Chapter 30
CHAPTER 30
FALLING SWORDS
Jules
“Who said no man is rich enough to buy back his past?”
“What?” My officemate in chambers, Alex, lifts his head at my musings.
“I think it was Oscar Wilde, right?”
“Maybe. But take it with a grain of salt. He’s a pessimist.” He stands and gathers his papers and sticks them in his briefcase. “What’s on your schedule today?”
I close my eyes and release a weary sigh. “Nothing but paperwork. Are you going to the RCJ?”
“I wish. I’ve got a client in Surbiton.”
“Have a good one.”
“Same to you. All right, I’m off.” He grabs his raincoat from the hook behind our door and walks out.
“Yes, that’s right, it was Oscar Wilde,” I say aloud to the empty room. Pessimist or not, he was right. I glance out the window of our lower-level office. The rain is relentless, and it’s so cold. I can’t remember the last time it was this cold in September. Maybe I should wait until it’s a little warmer. Or when it’s not raining. I really should start carrying an umbrella.
I pop the black elastic on my wrist and stop my runaway thoughts in their tracks. My mind, if I allow it to, will wander to places it doesn’t have time for, and I’ll talk myself out of doing what must be done.
Must.
Falling on my sword will hurt, but it will also cut Conrad off at the knees. I know it’s the right thing. I spent the morning in my office getting my affairs in order. I have clients that I needed to make sure wouldn’t be harmed by my removal from their case.
I thought I knew what loss was—after all, I’d lost everything once before. But there’s a difference between the loss of things and people you didn’t choose—that life just gave you—and the collapse of every manifestation of your hopes and desires. It turned me into the very thing I’d been trying my hardest not to become—a victim, afraid. I’ve been looking over my shoulder again, waiting for the other shoe to drop.
When I chose to read law, I didn’t just do it because I hoped to have the tools to correct the record one day. There are some days when I’m not sure I deserve to. I didn’t set that fire, but I’ve lived with the guilt of surviving when he didn’t.
My heart was shattered when I lost him, and nothing will ever fix that. But I can try to set the record straight.
It won’t change the fact that I lied on my Bar application. That I didn’t do it for ill doesn’t matter. There’s no amount of righteousness to justify stealing a place at Inner Temple. And as long as I try to hold on to my ill-gotten gains, Conrad will be able to hold on to me.
I take a deep breath and call Mr. Bone, our head of chambers, and ask for a meeting.
He’s in, available, and invites me to come see him now.
I gather all of my possessions with me and leave my files in order so the person who replaces me can pick up where I left off.
I take long, confident strides toward my certain execution. I’m not going to walk out of there whole. And I know it. But I’m going to find a way to survive it. I stop in front of a tall solid wood door with a lattice pattern carved in it that resembles a medieval portcullis. And how appropriate. This is the passageway to a kingdom I have no right to enter.
I knock on the door and walk in to find Mr. Bone, the man who gave me the chance of a lifetime, sitting behind his huge desk smiling at me warmly.
“Juliana, come in, please.” I smile at his use of my full name. It gives the appearance of a formality between us that couldn’t be further from the truth. I’ll miss this and him.
“Thank you.”
My legs start to tremble, and I sit in one of the dark burgundy tufted chairs across from him.
“Now you said you had something to discuss. But first, I want to tell you that we’re going to offer you a tenancy. I can imagine you’ve had queries from other chambers since your award, but Fifteen Queen’s Bench Walk is a place you can build your career and flourish.”
His kindness, his assumption of what brought me here, all of it is a painful reminder of what I’ll be leaving behind.
“I know. There’s nowhere else I’d rather be than here, Mr. Bone.”
His smile deepens, and the lines around his eyes and mouth remind me that this man is an institution. No matter what happens after this, without his favor, no one will work with me.
“I have come to tell you something I should have from the start.”
His smile disappears, and his shrewd, hazel eyes narrow. “I’m listening.” He sits back in his chair, hands folded on his crossed legs, and waits.
“My name, the name I was given at birth, is Crown Jewel Hayford. I changed it to Juliana Quist when I started at the LSE.”
He throws his head back and starts to laugh. “Oh, my dear, is that all? I can understand why you would do that. Whatever were your parents thinking?”
“My father named me. I never knew my mother. But I didn’t change it because it’s absurd. I changed it to hide the fact that I had a conviction, one that led to a custodial sentence and a period of time on parole.”
His laughter dies, his expression hardens, and his mouth thins to a white, harsh slash in his face.
“I was thirteen when I was convicted. I did not commit the crime I was accused of. But the evidence, while circumstantial, was compelling enough for the Crown to find me guilty. I wanted a new beginning. I wanted a chance to live a life that I knew, with that conviction attached to my name, would never be mine.” I drop my eyes to my lap, no longer able to meet his stony stare.
“I know it was wrong. I knew it when I did it. But I hoped I could overcome that by being the best barrister I was capable of being. Of working for a population of people who reminded me of myself. But I see now how impossible that is.”
“What brought you to that conclusion after such a long time of being committed to your deception?”
His voice holds no censure, but each word is a lash on my back.
“Someone I knew and trusted began blackmailing me. He threatened to come to you and reveal my identity. He came to my home and threatened my relationship.”
“You mean… Mr. Solomon didn’t know either?”
The surprise in his voice is so painful to hear. Of course, he expected Omar to know. He’s my partner. And he should have.
I look down at my hands clasped in my lap. “I’m deeply ashamed of the trust I have betrayed, and I’m not here to ask for forgiveness or even understanding.”
I hand him the envelope. “I’ve written my resignation letter to save you the trouble of sacking me.”
“If only it were that simple,” he says in a voice steeped in regret, and my head snaps up. His eyes are full of compassion, and it only makes my heart ache deeper. “You haven’t committed a crime, thank goodness. But this job isn’t all you’re going to lose.”
My heart lodges in my throat as I listen to what I have to look forward to. “You’ll be struck off. There will be a hearing, but in a case like this, it will merely be a formality.”
I nod. I knew this, and yet hearing him say that the only thing I’ve ever achieved in my life will be taken away kills my composure, and a tear gets loose before I can stop it. I brush it away. The last thing I want is to act like I’m the aggrieved party.
He hands me a tissue. “Your saving grace will be that as a pupil, you’ve been under the supervision of a barrister who has been the representative of record in all of your cases. If you’d waited to come forward after you’d been given this tenancy, you would have had clients whose cases would be called into question. You’d face civil and criminal penalties far more severe than those you’ll face now.”
“Criminal?”
“Honestly, I’ve never encountered this before, so I can’t say if this will go beyond the tribunal that will hear your case and decide on whether you may remain an officer of the court.”
“I’m so sorry.” It’s not close to sufficient, but it’s all I’ve got.
“Oh yes, I know. You must be. You are such a brilliant, doggedly hard-working young jurist, and I do believe you would have had an extraordinary career.”
“Thank you,” I hiccup through a sob.
“I will represent you before the tribunal.”
My head snaps up. “You will? Why?”
“Because I believe in you and want to give you the best chance possible. I’m not one to blow my own trumpets, but no one can give you that more than me.”
I’m so grateful and so unworthy. “Oh, thank you so much. I don’t even know how to begin.”
He pats my shoulder. “I’m sorry it’s come to this. I will liaise with the tribunal and call you when I have a date for your hearing. I’d say within the month. They’ll want it done for Winter Holidays. So perhaps you can spend the time getting some much-needed rest. And then, I want you to come back here and work as a clerk to keep a roof over your head until you know what you’re going to do next. How does that sound?”
“Oh, Mr. Bone” is all I can manage.
“Hugo, please.” He stands, arms extended. “Come here, you.”
I stand, walk over to his side of the desk, and accept the hug. The warmth of the contact undoes me completely, and I cry enough tears to soak the front of his crisp white shirt.
He holds me the whole time and pats my back soothingly until I’m done.
“If our profession has shown us anything, it’s that good people get caught in bad situations all the time. Most of our clients aren’t walking around looking for trouble when they find it. We know what desperation drives people to. You had the courage to come in here to face the consequences when you could have just disappeared.”
“Thank you. I’m so grateful for your compassion.”
“You’ve done the correct thing.” He pats my shoulder. I’m so grateful that he can still see the good in me I’m nearly dizzy with it.
But I walk out of his office and leave behind the job I love. And the knowledge that I may also lose the man who has become my home in this same long, long arc of comeuppance sobers me.
I walk and walk and walk until I find myself in the only place I know I’ll be safe. When I arrive at the house on Brixton Hill, light beams out from the stained glass window at the top floor, and the doubt that had started to slow my steps as I got closer to him is gone. That’s my sign. He’s home. I don’t know if he wants to see me.
I have no right to ask anything of him. No right to him at all.
I’m afraid if I ask to come in, he’ll say no. I use the key he gave me to let myself in but go no further than the foyer. I hear him coming and hold my breath.