"Yuls, honey. Thank God," was the first thing her mother said, her voice cracking with tension through the phone's small speakers. "We haven't heard anything. Are you eating right? You look exhausted."
On the screen, her parents' faces looked back at her, their expressions etched with a concern that cut across the digital distance. They were squeezed together on the couch in their Arizona home, a place that suddenly felt a galaxy away.
"I'm fine, Mom. I've just been busy," Yuls replied, attempting a smile that felt fragile. Her gaze drifted to the table in the impersonal hotel suite, covered in law books unpacked from boxes after years. She had been reviewing federal criminal procedures for thirty-six straight hours, and her eyes burned from exhaustion.
"We saw the news," her father interrupted. His tone was more direct, without the maternal preamble. "We saw you were with him, at that press conference. Right beside him."
"I'm safe, Dad. Really."
"Safe?" he snapped, and Yuls could see the frustration simmering beneath the surface. "What does 'safe' mean when you're standing next to a man every news channel is calling a terrorist? Yuls, what exactly is going on? Is he threatening you? Is he forcing you to do this? Tell me, and I'll get on the first flight."
The question, though she knew it came from love, hurt her.
"No. Of course not. No one is forcing me to do anything," she said. "I'm here because I want to be. I… I'm his lawyer."
Her mother brought a hand to her mouth, her eyes wide. Her father fell silent, his face a mask of disbelief.
"His lawyer?" he finally repeated, the word sounding absurd on his lips. "Yuls, what are you talking about? You left the law. You said it made you unhappy, that it was a ruthless environment. You have one of the most brilliant minds of your generation for physics! You're doing work that could change the world! And you're throwing it all away to defend that… that monster?"
"He's not a monster," Yuls retorted, her posture straightening as she defended him on instinct. "You don't know him. Not like I do. The press takes snippets, twists them, turns them into something they're not to sell a story."
"And what are we supposed to see, honey?" her mother asked, her voice soft and pleading, trying to mediate. "We see a man who admitted that three people died in a bank because of his actions. We saw the interview where he called the deaths of those criminals 'collateral damage,' Yuls! What are we supposed to think?"
"I think our daughter is in danger," her father added, his voice booming. "That this man is a master manipulator, and he's brainwashed you."
"He's saved a lot of lives!" Yuls snapped, the memory of the falling scaffolding, the twisting steel, vivid and terrifying in her mind. "And he's helping me. He's helping me understand a part of myself that no one else could, not even me. I trust him."
"We trust you, Yuls," her father said, and the shift in his tone was almost worse than the anger. The severity dissolved into a deep sadness. "We always have. But the world isn't a physics problem. It isn't black and white. This man is dangerous. The people around him are dangerous."
"Please, honey," her mother begged. "Come home. We can figure this out. We can get you protection, whatever you need. Just get out of there."
"I can't," Yuls said, her voice barely a whisper, but firm. "I have to do this. For him. And for me." She knew there was nothing else she could say to make them understand. "I love you. I really do. But I have to go."
She ended the call before they could answer, before her resolve could break. The screen went black, reflecting her own pale face. The gulf between her world and theirs seemed insurmountable. She was alone in this. Completely alone. But the thought, instead of terrifying her, steadied her. She owed it to Jack. And, in a way, she owed it to the woman she was rediscovering in the mirror.
The Metroville Federal Detention Center was a windowless fortress of concrete and steel, a place designed to make people disappear. Not common criminals, but those considered threats to the very fabric of the state. The air grew cold the moment Yuls passed through the first security checkpoint, as if the building itself absorbed heat.
They took everything. Her phone, her purse, even her wristwatch. A guard led her to a full-body scanner.
"Stand on the yellow marks. Arms out to your sides," the man said in a flat, emotionless voice.
The machine hummed around her, its blue light scanning her from head to toe.
"Proceed," the voice commanded.
They led her down sterile white hallways. The only sound was the echo of her own footsteps on the polished linoleum and the heavy, hissing click of the magnetic locks as they opened and closed in her path. It was an environment designed to crush the spirit, to remind every person who entered of their absolute insignificance.
Finally, she was brought to a room in the heart of the complex. It was a high-security interrogation room. An entire wall was a panel of transparent polymer several inches thick, supposedly proof against everything from bullets to explosives. On the other side, in an identical cell empty except for a steel chair bolted to the floor, her client was waiting.
Jack sat with an upright posture and a calm that seemed out of place. He was wearing a one-piece orange jumpsuit, but he wore it with the same casual confidence he would a three-thousand-dollar suit. When Yuls entered, he looked up and gave her a smile. It was so warm and genuine that, for a moment, the glass barrier and steel doors seemed irrelevant.
"Ms. Sinclair," his voice said, coming through a speaker on the wall, crisp and clear. "You're late. Our appointment was five minutes ago. I was starting to think you'd left me for a client with better prospects."
Yuls couldn't help but smile back.
"Traffic was terrible," she replied, taking a seat in the metal chair opposite the glass. "And your friends at the entrance are very… thorough."
"They try too hard," Jack commented, leaning back with an ease that defied his surroundings. "All this paraphernalia. They think these walls and these doors contain me. It's adorable, in a way."
His smile faded slightly, and his gaze grew more serious, more focused on her.
"But enough about me. How are you? Really. I know I've put you in a very difficult position. It can't have been easy."
"I'm okay," Yuls replied, surprised to realize it was the truth. "It's… a lot to process. My parents called. They're terrified."
"They would be," Jack nodded, with a hint of empathy. "They see the world through the lens they've been given. It's not their fault. But you're stronger than that. I knew it the moment I saw you on that rooftop."
"Well, let's hope it's enough," she said, feeling a surge of professionalism. She activated the small audio recorder she'd been allowed to bring and set a stack of documents on the narrow ledge.
"Alright, Jack. I've been reviewing everything. We need to talk about the defense strategy. The prosecution will likely go for reckless homicide for the prisoners. It's hard to prove, but the jury will already be biased against you. For Vermont, it's all circumstantial, but they'll try to create a narrative that ties you to it. Our first step, and it has to be immediate, is to request bail."
"No," he interrupted her. The tone was soft, almost casual, but as absolute as a steel door slamming shut.
Yuls blinked. "No? Jack, you have to take this seriously. Being in here hurts you. Public perception…"
"I am taking this incredibly seriously, Yuls," he corrected her, leaning forward slightly. "But you're looking at the problem from the wrong angle. We're not going to play defense. We're not going to react to their moves. We're going to attack."
Yuls stared at him, confusion swirling in her mind. "Attack? How? You're charged with multiple counts of homicide. The goal of a criminal defense is simple: create reasonable doubt."
"No," he said, a spark igniting in his eyes. "The goal of our defense is to destroy their credibility completely. We're not going to argue my innocence. We're going to prove their guilt."
He moved closer to the glass, his eyes shining with a feverish intelligence that was both captivating and alarming.
"This isn't a legal battle, Yuls. It's a political war. And the first casualty of war is always the truth. They're going to lie. They're going to hide evidence. They're going to paint a picture of me as a psychopathic monster. If we play their game, by their rules, on their field, we lose before we even start. So we're going to tear their game apart."
"I don't follow," Yuls admitted. "What's the plan?"
"I want you to file a motion first thing tomorrow morning," he said, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial tone. "A motion to dismiss all charges. The grounds? Government misconduct and malicious prosecution."
Yuls almost laughed. "Jack, they'll laugh us out of the courthouse. We don't have a shred of evidence to back up such a serious claim."
"Of course we do. Or rather, we'll create it," Jack replied with a smirk. "After you file the motion, I want you to do something even more fun. I want you to subpoena Special Agent Thorne."
Hearing the name made Yuls's stomach churn. "Thorne? The agent in charge? Jack, he's the prosecution's lead investigator. You can't just subpoena their star player in a preliminary hearing. The judge would never allow it."
"Not only can I. I must," he insisted. "We'll put him on the stand, under oath, and we won't ask him about me. We'll ask him about the agency he works for. We'll ask about its secret mandate, its budget, its lack of congressional oversight. He'll refuse to answer, of course. He'll cite national security."
The audacious, almost suicidal brilliance of his plan began to unfold in Yuls's mind. She stared at him, dumbfounded.
"And right at that moment," Jack continued, savoring every word, "we'll file our second motion: a discovery request demanding every document, file, email, and communication related to their investigation of me. Including—and this is key—all data from the illegal surveillance they conducted on you."
"They'll never turn it over," Yuls whispered, her lawyer's mind racing, seeing the pieces fall into place. "It's top-level classified material. They'll invoke the state secrets privilege."
"Exactly!" Jack exclaimed, tapping the glass lightly with a fingertip, like a professor praising his star student. "And when the federal government refuses to comply with a direct court order to produce evidence in a criminal case, what does that mean, Counselor Sinclair?"
Yuls's heart was pounding against her ribs. The adrenaline was pure and potent. "It means… they're hiding something."
"It means the investigation is tainted from its very origin," he corrected her with a fierce grin. "It means I can't get a fair trial. It means my constitutional rights are being violated. We're not here to win a 'not guilty' verdict six months from now, Yuls. We're here to force them to drop the charges next week because the political and legal cost of pursuing this case becomes too high for them. We're not going to defend ourselves. We're going to put them on trial. This is 'Fruit of the Poisonous Tree.'"
He leaned back in his chair again, a smile of pure, predatory satisfaction on his face. Yuls was silent, the magnitude of what he was proposing overwhelming her. It wasn't a legal strategy. It was a subversion of the judicial system. It was insane. And it just might work.
Just then, a deafening siren began to wail throughout the complex. Flashing red lights ignited in the hallway, bathing everything in an alarming red glow. Yuls jumped in her seat, her heart leaping into her throat.
"Lockdown! Lockdown!" a metallic, emotionless voice echoed from the speakers. "A Code Black has been declared in the central sector! All units to containment stations! I repeat, all units to stations!"
With a metallic screech, heavy titanium shutters began to descend down the walls, covering the glass wall that separated them. Jack's room was plunged into absolute darkness.
"What's happening?" Yuls yelled to a guard who was sprinting down the hall, his face a mask of controlled panic.
"Massive disturbance downtown!" the guard yelled back without stopping. "There's a massive blackout in a six-block radius! Multiple casualties! First calls are talking about some kind of… ghost walking through walls!"
Yuls turned back to the titanium wall that now separated her from Jack. The siren continued to wail. The chaos was absolute.
But on the other side of the wall, in the forced darkness of his cell, Jack was simply smiling.