Chapter 2 — The Return of Attorney S

The atmosphere in the room froze. The practiced smile on Pho Dien Chi’s face stiffened, while To Niem Dao’s fingernails dug deeply into her palms. The judge’s assistant pushed open the door and stepped inside.

"Are the legal representatives for both sides present? Excellent. Let us begin the pre-trial conference."

I closed my folder and glanced across the table. Pho Dien Chi had already regained his gentle, relaxed expression, but I noted a subtle, involuntary tremor in his fingers as he turned a page of his documents. Is he afraid? It is far too late for that. The pre-trial procedure followed standard protocol: exchanging evidentiary lists and confirming the focal points of the dispute. To Niem Dao, representing the ex-wife of Hoac Hanh, demanded the division of marital assets, including three properties, shares in two companies, and an overseas trust fund. The total value of the dispute amounted to forty-seven billion. To Niem Dao was clearly well-prepared; her presentation of the key issues was coherent and paced with professional precision. However, I immediately detected a flaw. She had defined the legal nature of the overseas trust fund using the framework of Anglo-American law. Since this was a domestic court governed by the laws of this country, her logic was fundamentally misplaced. I chose not to point it out immediately; it was unnecessary. Saving that revelation for the formal trial would be far more effective.

As the conference concluded, the judge’s assistant declared a recess. I gathered my documents and stood up. Suddenly, To Niem Dao spoke.

"Tham Tri Du."

I paused and turned to look at her. She stood with her chin held high, though a glimmer of panic flickered in the depths of her eyes.

"Do you really think taking this case will allow you to make a comeback? The demands of Hoac Hanh’s ex-wife are reasonable and legal, supported by undeniable evidence. Even if you were a god, you couldn't change the outcome of this verdict."

I zipped my document bag shut. "Attorney To," I replied, "I will see you in court."

I turned and walked away. Outside in the corridor, Lam Hu jogged to catch up with me. "Ms. Tham! The look on To Niem Dao’s face was incredible! I even saw her hand trembling!"

"A normal reaction," I noted.

"She definitely didn't expect you to be the opposing counsel."

"The things she doesn't expect are still yet to come."

I pushed open the courthouse doors and stepped into the blinding sunlight. My phone vibrated—a message from Pho Dien Chi: *Tri Du, can we meet tonight? I think we should talk about this case.*

I stared at the screen for three seconds, then deleted it.

One week remained until the formal trial. Pho Dien Chi sent seven consecutive messages, none of which I answered. On the eighth day, he changed his tactics. He tracked down my former colleagues, eventually sniffing out the address of my current law firm. At three in the afternoon, I was in my office reviewing the case details with Hoac Hanh. The receptionist’s voice came through the intercom: "Attorney Tham, there is a Mr. Pho Dien Chi here to see you. He doesn't have an appointment."

I looked at Hoac Hanh, who sat opposite me. At thirty-two, he possessed cold, sharp features and an aura of intense, oppressive authority. Hearing the name "Pho Dien Chi," he arched an eyebrow.

"The opposing counsel?"

"Yes."

"Do you want to see him?"

I thought for a moment. "Show him in."

Hoac Hanh leaned back in his chair, showing no intention of leaving. A minute later, Pho Dien Chi pushed the door open. The moment he saw Hoac Hanh, he froze. Hoac Hanh did not stand; he merely lifted his eyes to glance at him before calmly taking a sip of his coffee. The look was dismissive—as if he were observing a trinket unworthy of his attention. Pho Dien Chi’s throat bobbed. He recognized him. The sole heir to the wealthiest family in the city, the man whose case he was currently fighting, was sitting in my office, right beside me.

"Tri Du," Pho Dien Chi began, his voice tighter than usual, "I want to speak with you privately."

"Attorney Pho," I said, "during active litigation, communications between opposing counsel should go through formal channels. Showing up at my office unannounced is highly inappropriate."

"I am not here in my capacity as an attorney."

"That makes it even more inappropriate."

Pho Dien Chi’s gaze darted between me and Hoac Hanh. "You and Hoac Hanh..."

"An attorney-client relationship," I interrupted. "Is there anything else, Attorney Pho?"

He stood there, his lips pressed into a thin, white line. The man who had seemed like a gentle, polished jade three years ago now showed cracks in his composure. "Tri Du, I know you hate me. But this case..."

"Attorney Pho," Hoac Hanh suddenly spoke. His voice was not loud, but it carried a natural, heavy pressure. Pho Dien Chi instinctively turned toward him. Hoac Hanh set his coffee cup down and said slowly, "My lawyer is very busy. If you do not have official legal documents to submit, please see yourself out."

Pho Dien Chi’s expression shifted. He was an attorney, not a client, and being addressed this way by the opposing party was a naked humiliation. Yet, he could not lose his temper. Because the man sitting opposite him was Hoac Hanh. In this entire city, no one dared to show anger toward him. Pho Dien Chi took a deep breath and looked at me one last time. "Tri Du, you have changed."

I raised my head to meet his eyes. "That is correct," I said. "Three years ago, I couldn't speak up. Now, I can."

His pupils contracted, and without another word, he turned and walked away.