Page 3 of His Verdict

I look up from my notes, curiosity getting the better of my professional caution. "What would you call it?"

He leans forward slightly, his blue eyes intense and unwavering. "Justice."

There's something in the way he says it—not defensive or pleading, but matter-of-fact. Like justice is something he understands in a way the rest of us don't.

"Mr. Wolfe," I say carefully, trying to maintain some semblance of professional distance, "if you want me to help you, I need you to be completely honest with me. Tell me what happened."

For a moment, he just studies my face, like he's trying to decide whether I can be trusted. When he finally speaks, his voice is quiet but steady.

"I worked for Meridian Technologies for three years. Software development, primarily security systems. I was good at my job—good enough that they trusted me with access to some very sensitive projects."

"What kind of projects?"

Something dark flickers across his features. "The kind that make rich people richer and poor people poorer. Surveillance software designed to track workers' productivity down to the second. Algorithms that could determine who gets fired based on metadata analysis."

I feel my stomach clench. I've heard about companies like that—corporations that use technology not to improve people's lives, but to control and exploit them. It's exactly the kind of systemic injustice that's driven me to public defense in the first place.

"So you took it," I say. It isn't really a question.

"I took it," he confirms, his voice steady. "But not to sell it. I want to expose what they were doing. To show people what these corporations are really capable of."

I stare at him, trying to process what he's telling me. This isn't some petty criminal looking to make a quick buck. This is... complicated.

"That's..." I pause, choosing my words carefully. "That's still theft, Mr. Wolfe. Even if your motivations were noble."

He smiles then, and something about that smile makes my pulse skip. It's warm and charming, but there's an edge to it.

"Ms. Sutton," he says, his voice dropping to something almost intimate, "I didn't steal anything that wasn't already stolen from someone else."

I blink, not expecting that response. "What do you mean?"

"I mean that Meridian Technologies built their fortune on stolen code, stolen ideas, and stolen lives. They've been taking from people for years—their privacy, their dignity, their livelihoods. All I did was take back."

The passion in his voice is unmistakable, and despite every warning bell going off in my head, I find myself leaning forward, drawn in by his conviction.

"You sound like you're describing vigilante justice," I say, but even as the words leave my mouth, I realize I'm not entirely disapproving.

"Sometimes," he says quietly, those blue eyes never leaving mine, "vigilante justice is the only justice available."

Oh shit.This is dangerous territory. The kind of thinking that leads good lawyers down very dark paths. But I can't deny the appeal of what he's saying. How many times have I heard of obviously guilty criminals walking free on technicalities while their victims get nothing? How many times have I seen the system fail the very people it's supposed to protect?

"Mr. Wolfe—"

"Jasper," he interrupts gently. "Please."

The way he says his name makes it sound like an invitation to something I probably shouldn't accept. But there's something about him—something that makes me want to forget about professional boundaries and just... listen.

"Jasper," I say, and his name feels strange on my tongue. Too personal. Too intimate for a holding cell conversation. "What you're describing... it sounds like you're trying to do the right thing. But the law doesn't always recognize good intentions."

"Then maybe," he says, leaning closer, "the law is wrong."

The silence that follows is charged. He's looking at me like he can see straight into my soul.

This is exactly the kind of thinking that Marcus warned you about,the rational part of my brain whispers.The kind of idealism that leads to disappointment and burnout.

But the larger part of me—the part that's chosen this job despite everyone telling me I'm naive—is fascinated. Here's someone who isn't just complaining about the system's failures. He's actually done something about it.

"I want to help you," I hear myself saying. "But I need you to understand that this case... it's going to be complicated. The evidence against you is substantial, and the prosecution is going to paint you as a common thief who's trying to hide behind noble motivations."