Chapter 68
Clayton pressed the button for his law firm’s floor and turned to glance at the teenager beside him.
The boy had a lunchbox in one hand and was scrolling through his phone with the other, showing no intention of pressing a floor button.
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It was Sunday, and the other companies in the building were closed. Judging by his laid–back demeanor, the boy was probably a relative of the client.
“Are you Jacob Harrison’s son?” Clayton asked. The boy kept his head down and gave a slight nod.
“I’m your dad’s lawyer. You can call me Mr. Patel.” Clayton introduced himself.
“Okay,” the boy muttered, his voice low and subdued. Clayton frowned, clearly displeased with the boy’s attitude.
18
Clayton avoided criminal defense cases for a reason, he didn’t want to work for criminals. Sure, his mentor had always said, “Even bad people deserve a defense. Everyone is equal under the law.” But no matter how many times he heard it, he just couldn’t bring himself to treat them the same.
That was why Clayton stuck to civil cases. If it weren’t for the firm’s financial troubles and the hefty fee being offered, he wouldn’t have touched this case with a ten–foot pole.
A phrase suddenly popped into Clayton’s mind. ‘Like father, like son,‘ he wondered.
The elevator arrived at their floor. Clayton stepped out and pointed to a seating area. “You can wait over there.”
“Clayton,” the boy suddenly called out.
“Hm?” Clayton turned back.
With a splash, a warm, stinky liquid splashed all over Clayton’s face. He wiped his face, and his expression twisted in horror. It was urine.
Suddenly, the boy sprang into action, grabbing Clayton by the neck and slamming him onto the desk. He followed up with a punch straight to Clayton’s
stomach.
Punch after punch, each blow landed with brutal force.
After he stood for hours yesterday and spent the entire morning outside his metor’s house, Clayton’s legs and back were already weak. Now pinned down by a teenage boy, he found himself completely powerless to fight back.
“Assault is illegal,” Clayton shouted angrily.
“I’m only thirteen.” The boy sneered, driving his knee hard into Clayton’s abdomen. The pain left him pale and speechless.
“You should get a taste of Ashwood Mental Hospital’s fists. Otherwise, you’ll never know how ‘great‘ it is inside,” said Ivan.
Hearing the commotion, Emilia stepped out of the office. “Mr. Patel? Is that you out there?”
The boy pressed Clayton’s head down and hissed in his ear, “If you dare to side with those monsters or bully good people again, I’ll beat you every time I see you. Not like the law can touch me anyway.”
With that, the boy shoved Clayton aside and bolted into the emergency stairwell.
Emilia noticed the swinging fire door and then saw Clayton curled up on the floor. She rushed over to help him up. “Mr. Patel, are you alright?”
Clayton’s lips were pale from the pain. After a moment, he managed to say, “At first, I thought he was Jacob’s son. Now, it seems he’s one of Ashwood Mental Hospital’s victims.”
Emilia wanted to say, “Shouldn’t Ashwood Mental Hospital’s victims be going after Ashwood Mental Hospital?” But the words caught in her throat when she remembered Clayton was their legal advisor.
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With Leo and his wife detained for investigation, it seemed the boy had no one else to vent his frustrations on but Clayton. “Should we call the police? A teenager under fourteen won’t face criminal charges. How old do you think he is?”
Clayton shook his head. He hadn’t even gotten a good look at the boy’s face. That kid knew exactly what he was doing, even bragging about his age to dodge the law.
The firm was already neck deep in Ashwood Mental Hospital’s mess. If Clayton pursued charges against one of their victims now, he’d just be painting a target on his back.
“Forget it,” he said.
“Mr. Patel, your clothes?” Emilia raised a hand to block her nose. The smell was unbearable.
Clayton’s face darkened like a storm cloud. “I’ll go change. You handle things here for now.”
While changing, Clayton noticed several bruises on his stomach. ‘That little punk didn’t just humiliate me–he really went all out,’ he thought.
Class had already started, but Ivan was still nowhere to be seen. “Should we go look for him?” Audrey asked, sounding a bit worried.
“This is exactly why I hate letting him out. Once he’s out, he’s gone for the whole day. He won’t come back until bedtime.” Brooke grumbled, her frustration evident. As she spoke, her eyes started to redden.
“If I tell Miguel, he’ll just accuse me of tattling on Ivan. But if I don’t say anything and Ivan stirs up trouble, I’ll still get blamed for not keeping him in check,” she added, her voice trembling with anger.
Audrey gave her a puzzled look. “Brooke, Ivan hasn’t come home, and your first thought isn’t about whether he’s safe? You’re more worried about who’s going to take the blame if something happens?”
Brooke froze, momentarily caught off guard by the question.
After a moment of hesitation, she mumbled, “Ivan is our only child. His grandparents spoil him badly. If anything happens to him, his family will tear me apart.”
Audrey shook her head disapprovingly and stood up, ready to go look for him. But just as she opened the door, there he was–Ivan, standing right outside.
“Where have you been? And what’s that smell on you? It stinks,” Audrey said, stepping aside to let him in.
Ivan, in high spirits, didn’t seem to care. “I was playing with a little kid, and he peed on me.”
As he walked in, he turned back with a cheeky grin. “Kid’s pee isn’t dirty, you know.”
“See? I told you. He’s not in trouble; he is trouble.” Brooke followed him out, her tone sharp. “Just wait. That kid’s parents will probably come knocking any minute now.”
Audrey was stunned for a moment.
Clayton changed into clean clothes and adjusted his demeanor. He pushed open the door to the reception room.
The man sprawled on the sofa gave him a once–over. “So, you’re Clayton? Heard you’re Samson’s star student.”
Clayton sat down behind the desk, picked up the case files, and started flipping through them. His already grim expression grew darker with every page.
“Jacob killed a cop?” His voice trembled, disbelief written all over his face.
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Emilia had only told Clayton the suspect committed murder, she never mentioned it was a police officer.
“It that cop hadn’t chased Jacob, Jacob wouldn’t have fought back. And if Jacob hadn’t been cornered, he wouldn’t have hit him with a car. Jacob acted in self defense.” Timmy Harrison crossed his legs and swung his foot casually.
Clayton’s grip on the files tightened, his knuckles turning pale, veins bulging on his forehead. His expression turned more serious and solemn than ever
before.
Timmy tilted his head, smirking. “Get Jacob’s charge reduced to manslaughter, and I’ll give you one million dollars.”
“Jacob resisted arrest and deliberately ran over a cop.” Clayton’s voice rose sharply. “That’s murder. And the victim was a law enforcement officer.”
Timmy’s eyes narrowed dangerously. He stared at Clayton for a moment before letting out a cold laugh. “You’re just Ashwood Mental Hospital’s lapdog, aren’t you?
“That case where Alan was beaten to death–wasn’t it your handiwork? Those bastards only got seven years, tops. You didn’t care about a kid’s life back then, but now you’re all righteous over a cop?”
Clayton clenched his fists tightly, the sound of his knuckles cracking echoing in the room.
Timmy stood up, his tone mocking. “Mr. Patel, I heard you even sent your own wife to Ashwood Mental Hospital. How is it that you don’t care about your wife but suddenly care so much about a stranger?”
Clayton’s face turned ashen, humiliation and anger written all over it. The bruises on his body ached, but the sharp pain in his chest was far worse. Sweat beaded on his forehead–whether from pain or fury, he couldn’t tell.
“If you can’t handle the case, just admit it. Stop pretending to be some high–and–mighty saint. Pathetic,” Timmy sneered, snatching the files from Clayton’s hands before turning to leave.
Emilia entered with a tray of coffee, nearly bumping into Timmy. He grabbed a cup from her tray, took a sip, and immediately spat it out. He spat the coffee out with a look of disgust. “Is this what you serve your guests?”
With that, Timmy swaggered out of the room.
Emilia looked at Clayton in confusion, only to be met with his bloodshot eyes glaring at her as if he were about to devour her whole.
“You didn’t tell me Jacob resisted arrest, rammed through a checkpoint, and killed a cop in cold blood,” he said.
