Give Up, Mr. Lawyer! This is Not Your Child-Chapter 201: Meeting

Justin Holden thought the morning work hours were passing incredibly slowly.

She sat at her desk, eyes locked on the computer screen, fingers mechanically tapping the keyboard, but her mind was completely disconnected from the articles in front of her.

The dense text on the screen seemed to be jumping around as she read the same paragraph repeatedly, unable to grasp its meaning.

Any slight movement in the office would trigger her alertness.

Whenever colleagues gathered to speak in hushed tones, her ears would instinctively perk up, and she’d lean forward slightly, trying to catch the snippets of conversation.

Her gaze frequently drifted around, like a startled deer, ready to flee from danger at any moment.

"Did you see today’s breaking news?" Vic suddenly spoke from across her, his booming voice especially clear in the quiet office area.

Justin Holden’s fingers abruptly halted on the keyboard, her heart rate spiking.

She felt a chill on her back, and the palm holding the mouse became clammy with fine beads of sweat.

"Which one?" Miss Lewis leaned over inquisitively from the nearby desk.

"The one about the female university student," Vic scrolled his phone screen, his voice unlowered, "got involved in money laundering for quick cash, sentenced to three years." 𝘧𝓇𝑒𝑒𝑤ℯ𝑏𝓃𝘰𝑣ℯ𝘭.𝘤ℴ𝘮

Justin Holden’s breath hitched.

She instinctively bowed her head, pretending to focus on the computer screen, but her vision blurred, unable to read a single word.

She could feel her cheeks flushing, as if all her colleagues were staring at her.

"Students these days," Miss Lewis shook her head with a sigh and a tone of regret, "wasting good education to engage in crime. They’ve ruined their future."

"I heard her family is actually quite well-off," another colleague chimed in while straightening paperwork on the desk, "just too vain, wanting luxury items despite being from a wealthy household, and ended up taking the wrong path."

Justin Holden felt her throat tightening, as if something was constricting her breath.

She picked up her water cup, intending to take a sip, but noticed her hand trembled slightly.

The edge of the cup bumped against her teeth, producing a slight clinking sound.

She hastily set the cup down, afraid of revealing her distress.

"These cases are becoming more frequent," Vic continued, swiping his phone, "young people have such weak legal awareness, constantly feeling they can escape consequences."

Justin Holden suddenly stood up, her chair scraping the floor with a harsh noise: "I’m going to get some water."

Her voice was tense, almost squeezed through clenched teeth.

She quickly walked to the break room, still hearing the chatter of her colleagues behind.

In the break room, she leaned against the cold wall, taking deep breaths.

Calm down, she told herself, they’re not talking about you, don’t scare yourself.

But the story of that female student was like a mirror, relentlessly reflecting the past she didn’t want to recall.

Though the case was different, the experience of falling from a height, the agony of disgrace, she knew it all too well.

She remembered the cold feel of handcuffs, the glaring lights in the interrogation room, and the dizzying sensation when the judge delivered the verdict in the courtroom.

When she returned to her desk, the discussion had ended.

Colleagues were busy with their work, as if nothing had happened.

But Justin Holden was unable to concentrate all morning; whenever words like "court," "verdict," or "crime" were mentioned, her heart skipped a beat, and her hand movements would unconsciously pause.

She tried to numb herself with work, forcing herself to focus on the manuscript in front of her.

However, the text seemed to come alive, persistently reminding her of the past she was unwilling to face.

She revised one passage after another but always felt unsatisfied, eventually deleting and rewriting it all.

Noon finally struck at twelve, colleagues gradually rose to go to lunch.

Sounds of furniture moving and cheerful conversations filled the office, lightening the atmosphere.

"Justin Holden, care to join us?" Miss Lewis invited her with a friendly smile.

Justin Holden initially wanted to refuse, preferring to be alone quietly. But fearing isolation might provoke unnecessary suspicion, she reluctantly nodded: "Okay."

The group headed to a nearby restaurant.

It was a bustling place, filled with office workers from nearby buildings.

The noise of conversation, clanging of cutlery, and sizzling sounds from the kitchen merged into a vibrant backdrop.

The waiter led them to a round table, handing out menus.

Justin Holden chose a spot further inside to minimize contact with others as much as possible.

"Any recommendations today?" Vic asked, flipping through the menu, his eyes scanning the names of dishes.

"Their spicy fish is nice," Miss Lewis suggested, turning to Justin Holden, "Can you handle spicy food?"

Justin Holden absentmindedly nodded: "Anything’s fine."

Her fingers unconsciously stroked the edge of the menu, her gaze wandering around the restaurant.

Once the dishes were ordered, casual chatter ensued.

Topics shifted from recent TV shows to weekend plans, then to the latest company gossip.

Justin Holden chimed in occasionally, but was clearly not in the right frame of mind.

Her responses were consistently delayed, and her smiles appeared forced.

"Speaking of which," Vic casually turned to Justin Holden, "I remember you used to cover social news, right?"

Justin Holden raised her head warily, her nerves instantly taut: "Why?"

Her voice unintentionally raised a notch.

"We’re planning a special on prison life next week," Vic said, oblivious to her abnormality, "these days there’s a lot of discussion about judicial reform. The editor wants something in-depth, reflecting reality."

Jean Ellison’s fingers unconsciously tightened, her nails digging deep into her palm.

A wave of dizziness hit her, and the noise in the restaurant seemed to magnify several times in an instant.

"You used to cover the legal beat, so you should know some prison guards, right?" Miss Lewis interjected, her tone casual, "Could you help us get in touch with one? We want to conduct an on-site interview and need someone to introduce us."

The clamor of the restaurant seemed to disappear at that moment.

Jean felt all the blood in her body rush to her head, a buzzing in her ears.

She opened her mouth, wanting to say something, but it was as if her throat was blocked, unable to make a sound.

She could feel the gaze of her colleagues, as if those looks had the power to see through the secret she was desperately trying to hide.

"Miss Ellison?" Vic looked at her in confusion, his brow slightly furrowed.

She suddenly stood up, the movement so abrupt that her elbow hit the glass on the table.

The glass traced an arc in the air, shattering on the marble floor with a crisp, piercing sound, like a bomb exploding in the restaurant.

The entire table fell silent in an instant. Diners at neighboring tables also stopped their conversations, looking over curiously.

Everyone stared at her in astonishment, their faces full of incomprehension.

"I do," Jean heard her own voice trembling, yet she couldn’t stop herself from continuing, "I have a friend who’s a prison guard."

She regretted it as soon as the words left her mouth, but it was too late to take them back.

A waiter hurried over upon hearing the commotion, apologizing repeatedly as they quickly cleaned up the shards on the floor.

Her colleagues exchanged glances, clearly startled by her overreaction.

"Are you okay?" Miss Lewis asked with concern, reaching out to touch her arm, "You look so pale, are you feeling unwell?"

Jean instinctively stepped back, avoiding Miss Lewis’s touch.

She forced herself to calm down, managing a barely convincing smile: "I’m fine, just felt a bit dizzy earlier, maybe low blood sugar."

Even she found this excuse unconvincing.

She sat back down, her fingers clenching into a tight fist under the table.

During the rest of lunch, she barely spoke a word, mechanically eating the food in front of her without tasting anything.

Considerately, her colleagues didn’t bring up the topic again, instead chatting about other lighthearted matters.

But Jean could sense that their eyes contained a touch of curiosity.

Vic occasionally glanced at her secretly, and there was also concern and confusion in Miss Lewis’s gaze.

Every glance felt like a needle pricking her, making her restless.

She excused herself to the restroom, escaping the suffocating atmosphere.

In the stall, she leaned against the door, taking deep breaths.

The woman in the mirror looked pale, with eyes that betrayed an inescapable panic.

She turned on the faucet, splashing cold water on her face, trying to calm herself down.

When she returned to the restaurant, lunch was almost over.

Her colleagues were discussing the afternoon’s work plans, and when they saw her return, they considerately didn’t ask any further questions.

But that subtle atmosphere still lingered, like an invisible film that separated her from the others.

During the afternoon’s work, Jean tried to avoid interacting with her colleagues as much as possible.

She buried herself in her manuscripts, using work to numb her nerves.

But whenever someone passed by her desk, she would unconsciously tense up, her fingers trembling slightly on the keyboard.

She kept replaying the scene from lunch in her mind, every little detail repeating itself.

Her overreaction undoubtedly aroused her colleagues’ suspicion.

If things continued like this, someone would eventually become suspicious and start probing into the past she was desperate to hide.

As soon as it was time to clock out, she was the first to leave the office.

Walking on the way home, she finally felt somewhat relaxed. The glow of the setting sun bathed the street, passersby hurried along, each immersed in their own world.

This absence of attention gave her a slight sense of security.

But she knew these days wouldn’t end.

As long as that secret remained, she would never truly be at ease. Every day felt like walking on thin ice, not knowing when she would fall into a cold abyss.

As she pushed open the door to her home, Jesse ran to her cheerfully, holding up a newly painted picture.

"Mommy, look at the little bunny I drew!"

Jean picked up her daughter, feeling the warmth this little life brought.

Jesse’s innocent smile was like a beam of light, dispelling the gloom inside her heart.

She kissed her daughter’s soft cheek, silently vowing.

She had to be strong for Jesse.

She put Jesse down and walked to the window, looking at the deepening night outside.

After the day’s torment, she finally made up her mind.

She took out her phone, found Justin Holden’s number, letting her fingers pause for a moment on the screen, then quickly typed out a message.

"When are you free? Let’s meet."

"I’m free anytime, you set the time and place." The reply came almost immediately.