6. Nora
CHAPTER 6
NORA
I shuffle the papers in my hands, each sheet a stark testament to the lives upended by something as essential as water. The family I’ve just interviewed sits huddled on their worn sofa, hope flickering in their eyes like the dim light of the lamp in the corner of their living room.
“Thank you, Ms. Ryder,” the mother says, her voice laced with gratitude and fatigue. “We didn’t think anyone would listen.”
“Call me Nora,” I insist, offering what I hope is a reassuring smile. “And I assure you, we’re going to fight for you every step of the way.”
I exit through the door they hold open for me, stepping out into the brisk Chicago air. My breath forms little clouds that dissipate quickly, much like the doubts that occasionally cloud my mind about whether I’m truly making a difference. But not today. Today, I feel like I’m exactly where I need to be.
As I stride down the street, my phone vibrates in my coat pocket. Who could that be?
Fishing it out, I see a text from my boss flashing on the screen. Come to my office when you get back.
A twinge of anxiety knots my stomach. It’s probably nothing, just a debrief on today’s interview or a new case. Still, one can never be too sure. The firm has been unpredictable lately, especially with rumors of budget cuts and restructuring swirling around.
“Okay, keep it together,” I whisper to myself, tucking a stray lock of hair behind my ear.
The firm is a ladder to my dreams, one I’ve been steadily climbing since law school. And this case, it matters. It’s not just another rung on that ladder; it’s a chance to do some real good.
In Seattle, the firm I worked at only cared about money, so I eventually returned to Chicago — the place that started it all. And in Chicago I joined an environmental law firm, a beacon of hope amid the inkling black night. At first I thought that I was in my dream job.
Then it turned out to be the same deal all over again. It’s all about money, money, money.
But not this time. Not this case. My boss has finally allowed me to take on a sliding scale case. I’m finally defending people who really need it, who wouldn’t be able to pay for a lawyer otherwise.
Reaching the block where my workplace is, I park on the street and hustle out of the car.
With a deep breath, I quicken my pace, the heels of my shoes clicking against the sidewalk in a steady rhythm. As I near the imposing glass building that houses the firm, my anxiety increases. Things are going so well at work that I feel like something is bound to go wrong soon.
I march through the maze of hallways, my heart hammering in my chest. The door to Mr. Hale’s office looms ahead — bigger and more foreboding than I remember it ever being.
With a determined push, the door swings open, and there he is, framed by the Chicago skyline, Mr. Robert Hale, with his back turned to me, hands clasped behind his back.
“Ah, Nora.” He turns, his voice smooth as a well-aged scotch, but it’s the ice in his eyes that sends shivers down my spine. “Please, have a seat.”
I don’t sit. The news can’t be good, not with that look on his face — the one that reads “bottom line” in bold, unforgiving letters.
“Mr. Hale, what’s this about?” My words are steady, but inside, it’s like I’m clinging to the edge of a cliff with cracked fingernails.
He sighs, a contrived expression of regret painting his features. “We need to discuss the Freeman case.”
My stomach clenches. Not the Freemans. They’re counting on us — on me — to fight for them, to make sure their poisoned water doesn’t go unpunished.
“Go on,” I prod, bracing myself.
“We’re dropping it.” He says it so casually, like he’s talking about changing the brand of coffee in the break room.
“What? Why?” Anger flares within me, hot and fierce.
“Come on, Nora. You know the drill. It’s not financially viable. We’ve done the math, and there’s just not enough money in it for us.”
“Us?” I echo, incredulous. “What about the Freemans? This isn’t about lining our pockets. It’s about justice!”
“Justice doesn’t pay the bills,” he counters, unmoved. “Grow up, Nora. This is a business, not a charity.”
His tone is dismissive, and it’s clear he’s made up his mind.
I clench my fists, biting back a retort. “So, that’s it? We’re just going to abandon them because their tragedy isn’t profitable?”
“Exactly.” He barely glances at me as he shuffles papers on his desk.
“Mr. Hale, please,” I plead, my voice thick with frustration. “We have a responsibility. These people trusted us to represent them, to fight against corporations that think they can destroy lives without consequences.”
“It’s over, Nora.” He looks up now, his gaze like steel. “The decision has been made. Move on to something else.”
I stand there, rooted to the spot, my whole body trembling with indignation. The firm I once believed in and the career I thought would be my legacy are slipping through my fingers like sand. But I can’t let this go. I won’t.
“It’s not right!” I don’t care that my voice is rising, that my coworkers in the hallway can probably hear every word. “We can’t?—”
“Enough, Nora,” my boss says with a finality that echoes off the walls of his office. “If you can’t respect the direction this firm is heading, I have no choice but to let you go.”
He doesn’t even look at me as he says it — as if he’s more interested in the papers on his desk than the career he’s ending.
“Wait, what?” My voice is barely audible over the sudden ringing in my ears. Fired? Just like that?
“Your services are no longer required at this firm,” he clarifies, not a hint of regret in his tone.
His eyes finally meet mine, and they’re void of any warmth. Or maybe they never even had warmth at all. Maybe there’s no soul within this man’s body.
I should beg for my job, plead with him to reconsider. But I don’t. Instead, something inside me clicks. A strange sense of relief washes over me, mingling with the shock. Maybe because, deep down, I know I’m more than this soulless place. Or maybe I’m just tired of fighting battles I can’t win.
“Fine.” My voice is steady despite the chaos brewing inside. “I’ll get my things.”
I walk out of the office, the door clicking shut behind me with a soft thud that seems to resonate through the entire floor. The silence that follows is louder than any argument we’ve had. I keep my head high, though my pride is bruising with every step.
Back at my desk, I grab my personal belongings — a framed photo of me and Lynn, a potted succulent struggling for life under the fluorescent lights, and a few legal journals with dog-eared pages. My hands are oddly calm as I slip these fragments of myself into a cardboard box, the last year reduced to a few items that feel suddenly foreign.
I don’t bother with goodbyes. It’s not like I have friends here, just colleagues who’ve always been more interested in billable hours than camaraderie. They all stare at their screens, feigning ignorance of the drama unfolding, though I can feel their curious eyes on me. It’s just as well. I don’t need hollow words or pitying glances. Not when I’ve got a spine of steel and a heart set on doing what’s right — even if I have to do it alone.
With the box tucked under my arm, I walk through the maze of cubicles and out of the lobby doors for the last time. The air outside hits differently — colder but somehow fresher. The city noise drowns out the finality of my departure, and I let the sounds of Chicago fill the empty space where my job used to be.
The chill of the concrete seeps through my flats as I stand on the sidewalk, the chaos of rush hour filling the air. The box feels so much heavier than it did a few minutes ago, and for the first time, I question my choice not to beg for my job.
But, no. I did the right thing.
Right?
I begin the short walk to where my car is parked. Each step feels mechanical, the echo of my heartbeat pounding in my ears. I’m free.
That idea should exhilarate me, but freedom comes with a price tag, doesn’t it? No job, no steady income…
The thought of my parents’ reaction tightens the knot already forming in my stomach.
I’ve always been their success story, the daughter who went off to college and then law school, landing a prestigious job at a top firm. Now what am I? Unemployed. An idealist without a cause.
As I reach my car, the truth of what I’ve lost hits harder than any cross-examination ever could. With shaky hands, I fumble with the keys before the lock clicks open. The box lands on the passenger seat with a thud, and I slide behind the wheel.
My phone buzzes in my pocket — a text, probably from Mom or Dad, checking in, unaware their daughter’s life has just capsized. I can’t look at it right now. Not yet. Instead, I bury my face in my hands, the dam breaking as sobs rack my body.
“Why is doing what’s right so hard?” I choke out between tears. They’re not just for the loss of my job but also for the family I was trying to help and for the dreams I had when I first walked into that firm. It wasn’t supposed to be like this. I was going to make a difference, fight the good fight.
I let the tears fall, unbridled, mourning the death of eight years spent chasing a dream that turned out to be just another illusion.
How do I tell my parents that their golden girl is tarnished? How do I explain that I chose integrity over security and still ended up feeling like I lost?
The city moves on outside my window, indifferent to one lawyer’s crisis. I take a deep, shuddering breath and wipe away the tears. It’s just me, my car, and an uncertain horizon.
“Okay, Nora,” I say aloud, trying to ground myself in the sound of my own voice. “What’s next?”
If only I had a clue.