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“I wish. I’ve got a client in Surbiton.”

“Have a good one.”

“Same to you. All right, I’m off.” He grabs his raincoat from the hook behind our door and walks out.

“Yes, that’s right, it was Oscar Wilde,” I say aloud to the empty room. Pessimist or not, he was right. I glance out the window of our lower-level office. The rain is relentless, and it’s so cold. I can’t remember the last time it was this cold inSeptember. Maybe I should wait until it’s a little warmer. Or when it’s not raining. I really should start carrying an umbrella.

I pop the black elastic on my wrist and stop my runaway thoughts in their tracks. My mind, if I allow it to, will wander to places it doesn’t have time for, and I’ll talk myself out of doing what must be done.

Must.

Falling on my sword will hurt, but it will also cut Conrad off at the knees. I know it’s the right thing. I spent the morning in my office getting my affairs in order. I have clients that I needed to make sure wouldn’t be harmed by my removal from their case.

I thought I knew what loss was—after all, I’d lost everything once before. But there’s a difference between the loss of things and people you didn’t choose—that life just gave you—and the collapse of every manifestation of your hopes and desires. It turned me into the very thing I’d been trying my hardest not to become—a victim, afraid. I’ve been looking over my shoulder again, waiting for the other shoe to drop.

When I chose to read law, I didn’t just do it because I hoped to have the tools to correct the record one day. There are some days when I’m not sure I deserve to. I didn’t set that fire, but I’ve lived with the guilt of surviving when he didn’t.

My heart was shattered when I lost him, and nothing will ever fix that. But I can try to set the record straight.

It won’t change the fact that I lied on my Bar application. That I didn’t do it for ill doesn’t matter. There’s no amount of righteousness to justify stealing a place at Inner Temple. And as long as I try to hold on to my ill-gotten gains, Conrad will be able to hold on tome.

I take a deep breath and call Mr. Bone, our head of chambers, and ask for a meeting.

He’s in, available, and invites me to come see him now.

I gather all of my possessions with me and leave my files in order so the person who replaces me can pick up where I left off.

I take long, confident strides toward my certain execution. I’m not going to walk out of there whole. And I know it. But I’m going to find a way to survive it. I stop in front of a tall solid wood door with a lattice pattern carved in it that resembles a medieval portcullis. And how appropriate. This is the passageway to a kingdom I have no right to enter.

I knock on the door and walk in to find Mr. Bone, the man who gave me the chance of a lifetime, sitting behind his huge desk smiling at me warmly.

“Juliana, come in, please.” I smile at his use of my full name. It gives the appearance of a formality between us that couldn’t be further from the truth. I’ll miss this and him.

“Thank you.”

My legs start to tremble, and I sit in one of the dark burgundy tufted chairs across from him.

“Now you said you had something to discuss. But first, I want to tell you that we’re going to offer you a tenancy. I can imagine you’ve had queries from other chambers since your award, but Fifteen Queen’s Bench Walk is a place you can build your career and flourish.”

His kindness, his assumption of what brought me here, all of it is a painful reminder of what I’ll be leaving behind.

“I know. There’s nowhere else I’d rather be than here, Mr. Bone.”

His smile deepens, and the lines around his eyes and mouth remind me that this man is an institution. No matter what happens after this, without his favor, no one will work with me.

“I have come to tell you something I should have from the start.”

His smile disappears, and his shrewd, hazel eyes narrow. “I’m listening.” He sits back in his chair, hands folded on his crossed legs, and waits.

“My name, the name I was given at birth, is Crown Jewel Hayford. I changed it to Juliana Quist when I started at the LSE.”

He throws his head back and starts to laugh. “Oh, my dear, is that all? I can understand why you would do that. Whatever were your parents thinking?”

“My father named me. I never knew my mother. But I didn’t change it because it’s absurd. I changed it to hide the fact that I had a conviction, one that led to a custodial sentence and a period of time on parole.”

His laughter dies, his expression hardens, and his mouth thins to a white, harsh slash in his face.

“I was thirteen when I was convicted. I did not commit the crime I was accused of. But the evidence, while circumstantial, was compelling enough for the Crown to find me guilty. I wanted a new beginning. I wanted a chance to live a life that I knew, with that conviction attached to my name, would never be mine.” I drop my eyes to my lap, no longer able to meet his stony stare.