"Alright… I'll release him, but on one condition," Diana said, fixing Aron with a serious look.
"Your client is not allowed to take any action against the police."
Aron raised both hands to chest level, his tone calm but firm.
"Oh… that won't work. In this case, my client is completely innocent. And your side has no right to impose conditions like that. If you refuse to release him, I may have no choice but to involve the media."
Aron's reply made Diana visibly uncomfortable.
"Since when did you become so impressive, Aron? You've never won a single case your entire career…" she said, shaking her head slightly.
"Yes, I admit it. I'm not a great lawyer," Aron replied evenly, his voice steady with confidence. "But failure doesn't mean I'm destined to fail forever. It just makes me want to change—to become better."
Diana let out a dry breath.
"Wow… impressive. Fine. I'll release your client."
A thin smile curved Aron's lips.
"Oh, one more thing…" he said as he took his phone back. "If possible, there's no need to wait for a lawsuit from my client. It might be better if the police decide on an appropriate compensation, and we settle this quietly."
"Okay," Diana nodded slowly.
Before leaving the office, Aron paused and looked at her.
"I don't think that drug dealer is just an ordinary person."
"That's right," Diana nodded. "He's the son of a senator. He's still unconscious, but his father has been pressuring the police to make an arrest immediately. Of course, they wouldn't dare arrest the son of an influential judge," she sighed heavily. "Your client was just used as a temporary scapegoat—until the senator's son wakes up."
"Then your side will try to silence him?" Aron asked.
"Yes. That's the plan."
"Why not just tell the truth—that the man's son is a drug dealer?" Aron asked calmly.
"There's no evidence. It's all just allegations."
"Alright. See you," Aron said as he turned to leave.
"Hey, Aron…" Diana called out.
"Congratulations… on your first win," she added with a smile.
A wide grin spread across Aron's face, relief washing over him.
"Thank you," he replied, then stepped out, feeling satisfied and light.
James Aron was still smiling broadly as he walked down the corridor, though his expression looked like it was barely holding back a scream. He quickened his pace, striding toward the elevator. His fingers jabbed at the button impatiently, his shoes tapping repeatedly against the floor until the doors finally slid open.
Aron rushed inside and pressed the lobby button several times in rapid succession. The moment the elevator doors closed, he grabbed his head with both hands, eyes wide, disbelief written all over his face.
"Holy shit!" he shouted, his voice nearly cracking.
"I win! Oh my gosh! I win! Oh my—my… I win!"
He bounced on his feet, his heart pounding, his grin impossible to suppress. The victory felt so real it almost made him forget to breathe.
The elevator doors opened. Aron took a deep breath, smoothed his hair, and stepped out. As he passed people in the lobby, he greeted them with small nods and smiles, drawing a few puzzled looks.
Once outside the building, he hurried down the steps, his eyes searching for Nilson's car. He spotted it parked a few meters away along the street and quickened his pace.
He opened the car door. Nilson looked at him, instantly alert.
"So?" Nilson asked, barely able to contain himself.
"Yes! Yes!" Aron answered, his face glowing like he'd just won something monumental. "Let's go pick up your brother."
"Yes! I knew it. I knew you were a good lawyer!" Nilson said proudly, grinning.
"Save the compliments for later," Aron replied. "Right now, our focus is picking up your brother."
"Okay… okay," Nilson nodded, smiling in relief.
**
As soon as they arrived at the 1st Precinct — New York City Police Department (NYPD), Nilson's face lit up when he saw his brother waiting outside the station.
"That's my brother!" Nilson exclaimed, pointing toward a man in a jacket who was waving at them.
The car pulled over to the curb. After engaging the handbrake, Nilson jumped out and ran straight toward his brother.
"Are you okay, bro?" Nilson asked, wrapping Nixon in a tight hug.
"I'm fine, Nilson," Nixon replied, then turned his gaze toward Aron. "Is this my lawyer?"
"Yes! Yes!" Nilson quickly released the hug and introduced them. "This is James Aron. He's the one who got you out."
"Hi," Aron said, extending his hand.
Nixon didn't say anything at first. Instead, he stepped forward and pulled Aron into a firm embrace.
"Thank you, bro. Thank you so much. I really appreciate it," he said, his voice filled with relief.
Aron patted Nixon on the back.
"You're welcome," he replied simply.
Nixon pulled away and looked at Aron with a hint of confusion.
"So… am I completely free? The police didn't explain anything to me at all."
"Yes. You've been fully released," Aron explained calmly. "They'll send you a formal apology letter later—probably by email—and some compensation."
"Seriously?!" Nilson blurted out, stunned and delighted.
Aron nodded.
"Maybe you should just sue them," Nilson suggested. But Nixon only looked at Aron.
"What do you think, Aron? Should I sue?"
"That's up to you," Aron answered evenly. "But in my opinion, it's better to take the compensation. A lawsuit could take a long time before you see any results."
Nixon nodded in agreement.
"Oh, right," he added. "When I was walking out earlier, a guy asked me to help him find a lawyer."
"What's his name?" Aron asked.
Nixon pulled a business card from his pocket and handed it to him.
"He was just taken into custody this morning. He's been charged with murdering his wife."
Aron examined the card, nodding slowly as he read the details.
"Alright. You two head home first. I'll go meet him," Aron said.
"What about the payment?" Nixon asked.
A smile spread across Aron's lips—the very question he had been waiting for.
"How about you pay me after you receive the compensation?"
"No problem, bro. I'll contact you later," Nixon replied.
"Alright. See you around," Aron said with a nod.
"See you, James Aron," Nixon answered.
They shook hands before the two brothers got back into the car and drove off, leaving Aron behind with a satisfied smile.
Aron glanced once more at the business card, his eyes tracing every letter as his thoughts drifted to the woman he had met the night before.
"Fuck… how am I supposed to contact that woman?" Aron murmured under his breath, his voice nearly swallowed by the wind outside the police station.
Doubt began to creep in. He had never handled a murder case before—no experience at all. He didn't even have an investigator. Everything about this felt heavy, almost overwhelming.
"What now… do I go in, or not?" he muttered.
He drew in a deep breath and exhaled sharply, as if forcing the anxiety out of his chest.
"Huh. There's nothing wrong with trying something new," he told himself.
With that, he stepped forward and headed toward the doors of the police station.
Each step felt like a test—between courage and fear, between responsibility and uncertainty. But Aron knew one thing for sure: if he didn't take this chance now, it might never come again.
***
Meanwhile, far from the 1st Precinct of the New York City Police Department, a vast mansion rose in the distance, towering like a forgotten palace.
Yet its grounds told a different story. The courtyard was cracked and overrun with wild, untended trees. Dry leaves lay scattered everywhere. Neglected statues stood weathered and broken, and an ornamental fish pond had long since dried up, its surface covered in mold and decay.
Inside the mansion, every room was lit only by candlelight. Heavy curtains sealed every window shut. The air was silent and oppressive, as if time itself had come to a halt within those walls.
A young woman, Alena, ran down the corridor, her footsteps echoing sharply against the wooden floor. When she reached a pair of double doors carved with ancient patterns, she pushed them open slowly.
Inside the room, Victoria sat on an antique chair, staring at a mural on the wall with an empty, distant expression.
"My lord…" Alena called softly.
Victoria did not respond. Her eyes did not move.
Alena stepped closer, her voice trembling slightly.
"James Aron is still alive," she finally said.
Victoria turned sharply. Her expression shifted in an instant—shock, disbelief, then fury.
"Still alive?!" Her voice echoed through the chamber, rising dangerously.
Alena nodded.
"The informant contacted me earlier… he said James Aron just entered the police station."
Victoria rose to her feet, moving quickly, her eyes blazing.
"How?!" she demanded. "How is he still alive? Why hasn't he changed like the rest of us?" Her voice pierced the air itself.
Alena froze, unsure how to answer.
Victoria slammed her hand against the table, her voice growing louder.
"I drained his blood—twice—until there was nothing left. Why didn't he die?! Who is James Aron, really?!"
Alena lowered her head, her voice barely audible.
"Why does my lord… care so much about that man?"
Victoria stopped and shot her a sharp look.
"Hey, Alena!"
Alena fell silent. Victoria began pacing back and forth, her face restless, unsettled. Then, suddenly, she laughed—a hoarse, unhinged sound.
"You're right… why should I care? He's no threat to us…"
But her laughter faded. Her gaze sharpened, fixed on empty space.
"And yet… since last night, I can't stop thinking about him. His blood… his blood was exquisite. Argh!!!"
Victoria's scream tore through the mansion, reverberating through its walls. Alena clutched her ears, her face drained of color