-free, organic dandelion root tea. "The energy here is so murky," she'd say. "We need to cleanse the world with love and light!" My guilt-ridden parents gave her everything she wanted. Even my fiancé told me, "Ava, you stole twenty years of her Upper East Side life. Can't you cut her some slack?" The day of the final hearing for our firm's biggest case, the entire court had to wait for her to finish her "emotional cleansing meditation." The judge was furious. I stood up. Delivered a flawless closing argument. I won our client $500 million and secured the future of the firm. But at the party, she had a drunken breakdown, fell into the pool, and drowned. My parents and my fiancé blamed me for everything. "You always have to win, don't you? It was a simple, open-and-shut case. You couldn't even let her have that?" They had me committed to a psychiatric hospital. They destroyed my law license and my reputation. They even had me injected with a fatal overdose of sedatives. I died full of hate. The next time I opened my eyes, I was back. Back to the day she was crying on her Instagram Live, begging for the case. This time, I walked straight into our rival's law firm. This "sure-win" case? I'm going to make you lose everything.

Not only am I the youngest son of the Townsend family, which runs a multibillion-dollar business empire, but I'm also infamously known as the dimwit in our social circle. Since childhood, I've always been slow and unresponsive, barely able to talk. Meanwhile, every one of my siblings is a certified genius. Evelyn Townsend, my oldest sister, makes a name for herself in the financial world at just 18 years old. Julian Townsend, my older brother and the second child of the family, earns two doctorate degrees by the age of 20. My parents have had a hard time believing I'm really a Townsend. They've had me undergo 18 DNA tests, consulting every renowned doctor and specialist they could find. Nevertheless, after spending over a decade exhausting all their options, the family has finally accepted the situation. The truth is, I'm perfectly capable of talking. I just don't feel like doing it. In my previous life, I was a star lawyer who had never lost a case. I'd spoken more than my fair share of words in that lifetime. In this one, all I want is to live a quiet, peaceful life without ever having to talk. Then this happens. Someone launches a short-selling attack on Townsend Corporation, and my family's company is on the verge of bankruptcy. Our business rival shows up with an acquisition contract. Dad's face turns ashen, and Evelyn goes through every clause without finding a single loophole. Even Gina Whitman, the company's chief legal counsel who has worked with us for a decade now, has already been bought off. She stands in front of us with a look of righteous conviction and declares, "You should sign the contract, Mr. Townsend. This is the only way to save the Townsend family. I've reviewed the terms. There's nothing wrong with them." Dad sighs heavily before reaching for the pen with a trembling hand. Annoyed, I decide to drop the act. My entire family watches in shock as I step forward and flip to the third page of the contract. "Why do I see conflicting provisions between the main terms of the agreement and the supplementary clauses? If my father signs this, the Townsend family will not only walk away with nothing but will even be saddled with a ten-billion-dollar debt." I flash Gina a smile that doesn't reach my eyes. "You drive a hell of a bargain, Ms. Whitman. Should we thank you for this incredible deal you've dropped in our lap?"

The year I became one of the country's top defense attorneys, I received a case request from my ex-boyfriend, Julian Sterling. We'd loved each other for four years, yet I couldn't marry him, couldn't have children with him, and couldn't even meet his family. All because the Sterling family had a rule: whoever cast nine blessed oracle blocks in a row would be the daughter-in-law recognized by their ancestors. I begged for that blessing a thousand times. Every cast came back cold. Everyone in Harbor City laughed and said I was born without the fortune to marry into wealth. Then my adopted sister returned from overseas, casually cast nine blessed blocks, and became engaged to Julian Sterling. At last, he told me the truth. "I weighted those oracle blocks with lead. No matter how many times you cast them, they were never going to bless you. "Celia had a difficult background. I had to do this to win her the dignity and status she deserved." So the humiliation I endured for four years had all been his way of paving a road for another woman. On the day of the Sterling family's century wedding, I left Harbor City for Capital City and joined a law firm. Now I was a top attorney with a perfect win rate. Julian Sterling, trapped in a legal crisis, sat across from me and pushed over a check. "You're the only one who can win this case. "Take it, and fifty million is yours." I gave a soft laugh. Then I opened my drawer, took out a pair of oracle blocks, and set them in front of him. "The Sterling family has Sterling rules. I have mine. "If you can cast nine blessed blocks in a row, I'll take your case."

The day my parents skipped town with my younger sister, Tiana Miller, they used me as collateral to pay off their debts. "The kid's got a screw loose," my mother told the debt collectors, gesturing dismissively toward me. "Always hugging books and mumbling nonsense like an idiot. Take her if you want her. If not, sell her for all I care." Tiana's bright, cheerful laughter drifted up from the stairwell. "Mom, isn't Sylvia coming with us?" "Be a good girl. We're leaving her behind." I had heard those words a million times. Ever since Tiana was born, everyone in our house revolved around her. When I ran over just to take a look at the baby, my mother shoved me away. "Don't touch your sister. Your hands are filthy." From that moment on, I was the extra piece nobody wanted. When the loan shark kicked my front door open, he found me huddled in the corner reading a massive textbook on criminal law. "Kid, your parents bolted," the boss sneered, looking down at me. "How do you plan to pay off their debt?" I calmly closed the book. "Mister, I analyzed the voice recordings of your strong-arm collection tactics. “Twelve parts of them can easily be argued down to civil disputes. If you follow my strategy, you can avoid prison time entirely." He froze. In less than an hour, I broke down their past three years of criminal records piece by piece and drafted legal loopholes for them. The heavily tattooed kingpin assistant, Hanks Phil, stared at the paperwork, his jaw dropping before he let out a sharp curse. "I've been in the underworld for twenty-six damn years, and today's the first time I'm learning you can actually collect debts legally.”

"I know you're an ace divorce attorney. Please help me!" A young woman who's holding a child suddenly barges into the law firm and gets down on her knees in front of me. I'm about to help her up to her feet when a few live comments appear in front of my eyes. "This really is a doomed story. I can't believe the FMC has to go through all sorts of torment before dying." "Once she gets caught, both she and her child will be dead. The MMC can only spend the rest of his life in eternal remorse." "The FMC is pretty naive, isn't she? She thinks finding herself an attorney can help her secure a divorce. The MMC is the richest man in Opalford at the end of the day, so there's no way she can file for a divorce successfully." When I spot the next comment, its contents sting my eyes immediately. "Unfortunately, this attorney is a throwaway character too. Not only does she refuse to help FMC, but she also fails to recognize her as her older sister, who has gone missing for many years."

My boyfriend, Terry Bolton, comes from a rich family. He has a female childhood friend. Everyone said they were a match made in heaven, but he swore he only loved me and Sarah Horst was just his simp. He asked her to buy us condoms in the rain, but when he saw her soaking wet, he kicked me out. "Why did you take so long to open the door? You know she gets sick easily." My graduation thesis was ruined by Sarah's clumsiness. I asked her to apologize, but he yelled at me. "She's just a little clumsy. Why do you always make things difficult for her?" In the four years that I dated him, I endured again and again until, one day, a DUI hit-and-run case made headlines. Terry kicked my door open while hugging the distressed Sarah. "If you take the blame for her, I'll find the best doctors from all over the world for your mother. After all, you still have me, but if she goes to prison, her life is ruined." Looking at his anxious face, I chuckled. Did he forget that I'm a Harvard law graduate? Screw this relationship. I decided not to endure it anymore. She's going to prison for sure.

I woke up staring at divorce papers—from the guy I'd crushed on all through college. My name. His. Right there on the page. He said I cheated. Last thing I remembered? Getting ready to finally tell him how I felt at our graduation party. Now suddenly, we've got a four-year-old. And him? He looked at me like I was some rando off the street. No trace of the sweet, soft guy I used to know. Just ice. What did I miss? What the hell happened in the last five years?

For eight years, Damian Caruso kept me as his secret wife. I handled his family's lawsuits, protected his empire, and raised the son he refused to acknowledge in public. Ethan wasn't even allowed to call him Dad when anyone else was around. I told myself Damian had his reasons. Until our son's seventh birthday. Damian promised he would come home. Ethan waited beside an untouched birthday cake until nearly midnight. Damian never showed. Because Sofia Bellini—the childhood friend everyone already treated as Damian's real woman—had the same birthday. And Damian had chosen hers. That night, I stopped waiting. I signed the divorce papers. The next morning, Damian was in such a hurry to rescue Sofia that he signed the documents I placed in front of him without even reading them. He didn't realize he had just given me permission to take Ethan out of New York. Then he moved Sofia into our home—and asked his wife and son to leave so she wouldn't discover we existed. Ethan looked at the father he had spent seven years trying to love and called him "Mr. Caruso." Damian finally looked shaken. But it was already too late. On the day we left, he told me he had to fly abroad to handle a divorce case for a client. I said nothing. Because that divorce case was mine. He was flying across the ocean to finalize the end of our marriage—and he still thought I was just taking our son out of town for a few days.

When I got together with the Don of the Moretti family, everyone bet we wouldn’t last a month. To outsiders, I was a lawyer who was calm, quiet, and exacting, nothing like the docile women who usually surrounded Nico. Yet he would pull me into his arms and say, “You’re the only one I want.” For five years, he spoiled me rotten. Even when he flew to Europe to negotiate multibillion-dollar deals, he would take a red-eye flight back just to place the black-diamond-encrusted fountain pen he had just won at auction into my hands himself. Then a young woman appeared at his side, an orphan who was the younger sister of one of his late brothers-in-arms. At first, he said he was only helping her out. Now, he would personally step in to deal with the mess whenever loan sharks came after her, even postponing his plans to attend the family gala for her sake. Everyone was waiting to see me make a fool of myself, eager to find out how I, the proud woman who had been regarded as the future Donna for five years, would handle the situation. But they had forgotten one thing: I had always been meticulous about everything I did, right down to calculating the exact day I would leave. Six days later, I would walk away with my suitcase, determined to leave for good. That night, Nico would tear the world apart looking for me.

My husband, Francis Zouche, thought we weren't well-off and could not afford to raise a child. So, he forcibly took me to the hospital to get an abortion. Right after the surgery, I discovered that he had transfered 200 thousand dollars to his first love, Heidi Colman, for her birthday. Out of pure rage, I got into a huge fight with him in the car, which led to an accident that killed us both. When I opened my eyes, we had returned to the day before our wedding. In our previous life, we were married for ten years. We weathered storms and supported each other, but Francis never wanted us to have a child of our own. On the day I died, I finally understood that the one he loved was Heidi. After getting a second shot at life, I decided to fulfill his wish. We canceled the wedding, blocked each other's phone numbers, and never contacted each other again. Eight years later, Francis became a top lawyer in Alvren and publicly proposed to Heidi at a law forum. Seeing that I was still single, he mocked me with a sneer, "Yvette, I know you loved me for two lifetimes. But I am getting married now. Don't keep waiting for me to come back to you." I glanced at him wordlessly and bent down to pick up my daughter before walking away. As a shocking realization hit him, his eyes reddened. He questioned furiously, "Didn't you promise to love me forever and to only give birth to my children?"

My father is seriously injured while working at a construction site, but because he never signed an employment contract, his employer refuses to compensate him. Desperate, I contact my fiancee, Sabrina Voss, a highly sought-after attorney, and beg her to take my father's case. She coldly tells me she's overwhelmed with other cases and doesn't have time, leaving me with no choice but to seek legal aid. But on the day of the hearing, I'm stunned to see Sabrina walk into the courtroom in a tailored suit, representing my father's employer. She expertly cites one law after another, mercilessly challenging every claim we make. While I spend every day worrying about my father's condition and the lawsuit, I come across a post on social media that stops me cold. Sabrina's junior associate, Rowan Mercer, is showing off a brand-new luxury watch with the caption, "Thanks to my favorite person for spending that 100-thousand-dollar legal fee on my gift. This case was definitely worth it." It turns out Sabrina took the money she earned defending my father's employer and used it to buy Rowan an expensive watch. Whatever I still feel for her dies in that moment. I take off my engagement ring, drop it into the trash, then like Rowan's post and leave a comment. "Glad you're happy."

My mother was beaten into the ICU, and I signed six critical-condition notices in one night. When I was at my lowest, my girlfriend disappeared without a trace. Only after my mother died did I stand in court as the plaintiff's attorney in her case. My girlfriend, gone for two months, appeared at the defense table. She was defending the man who killed my mother.