As a lawyer, it was my job to give a voice to the voiceless, power to the powerless. While I was at university, studying law, I’d devoured every word I could about my dad’s trial and his subsequent conviction. One thing was clear: he never stood a chance. There was never any real proof that he’d kidnapped and harmed my mum. I suspect his so-called confession had been coerced out of him and the prosecution had played on the prejudices of the all-Cross jury. I also suspected that my grandfather Kamal Hadley had had more than a little something to do with the outcome.

Analysing my dad’s trial had made me even more determined to become a lawyer, to help anyone who was innocent and might find themselves facing the law coming at them like a wrecking ball. The trouble was, to be a working lawyer meant providing a defence for the innocent and the guilty alike. In my time, I’d defended too many like my Uncle Jude who were prepared to watch the world burn even if it meant they burned right along with it. That in itself had been a revelation and an education. Evil was a real thing, a living, breathing entity that gatecrashed some, but was invited in by too many others. I didn’t want to become as jaded as some of my colleagues, but I was beginning to realize that ship had sailed.

Yet there was always one thing I held sacrosanct above everything else – the law. I believed in the rule of law. Without it, there would be chaos. Now, though, the law was being used as a battering ram to knock my life way off course and the person wielding it was doing a stellar job.

Whoever it was, they had just made a big mistake. A huge mistake. There was no force in the universe that would stop me hunting them down and bringing them to justice. The person or persons responsible were about to learn the hard way that they were screwing with the wrong woman.

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