Chapter 8 - The Six-Figure JudasThat evening, David Vance met me at an unassuming coffee shop in downtown Phoenix. He looked exhausted, the shadows under his eyes darker than usual.
"I got an interesting visitor at my office two hours ago," David said, taking a slow sip of black coffee. "Richard Harrington."
My eyes narrowed. "Callan’s uncle? What did he want?"
"He brought a cashier's check for two million dollars," David said softly.
I felt a cold chill run down my spine. "And?"
David reached into his coat pocket, pulled out a folded piece of paper, and slid it toward me. It was a copy of the check, made out to David Vance’s legal defense firm.
"He told me to convince you to accept a quiet divorce settlement," David continued. "Five million for you, two million for me. Full non-disclosure agreement. All media posts deleted. All sensor data destroyed."
I looked at David, my heart pounding in my chest. In this city, two million dollars could buy a public defender a luxurious retirement.
"What did you tell him, David?"
David leaned back, pulling a small silver USB drive from his pocket and dropping it onto the table.
"I told him his math was terrible," David said with a dry, gravelly chuckle. "And then I wore a wire while he offered me the bribe. The recording is right here on this drive. I sent a copy to the FBI Financial Crimes division twenty minutes ago."
I stared at the tired old lawyer, a wave of profound gratitude washing over me.
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"Why did you do that?" I asked quietly. "You could have walked away rich."
David looked out the window at the city skyline. "Thirty years ago, Anastasia, a rich developer stole my father's land in Glendale using dirty lawyers and bribe money. I swore the day I passed the bar that I’d never let another scumbag buy the law in front of me. We take them down. All of them."
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