Leora didn't rush her opening.
That alone unsettled the opposing counsel.
Most students, when handed a cross-continental case without warning, tried to impress. They spoke quickly, hid uncertainty behind volume, leaned on half-remembered statutes like shields.
Leora did none of that.
She stood, adjusted the file once, and looked at the judge—not the opposing counsel.
"Your Honor," she said calmly, "the claim that this court lacks jurisdiction is technically correct only if one chooses to ignore the layered obligations created by intercontinental commerce."
A murmur rippled faintly through the stands.
The opposing counsel smiled politely, already preparing his rebuttal.
Leora continued before he could settle into comfort.
"My client is a citizen of the Sovereign Trade Region, yes. However, the transactions in question were executed through financial corridors governed by the Mercantile Transit Doctrine, ratified under the Tri-Continental Accords, subsection seven."
She lifted a page.
"That doctrine establishes that sovereignty ends where transactional impact begins."
The smile across the room thinned.
Aldric leaned forward slightly.
Good, he thought. She didn't attack the premise. She redefined the battlefield.
Leora's voice stayed level.
"The prosecution argues indirect complicity through asset shielding. But shielding is only illegal when intent is demonstrable across jurisdictions. In this case, the assets passed through neutral arbitration banks operating under Continental Grey Status—institutions explicitly designed to prevent unilateral legal reach."
She paused, letting the weight of that sink in.
"In other words," she said, "if this court claims jurisdiction, it would be admitting that the Accords themselves are meaningless."
The judge's eyes sharpened.
That wasn't just legal reasoning.
That was political pressure, precisely applied.
The opposing counsel stood quickly. "Your Honor, that interpretation is—"
Leora turned her head slightly, not to him, but to the judge again.
"I'm not finished."
The interruption was noted.
She flipped another page.
"There is, however, one exception. If the prosecution can prove that the defendant knowingly acted as a node—not a participant, but a conduit—within a broader illicit financial network, jurisdiction could apply."
Aldric felt it then.
A subtle shift.
She's baiting them.
Leora met the opposing counsel's eyes for the first time.
"But they can't," she said simply. "Because if they could, this case wouldn't be here. It would be sealed, elevated, and removed from public court entirely."
Silence.
The judge leaned back slightly.
From the stands, Aldric's mind raced.
Financial corridors. Neutral banks. Grey status.
This isn't just a case. This is a map.
And someone, somewhere, had let it surface.
Ms. Vos's phone vibrated once.
She didn't react outwardly.
Only her eyes flicked down for a fraction of a second.
ENCRYPTED — LCO PRIORITY
SOURCE: ARCHIVAL LOCK // CASE: RAKTOMB
Her pulse changed.
Eight years.
She stood quietly and exited the courtroom without drawing attention. Cameras were everywhere. Sound was always watching.
The bathroom was empty.
She locked the door, leaned against the sink, and activated the file.
The video loaded slowly—corrupted at first, then stabilizing.
It wasn't grainy.
It was clear.
Too clear.
The angle was wrong. Too deliberate. Like someone wanted it to survive.
Former President Elijah Raktomb sat at a private table, mid-conversation, unaware.
The shooter stepped into frame.
No mask.
No distortion.
A face Ms. Vos knew.
Her breath caught.
"…No," she whispered.
The man raised the weapon.
The shot echoed softly through her phone speakers.
The video ended.
Ms. Vos stared at the black screen long after.
Everything realigned.
The past wasn't buried.
It had been waiting.
Back in the courtroom, the judge cleared his throat.
"Having reviewed the arguments," he said slowly, "this court finds that jurisdiction has not been adequately established. The charges are dismissed."
A sharp intake of breath.
Leora didn't smile.
She simply nodded.
The defendant exhaled like he'd been holding his breath for years.
As the room dissolved into movement, Aldric sat back.
That name, he thought. Those corridors.
This wasn't coincidence.
This was his first real lead.
Not blood.
Not symbols.
Money.
After the Case -
The city was softer in the evening.
Leora walked beside Aldric, her earlier tension melting into something quieter.
"I didn't think I'd get through that," she admitted after a while. "Not cleanly."
"You did more than that," Aldric said. "You cornered them."
She glanced at him, surprised. Then smiled faintly.
"My parents moved a lot when I was younger," she said. "Different systems. Different rules. I learned early that laws only work if you know where they stop."
She hesitated, then added, "I'm glad you were there."
He didn't answer right away.
Then his phone rang.
Unknown number.
He answered.
"Yes?"
A smooth voice responded.
"Is this Aldric Benedict?"
"Yes."
A brief chuckle. "I thought so. I've seen you on television. Heard things as well. You're… rare."
Aldric stopped walking.
Leora slowed beside him.
"My name is Fox," the man continued. "I'm from Xylanthia. My son is in a predicament. Not a crime—at least not one of his making. Influence is involved. The kind that spreads."
A pause.
"I think the LCO would be very interested."
Aldric's eyes hardened.
"And you want me to make him a free man."
"Yes."
The line went quiet.
Somewhere far away, Ms. Vos sat in silence, replaying a face she had hoped never to see again.
And the game, long dormant, began to move in earnest.