Chapter 6 — The Return of Attorney S

It was because the bitterness repressed for three long years had finally begun to overflow. I closed my eyes and took a deep, steadying breath. There was still one person left. Pho Dien Chi. He had not arrived yet, but he would. Pho Dien Chi arrived three days later than I had anticipated. On the evening the news broke that To Niem Dao’s professional legal license had been revoked, he appeared downstairs at my law firm. It was not during the day, but at nine in the evening. I had been working late, and as I stepped out of the building, I saw him leaning against a streetlamp. His suit was wrinkled, his tie hung loose, and his eyes were webbed with red capillaries. He looked nothing like the polished, ambitious elite lawyer I had known three years ago.

Tri Du.

His voice was hoarse. I stood on the top step, refusing to descend.

Lawyer Pho.

Do not call me Lawyer Pho, he replied with a bitter smile. Perhaps I will not be a lawyer much longer.

I remained silent. He walked away from the lamp post, stood at the base of the steps, and looked up at me. From this angle, he had to crane his neck to meet my eyes. Three years ago, it was I who had looked up at him.

Tri Du, I came to apologize.

It is unnecessary.

I know you hate me. You have every right to. About what happened back then...

Pho Dien Chi, I interrupted him, are you here because you truly feel remorse, or because To Niem Dao has already lost her license, and you are terrified that you are next?

He fell silent. That silence alone was the answer.

I knew it, I said, offering a hollow laugh.

He suddenly looked up, his expression desperate. That is not true, Tri Du. I truly regret what I did.

What exactly do you regret? Do you regret drugging me? Do you regret stealing my case? Or do you regret not being thorough enough, allowing me the chance to find the evidence?

His lips moved, but no words escaped. I walked down the steps, brushing past him. He reached out and grabbed my wrist.

Tri Du, I beg you. Give me a chance. I can help you with anything, I can issue a public apology, I can...

I looked down at his hand, then back up at his face.

Pho Dien Chi, do you have any idea how I lived through those three months?

His fingers stiffened.

Every morning I woke up, opened my mouth, and could not make a sound. I went to the hospital, and the doctors said there was no physical damage. I went home and stood before the mirror, practicing how to speak until I was dry-heaving, yet there was still no voice.

I pried his fingers off my arm one by one.

I went to the firm to clear out my desk, and everyone looked at me as if I were a punchline. The receptionist stood in front of me and said to someone else, That is the one—she choked at the crucial moment, too cowardly to even appear in court.

His hand fell limply to his side.

I sent out thirty-seven resumes; not a single firm would hire me. When the rent came due, the landlord pressured me three times over, so I moved into a partitioned room in a slum on the outskirts of the city.

My voice remained perfectly calm, as if I were telling someone else's story.

One night, sitting in that six-square-meter room, I suddenly found my voice. Do you know what the first thing I said was?

Pho Dien Chi’s eyes brimmed with red. He shook his head.

I said, I will make them pay.

The streetlamp stretched my shadow long across the ground. Pho Dien Chi stood there, his shoulders slumped in defeat.

Tri Du... I am sorry.

Pho Dien Chi, I do not accept your apology.

I looked directly at him.

It is not because I am cold-hearted. It is because your apology is worthless. Your words cannot return to me the voice I lost for those three months, they cannot restore the career I sacrificed, nor can they undo the nights I spent sleepless in that partitioned room in the slums.

His tears finally fell. A man over thirty, weeping under a streetlamp. I felt nothing.

As for your professional license, I said, I have already submitted the documentation to the Bar Association. The records of the drug used to paralyze the vocal cords, your name, your identification number, your signature—you are surely more aware of those details than I am.

His body swayed, as if struck.

You... you even went after my license...

When you destroyed my future, did you ever hesitate?

He had no rebuttal. His lips trembled, as if he wanted to say something, but nothing came out. I turned and walked toward the parking lot. After a few steps, I stopped without looking back.

Pho Dien Chi, back then you told our classmates that I had a weak mentality and that I choked at the critical moment.

He stood still.

Now you know the truth. It was never that I choked. It was you who severed my lifeline.

I continued walking. Behind me came a dull thud—the sound of knees hitting the pavement. I did not look back. My heels clicked against the concrete, steady and sharp with every step. I reached my car, opened the door, and sat inside. I turned the ignition. My phone lit up. A message from Hoac Hanh:

The case is over, and you haven't shown up to the victory dinner yet. Are you free tomorrow at noon?

I typed back:

I am free.

Great. I will make a reservation.

I set the phone down and leaned back against the seat. Outside, the streetlamp bathed the road in light. In the rearview mirror, Pho Dien Chi was still kneeling where he had fallen. I shifted into gear and pressed the accelerator. The car pulled out of the lot, merging into the stream of traffic in the night. Three years.