By Zephyria 
“Prosecutor.”
“Ma’am.”
The middle-aged woman who entered and gave a light nod of greeting looked utterly exhausted. After asking the assistant prosecutor to get her something to drink, I pulled out a chair for Mrs. Smith to sit in. Once seated, she fidgeted with her hands unsteadily and spoke in a trembling voice.
“Thank you, Prosecutor. For being… so kind to me.”
“Not at all, it’s only natural. What brings you here today? I hope everything is alright?”
When I asked, shaking my head readily, she cleared her throat before answering.
“Yes, everything is fine. To say things are fine when my child is dead… I must be a truly absurd mother…”
“That’s not true.”
I firmly denied it, countering her lifeless tone.
“I know very well that Mrs. Smith fought with everything she had. So please, do not blame yourself.”
Just then, there was a knock, and the assistant prosecutor entered to set down a teacup. Glancing briefly between me and the lady, the assistant let out a small, sympathetic sigh and left the office. Once we were alone, I naturally offered her the tea.
“Please, have some, ma’am.”
Mrs. Smith nodded, but she showed no sign of actually reaching for it. I waited in silence for her heart to settle and for her to speak; after taking several slow, trembling breaths, Mrs. Smith finally managed to start.
“You’ve worked so hard for me, so I’m sorry for requesting a plea bargain. I felt that I should tell the Prosecutor myself…”
Her trembling voice was filled with regret and self-reproach. But she had done nothing wrong. It could never be an easy path for a parent who lost a child to give up on the method of publicly punishing the culprit.
“You must have had your reasons. I’m fine. Plea bargaining is actually more common…”
I comforted her first, but I couldn’t help the bitter taste in my mouth.
“I suppose I didn’t give you enough confidence.”
“It’s not because I don’t trust you, Prosecutor.”
Mrs. Smith interrupted my self-deprecating remark. When I instinctively looked at her, she spoke with her wavering eyes fixed on me.
“I still believe that you will do your best. You said the evidence is solid and that we have a chance to win. I believe that too. I think that it will surely go well, that my child won’t suffer an injustice again… I think that, but…”
Her voice trailed off ominously. I waited silently for her to continue. Mrs. Smith bit her lip and then let out her emotions violently, as if spitting them out.
“But if, by some chance, we lose, then it’s all for nothing.”
I simply listened. Mrs. Smith continued.
“Miller has never lost until now. A law firm spanning three generations and they’re undefeated—does that even make sense? Yes, I know it’s an exaggeration. There are a few rare cases where Miller lost a lawsuit. But that’s talking about the law firm. Nathaniel Miller has never lost. Not once!”
The same went for his predecessor, Ashley Miller, and the one before him, Dominic Miller. Because of this, the Miller Family had become a kingdom that no one dared to approach. The belief that one could never win against them. In an American society without a caste system, they held a position akin to royalty, recognized implicitly. This instilled a fear of the Millers in people. That fear robbed them of the courage to oppose them. Then Miller would win again, and the people’s fear would grow—a vicious cycle.
Mrs. Smith was no different. She had simply been swept up in that cycle. That was all.
Even while understanding, a lingering sense of unease remained. I fidgeted anxiously with my interlaced fingers before finally speaking up.
“Did something happen? Perhaps the opposing counsel made a proposal, or there was some… unpleasant contact…”
I softened my phrasing, using ‘opposing counsel’ instead of ‘that bastard’ and ‘unpleasant contact’ instead of ‘blackmail.’ At this, the lady’s entire body visibly stiffened. Such an unusual reaction was practically an admission. Seeing this, my blood began to boil again.
“Ma’am, I don’t know what kind of threats you’ve received, but I can resolve this for you. What on earth did that dog—no, the Miller side say? What did they tell you that made you give up on the trial? If you tell me what happened, I will do my best to help. So please…”
I made one last plea. She might regret this decision later. Now was the only time it could be reversed.
However, despite my fervent persuasion, Mrs. Smith shook her head.
“I’ve lost all my strength, Prosecutor. I can’t fight anymore.”
“Ma’am.”
“That man…”
The moment she spoke again, Mrs. Smith suddenly cried out in a grief-stricken voice. I froze, and she turned her distorted face toward me. Her eyes were glistening with tears, and her lips trembled violently with intense emotion.
“That man knew about Anthony.”
“…What?”
Baffled by the sudden statement, I asked for clarification, and Mrs. Smith continued in a pained voice.
“He knew everything Anthony had done. Things I didn’t even know—everything my child did before he died, he knew it all. My god, how, how could such a thing… My god…”
“Ma’am.”
“No.”
She shook her head violently.
“If the trial proceeds, everything will be revealed to the world. I can’t do that. I have to protect Anthony’s honor. So please, please negotiate. Any condition is fine, just please.”
Mrs. Smith eventually began to beg me. Moving past bewilderment, my mind went blank. I let out a short breath to regain my composure and gave one final warning.
“You don’t know what conditions they want; they might not be properly punished.”
As I pointed this out, recalling the nonsense the lawyer had first uttered, she bit her lower lip hard. Mrs. Smith remained silent for a moment, as if agonizing with her eyes closed, before finally relaxing her jaw and speaking lifelessly.
“Protecting my child’s honor is more important.”
After those words, I could say nothing more.
‘Smith vs. Davis Case, Concluded with Plea Bargain.’
The massive headline proudly decorated the front page of the newspaper. Leaving the indifferent passersby behind, I picked up one of the newspapers displayed on the stand, paid for it, and read as I walked.