“They were aware of some moisture issues, but—”
“Did they know about the mold?” she repeated.
“Yes, Your Honor, but they dispute that it was as severe as the tenant claims.”
“The city inspector’s report says otherwise.”
Judge Hullbrook looked at my parents, and her expression was one of barely concealed disgust.
“In fact, it says the entire unit should have been vacated months ago.”
My mother opened her mouth to speak, but my father grabbed her arm, stopping her.
“Counselor,” the judge said, turning back to me, “continue.”
I presented the rest of my evidence, building the case brick by brick. By the time I finished, there was no doubt in anyone’s mind that my parents had been negligent landlords at best and criminally negligent at worst. They’d put a child’s health at risk for the sake of collecting $1,200 a month.
“Your Honor,” I said in closing, “my client isn’t asking for much. She’s asking for what she’s legally entitled to: a safe place to live. She’s asking for repairs to be made, for the conditions that forced her to withhold rent to be remedied. And she’s asking for reimbursement for the medical expenses her daughter incurred as a direct result of living in an unsafe environment.”
I sat down, and Clare reached over to squeeze my hand. Her eyes were filled with tears, but they were tears of relief, not despair.
Judge Hullbrook looked at my parents for a long moment.
“I’ll be honest with you,” she said. “I’ve seen a lot of landlord–tenant disputes in my years on the bench, but this… this is one of the more egregious cases I’ve encountered.”
My mother’s face had gone from red to white. My father looked like he wanted to sink into the floor.
“I’m ruling in favor of the defendant,” Judge Hullbrook continued. “Not only will the eviction be dismissed, but the plaintiffs will be required to make all necessary repairs within thirty days. Additionally, they will reimburse the defendant for three months of rent and all medical expenses related to her daughter’s respiratory issues. And just so we’re clear, if these repairs aren’t completed to code within the specified time frame, I will personally refer this case to the city for further action.”
She banged her gavel, and it was over.
Clare broke down sobbing, thanking me over and over. I helped her gather her things, walking her out of the courtroom while she clung to my arm like I was her lifeline. Behind us, I could hear my parents arguing with Gerald in hushed, furious voices.
Outside the courtroom, Clare hugged me tightly.
“You saved us,” she said. “I don’t know how I’ll ever repay you.”
“You don’t have to,” I said. “Just take care of your daughter.”
She left, still crying, and I stood there for a moment, letting the weight of what had just happened settle over me.
Twelve years. Twelve years of being told I was worthless, of being treated like I didn’t exist, of fighting every single day to prove that I was more than what they said I was. And now, in one afternoon, I’d proven them wrong in the most public way possible.
I was gathering my things when I heard footsteps behind me. I turned to find my mother standing there, her face contorted with rage.
“How dare you,” she spat. “How dare you humiliate us like that?”
“I did my job,” I said calmly.
“Your job? You call destroying your own family your job?”
“You’re not my family,” I said. The words came out flat, emotionless. “You stopped being my family the day you threw me out with nothing.”
My father appeared beside her, his face purple with anger.
“You ungrateful little—”
“I’m not the one who should be ashamed here,” I cut him off. “You put a child’s health at risk because you were too cheap to fix a leaking roof. You’re lucky Judge Hullbrook didn’t refer you for criminal charges.”
“We raised you,” my mother said, her voice breaking. “We gave you everything.”
I laughed, a bitter sound that echoed in the empty hallway.
“You gave me nothing. Everything I have, I earned on my own. And you know what? I’m glad you threw me out, because it taught me exactly who you are. People who care more about money and appearances than about doing what’s right.”
I walked past them, my head held high, leaving them standing there in their expensive clothes with their shattered pride.
But even as I walked away, I knew this wasn’t over. Because my mother never let anything go. And neither did my father.
I drove back to my office in a daze, replaying the entire scene in my head. The look on Judge Hullbrook’s face when she recognized me. The horror in my parents’ eyes when they realized I wasn’t the failure they’d convinced themselves I was. The gratitude in Clare’s voice when she thanked me.
It all felt surreal, like I was watching someone else’s life unfold.
The firm I worked for, Kestrel and Associates, was located in a renovated warehouse downtown. It wasn’t fancy—exposed brick walls, secondhand furniture, mismatched coffee mugs in the break room—but it was home.
The senior partner, Diane Kestrel, had given me my first real break after I passed the bar exam. She’d seen something in me during the interview. Something that made her willing to take a chance on a woman with no connections and a résumé that included “lived in a car” as a gap-year experience.
I’d been working there for two years, taking on cases that bigger firms wouldn’t touch—tenant rights, workers’ compensation, disability claims. The kind of law that didn’t make anyone rich, but helped people who desperately needed it. Diane always said we were in the business of leveling playing fields. And I believed her.
This job had given me purpose. Had shown me that everything I’d suffered through had been worth it if I could use it to help others.
When I walked into the office, Diane was waiting in the conference room. She waved me over, and I could tell from her expression that she’d heard about the courtroom victory. Word traveled fast in legal circles.
“You did good work today,” she said as I sat down. “Clare called me right after court. She was crying so hard I could barely understand her, but she wanted me to know what you did for her.”
“I just presented the facts,” I said.
“No,” Diane shook her head. “You gave her hope. You showed her that the system could work. That people like her don’t have to just accept being trampled on. That’s not nothing, Anna.”
I felt my throat tighten.
“Thank you.”
“But we need to talk about something else.” Diane’s expression grew serious.
“Your parents—they’re not going to let this go, are they?”
“No,” I admitted. “They’re not.”
“Do you think they’ll retaliate?”
“I know they will.”
I thought about the look in my mother’s eyes, the rage and humiliation.
“They’ll try to discredit me, try to ruin my reputation. They have money and connections. They’ll use both.”
Diane was quiet for a moment.
“We’ll deal with it when it comes. But Anna, you need to be prepared. People like your parents—when they feel cornered, they can be dangerous. Not physically, necessarily, but they’ll go after everything you’ve built.”
“I know,” I said. “But I couldn’t just stand by and watch them hurt people. Not anymore.”
“I understand. And for what it’s worth, I’m proud of you. What you did today took courage.”
After Diane left, I sat in the conference room alone, staring out the window at the Omaha skyline. The sun was setting, painting everything in shades of orange and gold. It was beautiful, but I couldn’t shake the feeling that a storm was coming.
My phone buzzed with a text from Melissa.
Mom and Dad are furious. They’re talking about suing you. Please be careful.
I didn’t respond. What was there to say? Of course they were furious. Of course they wanted revenge. That’s who they were: people who couldn’t stand to be challenged, who would rather destroy someone than admit they were wrong.
But I’d faced worse than their anger. I’d survived homelessness, poverty, and years of their emotional abuse. Whatever they threw at me now, I could handle it.
At least, that’s what I told myself.
As I packed up my things to leave, my phone rang. Unknown number. I almost didn’t answer, but something made me pick up.
“Anna Thompson?” a man’s voice asked.
“Yes. Who is this?”
“My name is Henry Bradford. I was your grandfather’s attorney. I need to speak with you about something urgent. Something your parents don’t know about.”
My heart started racing.
“What is it?”
“Not over the phone. Can you meet me tomorrow morning? 9:00 a.m. at my office.”
“Yes. I’ll be there.”
He gave me the address and hung up.
I stood there holding my phone, my mind spinning. What could my grandfather’s attorney want after all these years? My grandfather had died 12 years ago. His estate settled and distributed. What could possibly be urgent now?
I had a feeling I was about to find out.
And something told me it was going to change everything.
Henry Bradford’s office was in an old building downtown, the kind with marble floors and brass fixtures that had been there since the 1920s.
I arrived at 9:00 a.m. sharp, my stomach churning with anticipation. The receptionist led me to a corner office where Henry sat behind a massive oak desk surrounded by file cabinets and leather-bound law books.
He was in his seventies, with white hair and kind eyes behind wire-rimmed glasses. He stood when I entered, extending his hand.
“Anna, thank you for coming on such short notice.”
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