The Framed Father: Lies in the Courtroom

A middle school girl bolted from a teacher's office, her clothes disheveled and face slick with tears, in the viral scandal video tearing across every social feed.

Around me, my law school classmates buzzed with sick excitement, practically vibrating as they debated the inevitable rape charges for the monster on screen.

But my eyes were locked on the final seconds of the clip. On the older man frantically pulling up his pants in the background. Ice water flooded my veins.

A shudder ripped through me. The ruined teacher. The predator they were all crucifying. It was my dad.

Chapter 1 A lightning bolt straight to the skull would have been less of a shock. I snatched the phone right out of my classmate's hand.

My fingers pinched the screen, zooming in on that panicked, twisted face. I pushed the zoom to the pixelated limit.

I needed a shadow, a weird angle, anything to prove this was just a guy who looked like my dad. But the rumpled shirt he wore burned my eyes. Warren had the exact same shirt.

I bought it for him with my first summer job paycheck. I remembered the day I handed him the box.

He was so thrilled he wore it to teach for a week straight, refusing to take it off even when it desperately needed a wash. My thumb hovered over the comment section.

I tapped the trending keywords, my hand shaking so hard I almost dropped the phone. I skimmed the text. This whole nightmare didn't happen overnight. It happened a month ago.

The suspect, Warren, was already in police custody. The victim was a middle schooler in his homeroom class. The incident happened at midnight.

Her screams brought campus security running. When the two guards kicked the door open, Warren's pants were still around his ankles.

The girl's underwear was draped over his office chair. She had visible defensive wounds. The guards called 911 immediately.

The girl accused Warren of using a latenight tutoring session as an excuse to assault her. Before the attack, Warren's computer history showed he'd been browsing porn sites.

He had also downed nearly an entire bottle of cheap whiskey. Investigators found biological evidence at the scene. The DNA matched Warren perfectly.

To stop the recording, Warren had even lunged at Earl, the security guard holding the phone. The scuffle left Earl with a snapped arm. Witnesses. DNA. Video.

The statements and physical evidence locked together like a vault. By the book, it was an airtight case. My knees buckled.

I collapsed back into my chair, the phone slipping from my sweaty palm. "Rowan, are you okay?" I don't remember walking out of the lecture hall. My legs just moved on autopilot.

I tuned out the weird stares from my classmates as I stumbled past them. Hitting the hallway, I pulled out my own phone. My thumb hovered over my mom's contact.

A month ago, Vera told me Warren had been sent to an outofstate, closeddoor training seminar for teachers. Vera picked up.

Her voice was so raw and gravelly I almost didn't recognize it. "You saw it… I knew we couldn't hide it forever, but your dad begged me to keep you out of this.

Your grandpa collapsed when he found out. He's still in the hospital…" My throat clamped shut.

Through the speaker, Vera's muffled sobs washed over me, drowning out the last pathetic shred of hope I was clinging to. "What did he say?" I forced the words out.

The crying stopped. And what she said next sparked a tiny, desperate flame in the darkness. "Rowan, your dad says he was framed.

He swears he didn't do it." A heavy pause hung on the line. "Tell me… can I still believe him?" Chapter 2 I showed up at my professor's office with bloodshot eyes and zero sleep.

Professor Weston was a heavyweight in the criminal defense world. You could catch his face on half the truecrime legal shows on TV. To me, the sky had caved in.

To him, it was just another Tuesday.

He poured me a cup of coffee and told me to breathe. "The internet only feeds you pieces," Weston said, leaning back in his leather chair. "You need to go down there and dig up the actual facts." "If it played out exactly like the viral clips?

Then he pleads guilty and shows genuine remorse.

It's an attempted charge." "If you push hard for a civil settlement and get the victim's family to sign off on a forgiveness letter, the judge might go easier on his sentencing." He paused, studying my face. "You mentioned your dad doesn't drink.

You said your mom claims he was framed, that the girl stripped on her own." "Look, I've handled cases like this where the guy actually turned out to be innocent," he leveled a stare at me. "But do not walk in there with blinders on." "Wait until you see him facetoface.

Rowan, you're only a freshman, but you're in law school.

I shouldn't have to lecture you on the basics of objectivity and due process." I swallowed the lump in my throat. "He's your dad.

I get it," Weston continued, his tone softening a fraction. "I can't ask you to completely sever your emotions." "But that kid… the reports say she just turned thirteen.

At that age, consent is a myth." "If they had sex, it's statutory rape. Period." "The only saving grace here is that it was attempted.

Add the teacherstudent dynamic, and the media is going to want his blood. Brace yourself for that when you get home.

It's probably why your family tried to keep you in the dark." Weston stopped tapping his pen. "Rowan. You're eighteen.

That girl isn't much younger than you." The implication hit me like a physical blow. I forced a nod. But once my chin dropped, my neck felt like it was made of lead.

I couldn't look back up.

Shifting from professor to seasoned defense attorney, Weston laid out a concrete checklist of what I needed to do next and told me to call him if things went sideways.

His words anchored me. The rockhard tension in my shoulders finally began to thaw. I quit my parttime job on the spot.

The first hearing was looming, and I couldn't stomach waiting for the morning train.

I canceled my ticket, blew every last cent of my living expenses on a private car, and rode through the pitchblack night.

By the time the sky turned the color of dirty ash, I was back in my hometown. Standing under the harsh streetlights of my apartment complex, I stared up at our thirdfloor window.

I hadn't even stepped inside yet, but the air already felt wrong. Sickly. I lugged my heavy suitcase up the concrete stairs.

Halfway to my floor, a muffled sob echoed down the stairwell. "Do you think he did it because of me?

God, my chest feels like it's being crushed." A man's voice murmured right outside my front door. "Hey, stop crying. Whatever he did is on him, not you." "Vera, you're a good woman.

You've been put through hell all these years." A heavy pause. "Don't worry. I'll wait for you. As long as it takes." My grip failed.

The suitcase slipped from my fingers, tumbling down the concrete stairs in a violent, clattering rush. It slammed into the landing with a deafening crack. The zipper busted open.

The plastic shell gaped and snapped shut like a suffocating fish. A startled shriek pierced the hallway. I stared up.

Vera shoved herself away from the stranger's chest, her face drained of color. Our eyes locked. The oxygen vanished from the stairwell.

Chapter 3 "Rowan… weren't you taking the eight o'clock train?" Vera was wearing a silk camisole. I'd never seen it before. Her hair was freshly blown out.

Her face was tearstreaked, but beneath the crying… she looked alluring. A word that had no business being attached to my mother.

For the first time in my eighteen years of life, I wasn't looking at Vera the mom. I was looking at Vera the woman. Our eyes locked.

Eighteen years of suffocating familiarity evaporated, leaving behind a total stranger. I recognized the slope of the man's shoulders.

When he turned around, the floor dropped out from under me. Dominic. My dad's younger brother. His face flushed.

A grown man, looking like a teenager caught with his hand in the cookie jar. "Rowan. You're… you're home early." He reached out.

I flinched, jerking my shoulder back. "You probably haven't had breakfast…" Dominic swallowed hard, his hand dropping. "You two talk.

Call me if you need anything." "I'm… I'm going to the hospital to check on your grandpa." He let out a ragged breath and practically bolted down the stairs. Vera reached for me.

I slapped her hand away. I grabbed the busted handle of my suitcase and dragged it over the threshold. I wasn't a kid anymore.

I lived in a dorm with girls who brought guys home every weekend.

She better not try to feed me some bullshit about how 'it wasn't what it looked like.' Stepping inside, the sickly wrongness I felt outside suddenly made sense.

Humans are like animals. You don't need to see the predator to know it's in the room. Your gut just knows. I let go of the suitcase. I scanned the living room.

Warren's stuff was gone. All of it. His ratty slippers. His stupid thermos. His ashtray. The mountains of textbooks and ungraded essays that usually covered the coffee table.

The apartment was clinically, sickeningly clean. Memories of my pictureperfect family flashed behind my eyes like a bad movie trailer. I'd been gone for one semester.

The whole world had flipped off its axis. A predator dad. A cheating mom. An uncle trying to slide into the husband slot. A hysterical bubble of laughter crawled up my throat.

What kind of sick, twisted joke was this? It was garbage. Utter garbage. Vera stood frozen in the middle of the room, shifting her weight from foot to foot.

Finally, she grabbed a cardigan, pulled it tight across her chest, and sank into the couch. The wall behind her was bare.

The family portrait was gone. "Rowan, you…" Her voice shattered the suffocating silence. Hot tears spilled over my eyelashes. My chest heaved.

I dug my fingernails into my palms, trying to stop my whole body from violently shaking. "How could you…" I didn't even know who the you was anymore. Her and Warren?

Her and Dominic? They were all liars. But before the rest of the scream could rip out of my throat, Vera cut me off. "Rowan.

Your dad and I are divorced." Chapter 4 "Honestly, your dad and I have been miserable for years. We were basically just roommates, but we didn't want to screw you up.

We agreed to file for divorce once you left for college. But when you actually packed up, Warren panicked." "We dragged it out… twenty years is a long time.

It hurts to cut the cord. Eventually, we just couldn't take it anymore and filed the papers." "Rowan, the day he got arrested?

That was the day before the state's mandatory waiting period ended." "Before the judge signed off. When the news broke, I… I couldn't just kick him when he was already in the dirt.

I couldn't push the paperwork through. So, legally, we're still married." "You always wondered why Dominic never remarried after his wife died nine years ago, didn't you?

He was waiting for me. Back in high school, I had eyes for Dominic first. But things happened." "I married your dad because he was safe… and maybe to prove a stupid point.

A spiteful point. But I swear to you, Rowan, nothing happened between Dominic and me.

We kept it completely clean until your dad and I agreed to end things…" Vera stumbled over her words, her eyes darting away as she tried to soften the blow.

I sank deeper into the couch cushions and held up a hand. I didn't want to hear it. Suddenly, everything clicked. Why Dominic was always hovering around.

Why our house had felt so suffocatingly sterile since my sophomore year of high school. I could never put my finger on it back then. Looking back now?

The eerie, polite distance between my parents wasn't 'mutual respect'. It was a corpse.

My entire childhood—the perfect, loving family that never fought—was just a cheap Broadway set. But I didn't give a damn about their midlife soap opera right now.

I needed to know about the case. Did Warren actually do it? And what the hell was Vera talking about in the hallway? Do you think he did it because of me?

Vera dabbed at her eyes with a shredded tissue, repeating the timeline like a broken record. "The timing, Rowan.

If that… that incident hadn't happened, we would have been officially divorced the next morning." She pulled her cardigan tighter across her chest, biting her lip.

She was weighing how much graphic detail she could stomach dumping on her teenage daughter. I sat up straight. "Mom. Give me the truth.

I have a right to know." Vera took a shaky breath. "That night, around eight o'clock, your dad showed up here.

He was hammered." "He wouldn't leave me alone… he kept trying to get me into bed. He was begging to call off the divorce." "I fought him off. I told him no.

I was furious—how could he try to pull the plug the night before it was final?

We got into a screaming match." "He was out of control… but he eventually gave up and stumbled back to the school dorms. He's been sleeping there since we filed the papers.

He'd been hiding in his office at night, drinking himself into a stupor." "This is my fault," Vera whispered, her voice cracking. "Once the divorce became real, it broke him.

He turned into a completely different person." I shot to my feet, a violent shudder ripping through my arms. Late night. Drunk. His office.

It lined up perfectly with the viral reports. Chapter 5 Vera spoke in a rush, the words spilling out. "The security guards caught him in the act. They filmed it.

The girl ID'd him right on the spot." "Twenty years, Rowan.

Twenty years I slept next to that man, and I never thought he was capable of something so sick." She gripped her knees, her knuckles turning white. "I wanted him dead.

But I still pulled strings to hire the best defense attorney in the county.

Kendall." "Her advice was straightforward—since it's an attempted charge, if we can get the victim's family to accept a civil settlement and sign a forgiveness letter, the judge will go easy on him." "But Warren won't budge.

He swears he's innocent. He refuses to settle, refuses to pay a single dime, and even tried to off himself in holding to prove he's clean." "The case stalled.

Yesterday, the girl's family finally snapped and leaked the video online." "That's why his phone's been off.

He begged me to feed you that lie about the outofstate seminar." "What exactly is his side of the story?" I asked.

Vera wiped her face, smearing her mascara. "Kendall and I went to see him in holding.

He claims the kid used to be a straightA student, but her grades took a nosedive this semester." "He felt bad for her, so he offered extra tutoring.

But he swears it was always during the day, in the shared staff room with other teachers around." "After you left for college, the empty nest hit him hard.

He threw all his extra time into his students.

There were two other kids he was tutoring alongside her." She took a shaky breath. "He said the night it happened, he was crashing in his office, completely spiraling because the divorce was going to be finalized the next morning.

He has no idea why the girl showed up at midnight.

He says she walked in, didn't say a single word, and just started stripping." "She took off her clothes, grabbed his hands, shoved them against her own body, and started screaming bloody murder.

He tried to pull away, and that struggle is how she got the bruises." Vera's voice cracked, rising in pitch. "But I don't buy a single word of it!

Rowan, she's thirteen!" "She's not some criminal mastermind.

What could she possibly gain by ruining her own reputation to frame a middleaged teacher?" "Kendall told me we needed the family's forgiveness. So I swallowed my pride.

I went to their house, begging." Vera pressed her trembling hands over her eyes. "Rowan… that little girl is destroyed.

She flinches at her own shadow." "It's only been a few weeks, and she's lost so much weight she looks like a skeleton.

It made me sick to my stomach just looking at her." "But I couldn't just abandon your father either. I was ready to list this apartment to pay for the settlement.

Twenty years of marriage… I figured selling our home was the only way to buy his way out of hell." "And he threw it right back in my face. He absolutely refused to pay a cent.

The stress gave your grandpa a massive stroke—they barely revived him, and he's still in the hospital.

The deed to this place has both our names on it." "If Warren doesn't sign, I can't sell. He's obsessed with confronting the girl.

He told Kendall that if the kid can look him dead in the eye and swear she isn't lying, he'll gladly rot in a cell for the rest of his life." "When Kendall told him the girl wasn't changing her story, he stopped eating.

He went on a full hunger strike in jail.

He even wrote a damn suicide note." Vera dropped her hands to her lap, utterly defeated. "Your dad is completely out of his mind." Chapter 6 "A suicide note?" The words felt foreign in my mouth. "What did he write?" Vera hesitated.

She pulled a folded sheet of paper from the side table drawer and slid it toward me. "It was just one word, actually." I unfolded the paper.

The page was completely black with frantic, violently scribbled ink. It really was just one word, written over and over until the pen had nearly shredded the paper. Innocent.

After pulling the rest of the timeline out of Vera, I compiled the mess into a sterile, chronological text and sent it to Professor Weston.

His phone call came through three minutes later. Warren's stubbornness threw him off. He told me to squeeze every microscopic detail out of my dad when I saw him. Timestamps.

Actions. Weird anomalies. Weston wanted to know exactly what the kid was wearing when she walked in. Every single syllable she spoke. Every microexpression on her face.

It wasn't until I actually sat across from Warren behind the scratched plexiglass of the county jail visitor's booth that I understood why Weston pushed for those details.

And why my dad would rather starve himself to death than plead guilty. I almost didn't recognize him.

The word "Dad" stuck in my throat like a swallowed razor blade for three agonizing seconds before I finally choked it out. He was a ghost.

The extra weight he always carried was completely gone. His cheeks were hollowed out, leaving his jawline looking sharp and jagged.

His thick black hair was streaked with stark, patchy white. The only proof he was still breathing was the wet gleam in his sunken eyes when he looked up and saw me.

But that flicker of life vanished in a second.

His brows slammed together. "Why are you here?" His voice was a dry, grating rasp. "Did your mother tell you?" My fingernails dug into my palms.

He was sitting in an orange county jumpsuit, and he still wanted to play pretend. A dark, ugly laugh ripped out of my chest.

The pity evaporated, instantly replaced by a blinding heat rushing to my head. I leaned into the glass. "Why couldn't you tell me?

You're facing a felony charge, and you wanted to hide it like you and Vera hid your dead marriage?

How long were you going to keep up the act?" "Until they shipped you off to state prison? Until I sat for the bar exam?

Until I walk into a courtroom one day and everyone whispers about the lawyer whose dad tried to rape his own student?" I hit the metal counter with the heel of my hand. "I'm eighteen.

I'm not a kid. Drop the bullshit shield." "I want the truth. I want to know exactly what kind of hell we're in, and I want to know what we do next." Warren flinched.

Tears pooled in his hollowedout eye sockets, spilling over the bruised bags under his eyes. "Rowan… did I ruin it for you?" He pressed his forehead against the glass. "I know you want to be a prosecutor." "I'll sign whatever papers you want.

I'll sever my parental rights. Completely cut ties. As long as it doesn't drag you down… I'll do whatever it takes." Whatever it takes.

The anger drained out of me in a rush, leaving me completely hollow. A giant, suffocating knot jammed in my throat. He spent a month in a cell. He starved himself.

He was ready to rot in prison rather than sign a settlement. But one angry rant from me, and he immediately surrendered his entire defense. I couldn't yell anymore.

My chest literally ached. "Don't worry about me." My voice cracked. "Vera is draining the savings for Kendall.

She's listing the apartment to pay the settlement." "If Kendall works a deal… you'll only do two or three years…" Chapter 7 Warren's jaw trembled uncontrollably. "Where is she getting that kind of money?

Our accounts are completely drained! Is it Dominic? Did Dominic give her the cash?!" He slammed his palms against the plexiglass. "We are not selling the apartment.

I won't beg them. Why should I? Why should I?!" I realized his desperate promise to do whatever it takes didn't include signing a confession.

I took a deep breath and finally asked the question burning a hole in my chest. "Dad, what exactly happened that night?" Warren spilled it all in one frantic rush, his words tripping over each other like he'd rehearsed them a thousand times in the dark. "I went to see your mom.

It was a disaster. I was a wreck, couldn't sleep, so I went back to my office and kept drinking." "I was out of it. I didn't lock the door.

Then it just pushed open, and she walked in. It scared the hell out of me. I asked her what she was doing there. She didn't say a word.

She just walked straight at me, pulling her clothes off, and threw herself on top of me…" I gripped the edge of the metal counter. "And… and then you lost control?" Warren grabbed his head.

His fingernails clawed at his scalp so violently that clumps of thinning, whitestreaked hair fell between his knuckles. "How can you not believe me either?!" "I swear to God, I didn't touch her!

I didn't!" His voice cracked, rising to a ragged, desperate pitch. "I have a daughter! When I look at those kids, I see you.

I could never do something so sick!" Kendall quickly leaned in, using her practiced, calm attorney voice to deescalate his manic spiral.

Professor Weston's advice echoed in my ears.

I needed to act like a lawyer right now, not a daughter. "Dad, look at me." I kept my voice steady. "Think back to every microscopic detail of that night. Dig deep.

What exact time did she walk in? What were you doing? Did you hear anything? What was her facial expression?

What were her exact words?" Warren clutched his skull, his face twisting in pure agony. "I was hammered, Rowan. I… it's a blur…" "It's okay. Take your time.

Just breathe." My softer tone acted like an anchor. He squeezed his eyes shut, his chest heaving as he strained to drag the memories to the surface. "The door opened.

No creak, no footsteps. Dead silent. I looked up and saw her. I froze. She didn't speak. She just started stripping and lunged at me.

She yanked my pants down so I couldn't pull them back up, pinning my hands to her body, and just started screaming bloody murder." He swallowed hard, shivering. "I panicked.

It looked so bad. I didn't know what to do, so I reached out to cover her mouth to make her stop screaming! Then the guards kicked the door in.

One of them had his phone out, recording." "I lost it. I just wanted the phone. I lunged for it, tripped over my own pants, and dragged Earl down with me.

I just wanted to grab the phone. That's all I wanted…" I leaned closer to the glass. "How did she look when she walked in? What did she say? Was she crying?

Scared?" Warren yanked at his remaining hair. "Nothing. Not a single word. Her face was a blank slate. She just walked straight at me.

Not one second of hesitation…" Ice water flooded my lungs. After leaving the county jail, the gravity of the situation pressed down on my shoulders like a physical weight.

Walking out into the blinding sunlight, I turned to Kendall and cut straight to the chase. "Kendall.

If we actually manage to get a signed forgiveness letter from the family… what are the odds you can get his sentence under three years?" Kendall paused, running the invisible legal calculus in her head. "Ninety percent." "And if we fight it?" I asked, my voice flat. "If we plead not guilty?" Kendall let out a heavy sigh.

The calculated lawyer face vanished, replaced by blunt force reality. "With the evidence they have on him right now? Ten percent." Ten percent. It was basically suicide.

But it wasn't a flat zero. Chapter 8 Kendall cut in, her tone sharp. "I strongly advise against a not guilty plea. Rowan, you just got off a train.

You don't have the full picture yet. Aside from your dad's wild story, the prosecution's evidence is bulletproof." "The chain of custody is an iron vault.

Whether he confesses or not doesn't mean a damn thing to a judge. You're a law student—you know the penal code.

They don't need a confession to convict if the physical evidence is a slam dunk." She crossed her arms, leaning against her expensive car. "Do you have any idea how toxic this case is to the public?

After the news broke, I burned through half my contacts and took a massive amount of heat, and I still couldn't even get a judge to grant him bail." "The only saving grace is that the assault was interrupted before the worst happened.

In my professional opinion, a civil settlement and a forgiveness letter are our only lifeline.

If we swing for a not guilty plea and miss, the trial judge will throw the book at him. Appealing for a lighter sentence later would be a joke.

It's a pointless suicide mission." "Look, I'm just his legal counsel. The final call belongs to your dad. I just need him to make a choice so I can actually do my job." She paused.

Her voice dropped an octave, losing the sharp lawyer edge. "Rowan, Vera is my distant cousin.

If she hadn't begged me on her hands and knees, I would never have touched this radioactive case. My firm is taking a beating in the press.

Half the attorneys in this town are whispering that I'd defend the devil if the retainer cleared." Kendall let out a heavy breath. "You haven't seen the victim.

You want to believe your dad is innocent, but you need to wake up. The assault didn't stop because he suddenly grew a conscience.

It stopped because that kid fought like hell and the guards busted in. If you saw her right now, you might actually hate your own father.

She hasn't stepped foot outside her bedroom since that night." "Her family is dirt poor.

Vera and I went to see them, and your mom practically crawled on broken glass to show her sincerity.

We actually have a shot at a settlement." "If we get that forgiveness letter, I can get him out in three years.

With good behavior, he could be walking free before you even graduate college. Rowan… he's your dad, but you're a woman. And you're a law student. You need to see this clearly.

Back your mom, have some sympathy for that little girl, and help us force your dad to sign those papers." My stomach heaved, like someone had shoved my insides into a blender and hit pulverize.

My fingernails dug so hard into my palms they almost drew blood. Then, I looked Kendall dead in the eye and laid out the law exactly as a firstyear student understood it.

Chapter 9 "This has nothing to do with me being a woman, or him being my dad," I fired back, stepping right into her space. "The only thing that matters is if a crime actually happened.

If he did it? I'll drag him to a cell myself. I don't care if they give him three years, twenty years, or the rest of his natural life.

If he's guilty, he deserves it." I locked eyes with her, refusing to blink. "But what if he isn't? What if it's a lie? You saw him in there!" "Kendall, my dad is a teacher.

He's never made real money. He's not ambitious. He's definitely not a great husband. But he has always lived his life totally clean.

His college buddies are all sitting in cushy district jobs or making principal." "But Warren? He's too damn stubborn and straightlaced.

He's spent his entire life grinding as a gruntlevel homeroom teacher with zero fancy titles.

Since the arrest, everyone has been in his ear, screaming at him to just take the deal—just like you're doing right now. His dad had a stroke. Vera is selling their home.

My future is supposedly on the line." "And yet?

He'd rather sever his parental rights and take the maximum sentence than sign a piece of paper admitting to something he didn't do!" I dumped the words out in one lungburning breath.

Kendall's face didn't twitch. She just stared at me with pure, clinical detachment. "He can't just 'sever' his parental rights because he feels like it.

The law doesn't work that way," she said, her voice pure ice. "And since you aren't applying for a government job, his record won't bar you from taking the Bar. I'm a lawyer, Rowan.

I look at the evidence. I look at win rates in a courtroom." She yanked her car door open. "Go home. Talk to Vera. If you're going to stubbornly die on this hill, I'm out.

Find yourselves another lawyer." Day one back home ended in an absolute slaughter.

I sat in the suffocatingly clean, empty apartment, typing up a sterile transcript of the jailhouse visit and firing it off to Professor Weston. I didn't dare call him.

If I opened my mouth, my voice would shake, and I'd expose exactly how terrified I actually was.

Weston's icon lit up almost immediately. [Rowan, as a daughter in this situation, you are unlucky.] [But as a law student, you are incredibly lucky.] [You're a freshman, and you've just been thrown into a massive, tangled web of law, ethics, and emotion.

Treat this as the very first lesson of your career.] [You already know the score.

There is no middle ground here.] [It's either attempted statutory rape, or a full exoneration.] [Plead guilty, secure the settlement, get three years.] [Plead not guilty.

If you win, his name is cleared. If you lose, the judge will throw the book at him. Maximum penalty.] [You're the sharpest student in your class. I won't make this call for you.

Whatever path you take, make sure it's a calculated decision.] I sucked in a sharp breath.

My thumbs hovered over the screen, typing and deleting the same sentence three times before finally hitting send. [I actually know the kid. Lyra.] [You knew her before this?

Tell me everything you can about Lyra.] I wasn't ready to crack open that box just yet.

I sidestepped the question. [Professor Weston, have you ever seen the movie The Hunt?] [You're saying your father is like the protagonist.

Framed by a child.] I stared at the glowing screen, my chest completely tight, and typed out my final reply. [Professor, have you ever been framed?] Chapter 10 Before Weston could reply, I dumped the entire memory into the chat. "I've been framed before, Professor.

When I was in second grade, my deskmate turned on the waterworks and accused me of ruining her backpack with chalk.

The teacher said I didn't have to pay for it since it wasn't torn, but she ordered me to take it home, wash it, and apologize in front of the whole class." "I gritted my teeth and refused.

I told her I didn't do it, so I wouldn't apologize. The teacher called me stubborn. She said, 'I'm not making you pay.

Will an apology kill you?' She made me stand in the back of the classroom until I broke. I didn't tell my parents.

By the time Warren found out, I'd been standing there for a week." My thumbs flew across the screen. "My teacher was at her wits' end, and the other girl kept crying, so she finally called my dad in.

But Warren didn't yell at me. He just asked me, straight up, if I did it. He said, 'If you didn't do it, we don't confess.

Why the hell should we?'" "He pointed at the TV—some old legal drama was playing—and said, 'Hear that? The law doesn't bow to lies. We don't admit to things we didn't do.

Come on, your dad is going to go have a word with them.' I burst into tears right then.

I had stood in the back of that room for a week, balancing a book on my head until my calves shook, and I never shed a single tear.

But the second he said that, I broke." "I don't remember the teacher's face or the girl's name anymore. But I will never forget that suffocating feeling of being trapped.

The feeling of screaming into a void. And the voice in my head screaming, 'Why should I?' That was the exact moment I decided I wanted to be a lawyer.

It planted a seed in me." "After Kendall left today, I requested to see Warren alone. I looked at him and said, 'Dad, if you actually did it, we take the time.

However many years it is. You plead guilty, take the punishment, and you're still my dad. I'll spend the rest of my life helping you make it right.

That girl is broken, and I will work to pay her medical bills. But if you didn't do it? I want to prove it in a courtroom.

I want you to walk out into the daylight, clean and completely exonerated.' He cried when I said that.

And I cried with him." My phone screen timed out, turning black before lighting up again with a notification. Over and over. Just like Warren's suicide note.

A page completely black with ink, screaming a single word: Innocent. Those letters burned in my mind. I made my choice.

My thumbs hit the keyboard, tapping out the words with absolute certainty. [Professor. I want to plead not guilty