For the most part, John was laser focused on his cases. He didn’t let the greater themes of the world bear down on him. The world was a complicated, messy place, but here in his cramped office, Richie scratching away at his own notepad behind him, John was being active. Inside the walls of this crumbling but noble building, he was never passive. He was doing something about that complicated world. Each hour of concentration he lent to his cases he was making the world a more just, fair place.

Normally, it soothed him.

But there was something about this case that was under his skin. Technically, in the state of New York, a seventeen-year-old could be tried as an adult. He’d long ago accepted the crazy-making nature of this idea, this assumption that a child could have the same scope and understanding as a fully formed adult. There was nothing that John could do besides defend these people with his entire intellect, determination and passion. But this case? He just wanted to take the judge by the collar and shout, “Can’t you see that she wasn’t there willingly? Can’t you see that she was scared for her life? Can’t you see that she and her mother were one step up from homeless and in no position to turn away the cash that men were throwing at Hang after they did whatever the hell they were going to do to her?”

But were those men on trial? No, they were not. Had they been tackled by cops and slammed to the ground, handcuffed and tossed in the clink while their mothers scoured hospitals, thinking they were dead, making frantic calls to 911 dispatchers in Vietnamese only to get hung up on?

John sighed. Hang and two other young girls were the only people arrested in the prostitution bust in the East New York neighborhood.

“Hey, there.” Sarah Riley, dyed brown hair and a blue pantsuit making her nondescript looks even more nondescript, poked her head into John’s office. “You left a message about a case?”

“Yeah. I’ve got a sex trafficking case that’s similar to that one you worked last year. You free this afternoon to consult with me?”

Sarah Riley was John’s direct supervisor and someone he very much cared about impressing. She offered no compliments on a job well done, expected perfection and seemingly cared absolutely diddly about morale in the workplace. She was, however, a damn good public defender and one of the few who regularly stayed after hours putting in work on other people’s cases. She was kind of his personal hero.

She nodded. “Come by in half an hour. Don’t be late.”

She was gone out the door, and the second it closed behind her, Richie pretended to shiver. “Hope you brought your snow pants to work.”