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"I object, Your Honor," attorney Emily Harris says with firmness and a tone that leaves no doubt about what she's about to say. "That statement has no foundation whatsoever. Mr. Robbinson is making a claim about my client's intentions without presenting any concrete evidence to support it."

The lawyer assigned to the case, Dan Robbinson, lets out an involuntary snort. They've been going down this same path throughout the entire trial, and he's starting to get fed up. From the moment they assigned him the case and told him the defense attorney would be Emily Harris, he knew with certainty that the criminal proceedings would be, literally, a bloodbath. The only daughter of well-known attorneys George and Bilma Harris is one of the best in the country. At thirty-five, she possesses impeccable knowledge of criminal and corporate law, capable of reciting from memory whatever articles of law she wishes to present without missing a single comma. Daniel Mercer, the defendant, is a highly influential businessman from South Carolina accused by the state of fraud and embezzlement. According to the prosecution, the man diverted millions of dollars from the company to buy luxurious yachts and apartments in the Caribbean. Emily has been relentless and, throughout the trial so far, has presented evidence refuting each of the opposing party's complaints.

"Mr. Mercer's mistake was trusting his partners, but is that a crime?" Emily asks. "We've seen documents confirming that my client is nothing more than the victim of partners who manipulated him within his own company."

The attorney straightens some documents on the table.

"The prosecution's task was clear: prove beyond all reasonable doubt that he committed a crime," says the lawyer, pointing for a tenth of a second at the attorney. "It's clear they've failed. Daniel Mercer legally purchased all his assets with the profits his company has generated year after year. He's paid all his taxes and contributed to society. He's an exemplary citizen, and this is nothing more than a witch hunt."

Emily finishes her closing argument, and attorney Robbinson clenches his teeth. He's a seasoned man, and it feels like a kick to the liver for Emily to embarrass him this way. He watches as she takes her seat next to her client, whispers something in his ear, and they both smile discreetly. All that remains is to wait for the judge's decision.

After a brief recess, everyone returns to the courtroom to hear the decision about Daniel Mercer's future. Emily is calm, confident, first because she fully believes in her client and knows he's innocent, and second because the opposing party has done nothing but present absurd evidence without any foundation. She's certain the presiding judge had to restrain himself from suspending this circus on multiple occasions.

"Attorneys, Mr. Mercer, the court has reached its decision. On the charge of corporate fraud and embezzlement, I find the defendant: not guilty."

Emily smiles and stands up. Daniel Mercer shakes her hand emotionally while thanking her for her work. It's been a hellish few months, and thanks to her, it's all over.

"Harris," Robbinson spits out without saying anything more. He grabs the folders from the table he occupied and turns around, angry, with a furrowed brow.

Emily leaves the courtroom and walks through the hallways of the Charleston County Courthouse. She can't help but observe it as always, with curiosity. It's an imposing structure that reminds her of those buildings she saw in photos when she was in college, marble floors so polished you can see your reflection. Everything in that place is solemnity and bureaucracy, with its vaulted ceiling and wooden benches distributed along the wide corridors.

Attorney Harris exits the building, and Charleston's humid air fills her nostrils, carrying with it the briny aroma of the nearby port. She earns glances from some passersby, as Emily doesn't go unnoticed with her military green tailored suit, her black heels, and her leather briefcase of the same color. Her hair is pulled back in a high ponytail, she always styles it the same way when she has a trial, and adorns herself with few pieces of jewelry that give her a sophisticated air.

"Congratulations, counselor," says a tall woman who walks toward her with exquisite elegance. "Looks like you really gave Dan Robbinson a run for his money."

Emily smiles and approaches Bilma, her mother and also the owner of Harris for her, sitting still is the closest thing to torture.

"What were you doing at the courthouse?"

"Filing a petition with Judge Ford," Bilma answers and wrinkles her nose. "That woman gives me the creeps."

Emily lets out a laugh.

"Me too. Ever since she kicked Dad out of that trial years ago, it seems the Harrises aren't exactly her favorite people," Emily concludes, certain that Andrea Ford hates them all equally.

They turn down one of the streets; Harris she already knows what's coming. The young attorney positions herself, centers her legs, and visualizes the ball without looking at anything else; she's so focused that she wouldn't turn her head even if there was an explosion, something very unusual for her. She pulls her foot back slightly and forcefully kicks the ball. The ball shoots off to one side and goes into the road, completely opposite to where it should go. Her heel falls near her mother's legs, and Emily would almost lose her balance if Bilma—accustomed to her daughter's sporting blunders—didn't hold her firmly. She laughs heartily because these little things give Emily life. She hears how the children laugh too, and she continues, infected by their mirth.

"For God's sake, honey," Bilma says as she helps her stabilize and then picks up her shoe.

"I almost got it," Emily replies, breathless but happy.

Her mother says nothing; it's a waste of time. Emily's love for sports is infinite, and she's so bad at them that it generates a kind of tenderness.

"Although soccer is the sport I'm worst at," Emily continues talking as they walk. "You'll see how I'll do better at tennis." She steps forward and makes a gesture as if she had a racket in her hand. She trips again. Her mother holds her steady.

"I hope at least you'll go to a decent club where they teach you properly," her mother huffs at her daughter's energetic face. "Don't even think about going to some dump."

"All clubs are good," Emily corrects her. "It's just that not all teaching methods work for me. I've decided on Walker's; a client who's thrilled with it recommended it to me."

Bilma nods and hopes that this time her daughter will actually learn something. Sometimes her motherly instinct makes her want to shut down all those places that have done nothing but take Emily's money once they realize the poor woman is incapable of coordinating her body with any other instrument. But then she sees her happy, telling her how it went and what she did, and decides not to interfere in her life. Emily is a relentless attorney, a hopeless klutz at sports, and the most cheerful woman she knows.

The doors of Harris a statement of power and prestige. George and Bilma Harris occupy the first floor along with other more senior partners.

"See you later?" Bilma asks her daughter when she exits the elevator.

"I'll stop by your office before I leave," the younger of the two says as a farewell.

Emily exits the elevator on the second floor, her floor, where attorneys specializing in criminal, corporate, commercial, civil, and labor law share an open space with spacious cubicles, although she has her own office. Additionally, she has a small legal library that Bilma had installed during the last renovation about four years ago. On the next three floors are meeting rooms, comfortable sofas, an entertainment room, and a dining area. Emily Harris loves her job, but above all, her family's firm.

"Look who's gracing us with her presence," a female voice greets with confidence, following Emily to her office. "Here, you've earned it after giving old Dan Robbinson such a beating."

Emily's eyes light up, and she extends her arm to receive a large transparent plastic cup with writing on it: the best attorney.

"God, this is so good," the attorney blurts out, closing her eyes after sucking a good amount of her drink through the straw.

The other woman wrinkles her nose and drinks from her chai tea.

"I don't know where you put all that sugar you consume. If I drank that, I'd gain several pounds before finishing it."

Emily looks at her cousin and rolls her eyes, always exaggerating everything. Emma Harris is like the sister she never had; they're only five years apart, although often Emma seems older. She's obsessed with beauty, a snob who can sometimes be unbearable because, after mingling with South Carolina's wealthiest people, Emma can be a woman who puts appearances before anything else. This doesn't affect Emily—not much—because she knows her cousin and also colleague has an immense heart that barely fits in her chest. She's smart, kind, and a good attorney; that said, unlike Emily, she studied law to follow the family legacy and not out of passion like she did. She doesn't mind practicing, but she's not passionate about it either. She takes simple cases, helps her cousin with the complicated ones, and lives happily in her glass bubble.

"You know I don't count calories, much less limit myself to what I like to eat," Emily answers and goes back to enjoying her shake of coffee, vanilla milk, and salted caramel with a tower of whipped cream on top. "I prefer to exercise and move as much as I can so I can enjoy these delights."

"And that's considering how bad you are at sports," Emma says in a mocking tone, showing off the dark humor they both always have. "If you were at least good at one, you'd have a magazine-cover body."

Emily finishes the shake in one go and runs her tongue over her upper lip, licking the remaining cream. She looks up and gives a crooked smile.

"What I'm really good at is fucking," she says, and Emma opens her eyes in horror before starting to laugh. "That's how I burn calories and stay this gorgeous."