Soon, her daughter brought him up to the microphone for one of a handful of speeches. He talked about how much she’d taught him, most of which was about how to be a good person and how to treat other people well, told a self-deprecating story about himself that made people laugh, told one of his favorite stories about Ms. Sussman that made people cry, and managed to weave in his passion for criminal justice reform, especially as it related to kids. When he walked down from the podium, he was proud of that speech.

At the end of the event, Ms. Sussman brought him around to meet some of her more recent former students. He went around the circle and shook hands with all of them, but one of them looked so familiar. Why couldn’t he place him?

“Great speech, Senator,” they all said, and he smiled.

He knew this kid. Who was he? He glanced down at the name tag to see if that would help. Mateo Ortega.

Oh. It all came back to him now.

Mateo’s brother Antonio had been a defendant, early in Max’s career as a prosecutor. He’d stolen stuff from a store, and knocked someone down on his way out. Max, full of his own importance, had thrown the book at the kid.

He’d spent years regretting that. He still did. After he spent a few years prosecuting that kid and some of the others like him, and saw what his actions did to their lives, his feelings about the criminal justice system had fundamentally changed. He’d consulted advocates—many of whom he still consulted on a regular basis—changed his entire process, and after he’d become the district attorney, had changed policies in the office to try to keep kids, and everyone else, out of jail and prison as much as possible.

But none of that had helped Antonio, who’d been incarcerated for two years because of Max.

On the way out of the event, Max caught up with Mateo in the parking lot.

“Hey, Mateo,” he said. “How’s your brother?”

Mateo barely glanced at him.

“Okay, I guess. I mean, I don’t really know. He’s back inside. Supposed to get out again in a few years, with good behavior and all.”

Fuck.

“Oh,” Max said. He pulled a card out of his pocket. “I’m very sorry to hear that. Well, if you ever need anything, or if he does, or you’re looking for a job in government, or anything … call my office, okay?”

Mateo took the card and dropped it in his pocket, still without looking at Max.

“Yeah, sure. I’ll get right on that.”

Max didn’t blame the kid for his rudeness; hell, it had probably taken all of Mateo’s self-control to not punch Max in the face. And Max would have deserved it.