The Advocate’s Ultimatum (Advocate #21)

Chapter 1

Monday morning

Sabre Orin Brown hadn’t quit juvenile court.

Not exactly. She had simply stopped taking new cases while she figured out whether the fight was still worth it.

After years of representing children in impossible situations, Sabre needed time to decide whether she was still making a difference or simply moving from one crises to the next.

So, when a judge’s clerk called and asked if she could stop by the courthouse for a minute, Sabre assumed it was about one of the cases she still had open.

She stepped into the courtroom with the quiet confidence of someone who had spent nearly a decade standing in front of judges.

At thirty-three, experience had replaced the need to impress anyone.

She trusted preparation more than personality.

Today, though, her expression held a heaviness she couldn’t hide, the kind that came from too many cases where the system hadn’t made the children’s lives better.

Instead of bringing up one of her old cases, the judge gestured to a frightened teenage girl accused of murder and asked who she wanted as her attorney. The girl looked straight at Sabre, pointed, and said, “Her. Sabre Orin Brown.”

For a second, Sabre thought she had misheard. She glanced around the courtroom, expecting someone else to react, maybe another lawyer with a similar name. But no one moved. The judge stared at her. The prosecutor did too. Even the bailiff turned slightly in her direction.

Sabre felt a strange tightening in her chest. The girl was staring directly at her. She wasn’t scanning the room. She wasn’t guessing. She was looking at her like she had been waiting.

Sabre had never seen the girl before. She was sure of that. In her line of work, faces stayed with her, the frightened ones especially. But this girl, thin and pale in an oversized, county detention sweatshirt, was completely unfamiliar.

Judge Helen Hammouri—an attractive woman in her late sixties, with short dark hair and sharp eyes—had developed a reputation for running an unconventional courtroom.

She never hesitated to scold attorneys, social workers, or parents when they deserved it.

But everyone who practiced in her courtroom knew one thing: Judge Hammouri cared deeply about the kids who came before her.

She had long ago stopped worrying about what other judges thought of her methods.

Her only concern was whether justice was being done.

The judge leaned forward. “Ms. Brown, please approach the bench.”

Sabre hesitated. She hadn’t come to the court to take on anything new. In fact, she had been avoiding it. But now the entire courtroom was looking at her, and the girl’s eyes never left her face.

Something in her expression unsettled Sabre. It wasn’t fear. It was expectation, like the girl already knew Sabre would help her.

Sabre slowly stepped forward.

“Ms. Brown?” Hammouri said. “This young woman refuses to talk to anyone but you. She won’t say anything beyond her name, Bay Mercer. She won’t talk to the police, the social worker, the attorney we tried to appoint for her, or even me. She insists on talking only to you.”

“I’m sorry, Your Honor, but I’m not taking any new cases.” And certainly not a murder case.

“I understand, but maybe you could talk to her and convince her to engage with another attorney.”

Sabre sighed. “I’ll see what I can do, Your Honor.”

“Very well. This case is continued until Wednesday.”

~~~

The interview room at juvenile court was small and windowless, the kind designed to make conversations short.

A metal shelf on either side of the plexiglass.

A small bench bolted to the floor on the prisoner’s side and a plastic chair for the visitor.

The girl was already seated when Sabre stepped in.

Up close, she looked even younger than Sabre had first thought, twelve maybe, thirteen at most. Her dark hair hung loose around her shoulders, and the oversized detention sweatshirt made her petite frame seem even smaller.

She looked up at Sabre, and relief crossed her face.

“Hi.” Sabre sat in the chair across from her. “I’m Sabre Brown.”

The girl nodded, as if confirming something. “I know.”

Sabre waited. Years of interviewing kids had taught her that silence often worked better than questions.

Bay studied her for a moment, her eyes searching Sabre’s face the way someone might look at a photograph they had memorized.

“You came,” she said finally.

Sabre gave a small smile. “The judge asked if I’d speak with you.”

The girl shook her head. “No. You came because you said you would.”

Sabre frowned. “Why do you say that?”

“You told me,” Bay said quietly. “You said if anything ever happened, I should find you.”

A small chill moved through Sabre’s chest. “I said that to you?”

The girl nodded. “You were my lawyer.”

Sabre began to mentally flip through years of cases like a deck of cards. She’d met hundreds of children, seen hundreds of faces. But not this one. And she was sure she’d never heard the name.

“Okay, Bay,” Sabre said gently. “When did I represent you?”

The girl’s brow creased, as if the answer should be obvious. “You don’t remember?”

“No,” Sabre admitted.

For the first time, the girl looked confused. “But… you were there. You promised.”

Sabre studied her closely now. The girl didn’t look like she was lying. She looked like someone who had just discovered a piece of reality that didn’t match what she’d come to believe.

“What did I promise?” Sabre asked.

The girl lowered her voice. “That you would help me if I was ever in trouble.”

Sabre felt the room grow very quiet. “When did I tell you that?”

“Eight years ago. And now I’m in big trouble for killing him. You have to help me.”