“The law is a weapon,” I said, my voice steady, filled with a quiet, burning conviction. “Arthur tried to use his knowledge of the law as a heavy club to beat me down and silence me. He genuinely believed it belonged to him simply because he memorized the statutes and wore an expensive suit.”
I took a slow sip of the fragrant tea.
“But he was dead wrong. The law doesn’t belong to the bullies. It belongs to the people who are willing to bleed to fight for it. It belongs to the absolute truth.”
My father reached out and wrapped his heavy, comforting arm around my shoulders, pulling me close. “You are going to make a truly terrifying, magnificent attorney, Eleanor.”
“I fully intend to,” I said.
I looked out at the falling cherry blossoms. I thought about the beautiful child I had lost to vanity and cruelty. I would never get the chance to hold him, to sing him to sleep, to watch him grow. But I would make absolutely certain that his brief existence, and his memory, meant something profound.
I would spend the rest of my waking life mastering the weapon that Arthur had tried to use against me. I would make sure that men like Arthur Vance—narcissistic men who thrive in the dark corners of silence, intimidation, and fear—never, ever won again.
I was no longer the frightened, submissive servant hiding in the kitchen. I was no longer the victim.
I was Eleanor Sterling. And I was the law.
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